Heritage

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.

 

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Overflowing

There are some parts of my life I don’t really refer to here, be it to keep anonymity, be it because I once decided this blog should be more about the kinks in my life. For example, I haven’t written about spirituality, Yoga or Lord Shiva lately, and sometimes I wonder if mixing these things up with my perversions is appropriate. I don’t know.

There’s another side of my life I don’t really talk about here, though it grew quite big over the years. Due to his occupation, John has a lot of obligations, extending into his (and our) spare time. Sometimes he takes part in those things alone, sometimes I accompany him. It depends on who he meets and where they meet. I don’t feel save about spending time as a gay couple in Dubai for example, just like I’ve mentioned before, and even if I’m invited as well, I don’t go. Perhaps that’s just prejudices, but I don’t neccessarily need to spend time in a country where being gay is an official contravention. I don’t accompany him to business meetings as well or to see people who have issues with him being gay. I tend to think it’s gotten quite normal in that part of Europe, but for sure it’s not that normal in any part of the world and for any people…

After John has been having health issues for the past few years and we now know the problem, he tries to step back a bit and spend more time at home, just relaxing or hiking or doing things he likes in general. I like having him around, even though I’m no longer as stressed as I was before when he’s not at home. It’s just a home when he’s here.

The things we like to do with each other have expended over the years. We still play a lot of chess and go hiking on a regular base. He plays golf regularly and goes swimming as well, which is not really my kind of sport 🙂 I like sauna better. He bought a camera two years ago and has been taking photographs ever since, sharing them on flickr and, the more kinky ones, with some BDSM friends. We both love reading, although we like different kinds of books. I guess travelling has become one of our major hobbies as well, after I had so much issues with leaving home. Sometimes we just leave for a weekend, which is so cool 🙂

John says he feels like he has settled more the older he gets, which I regard as an compliment. I think we have established a feeling of home and belonging with each other, even though we’re still not monogamous and don’t want to be. We’ve become very close with each other. I never thought that might even be possible for someone like me, but it is. Still, I don’t just regard myself as his partner. To be honest, I don’t know if I am. Only in a certain kind of way, as we’re never on eye level. I can trust him and he trusts me, but I know I will never be and I will never want to be like him. Having tried other relationships, we’re both feeling comfortable with that. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. In my insecure moments I think he’d be much better off with a normal partner, but actually I know that’s wrong.

I don’t really know why I felt the need to write all that down. Might be connected to a short moment yesterday morning. I woke up while he was still sleeping and I felt so overflowing with love for that gorgeous man… I’m so grateful to be here.

Boobs Or No Boobs :)

Last weekend, I spent my birthday with John and Leo in Switzerland, which was a surprise. We had a lot of walks, good food and serious talks about some things. Because in the past week, I went to see the other psychiatrist my therapist recommended and he said some things I found deeply disturbing. First of all, it was really hard for me to be open and answer him honestly. I didn’t like him and that made me nervous. He asked me about myself in general and he already knew about my PTSD and my “sort of” relationship. Well, I gave my OK to my therapist to tell him, but that felt gross anyway.

After two hours of examination he said that he wanted to see me more often to come to a conclusion, but he told me that wanting to have boobs and using my dick in “that” way (he referred to chastity and shrinkage) could be hints for two things: transsexualism (which I still deny because I really do not want to become a woman at all and I don’t have issues with being male) or simple PTSD-related stress-symptoms. Like hating who I am because of what my father did and trying to escape my body. Well. He told me in the first case he needed to see me very often to accompany my transition (yep, always helpful when those people listen closely, right?) and in the second case he’d recommend more talking therapy sessions with my therapist or even a stay in a psychiatric clinic to “help” me figure things out.

When I left him, I was done. I was glad W had accompanied me and brought me home. I cried my eyes out, feeling lost and misunderstood. I mean, of course I know I’m not sane and will always have mental issues. But allowing myself to be Ginny at certain times makes me feel so much better and comfortable. How useful is seeing such a therapist if he doesn’t listen? I told John I don’t want to see him again and for sure I don’t want a stay in a clinic, thanks!!! He just gave me the feeling I’m wortless and and idiot and that my relationship is dangerous and unhealthy for me.

How “unhealthy” John is for me was proven on the weekend. He knew I was feeling bad and gave me just what I needed: a shoulder to cling to, security, love and respect. He, Leo and I talked very much about PTSD, being sub/masochstic, our relationship and Ginny. When we returned on Tuesday, I could see much clearer.

I won’t see this therapist again. He didn’t do me good. I will continue my talking therapy with my old therapist (even though after about 20 years of therapy I’m quite fed up with all that stuff, I tell you). I’ll lead the relationship I want and embrace the fact that I’m submissive and masochistic, even if no one else in this world thinks that’s safe for someone like me. And I’ll continue to be Ginny and wish for small boobs.

To be honest, there’s one thing good about it. I think I have figured out that I don’t want to take hormones. I guess they could destabilise me and cause depression, and those small episodes are enough for me. I really don’t want to go back on antidepressants. My cock will shrink by being kept locked in for long periods of time. Castration is better as a fantasy 🙂 Just the boobs…I don’t know. I guess I’ll wait a while before I make a decision. For over a year I’m wanting boobs and if that urge is still there in one year or so, I might consider surgery. We’ll see.