I’m 40 now and over the past 10 or 15 years, my body has developed certain details that remind me of my father. Sometimes I can hear him laugh when I laugh. Sometimes I can see his fingers when I look at my hands. Most times it’s just those “small” things, but nevertheless I can barely stand them. Moreover, my brother reminds me of him, too. We’re both his sons, so it’s just natural to carry his genes and have some things in common with him, but that’s rough. You can never change your genes, no matter how much dye you use or which clothes you wear or how hard you try to laugh like someone else.
I know that his heritage includes my sexual desires. Having “sexual preferences disorders” is not only a mere cause of being sexually abused, it’s also in the genes. As far as I know, my father had not been abused or molested as a child, but he grew up with a very dominant and sadistic father as well who demanded very much of him. He passed that down to his sons. I got the bruises, my brother was expected to work hard and succeed. I was regarded as dumb, he was regarded as smart, leading to the fact that I was supposed to take care for his sexual needs and my brother to take care for his wish that he should be successful, a leader, a wealthy man with a flawless reputation. Well, sometimes I think: look at us monkeys, we just did like he wanted us to.
Sometimes I even feel pity with our father. Would he have been able to change, if he had wanted to? I tried to find out whether he had experienced abuse as well, but I don’t know, apart from getting hit by his father. Our branch of the family tree will die with us. My brother and me, we both don’t have children and we both don’t want any. Even if I was heterosexual, I wouldn’t want children. Of course it’s rough sometimes meetin friends with their kids and knowing I won’t ever experience what they have, but numbers speak against me. About 30% of men who were abused as children become violaters later on. That’s almost a third. Apart from that, I have difficulties with taking care for myself, how could I take care for a child?
Sometimes I’m full of sympathy for my “special needs” and value them as coping strategies. Sometimes I just despise them. Even if I know the machinery behind my behaviour, I can’t change it. And even after almost 20 years of different therapies, I’m not over it. I really wanted to believe that one fine day I would be normal, if I just worked hard enough. I thought then I’d be like anyone else. I would return to a safe state of mind and dismiss all perversions. And than I found that I need my perversions to function properly. When I try to leave my perversions aside, I’m insecure and just like that battery bunny without the batteries. I have no idea how to behave or what to do or to say. I’ve written that so often, but it’s still true: I wish I could be normal, but I will never be. All I am, all I feel, think, like and crave is the result of being abused.
I know there is no use in crying about that sh*t, but it still makes me sad. I know that even if my father was still alive, I wouldn’t confront him. My brother did, he was courageous, but of course that had no effect as our father didn’t think of abusing me as something unjust. We will never solve that. He will never stop feeling guilty and I will never stop feeling ashamed. It’s our heritage.