My New Shrink

So I went to see my new shrink yesterday. He is the same shrink who worked with my brother when he was a teenager, and is currently working with my brother. I have had more shrinks than I can remember, and I can honestly say I think this is the best shrink that I have ever seen. Most of them just sit there and everytime you say something they ask, "and how does that make you feel?" and that makes me feel pissed off. I hate when they do that. This guy doesn't do that. He listens, and waits for me to tell me things, and if while I'm talking a reach a point where I just have nothing else to say, he'll ask me a question, but not the standard question, and actual question about what I've been saying. It shows he's actually listening.

I also like the fact that he already knows my family. He knows my dad is abusive and insane, and that both of my brothers are mean and self centered, and that my mom is passive and dismissive. It makes a big difference, because I don't have to waste my time explaining the level of crazy that I deal with on a regular basis.

I also really think that this time, this is going to work. Not just because he's a good shrink, but because I want this more than I have ever wanted it before. Not only that, he gives feedback, and I think that between my trying and his skill, we might be able to break the cycle of abuse that I put up with and have come to accept as an every day part of life.

Daddy Dearest (Part 2)

My dad can be generous in many ways, he can also seem like a crazy person, or someone who is trying to live vicariously through his kids.

Since my dad retired when we were young, we would often go run arrends with him after school. The thing was always tricky was, when my dad said he was going out, sometimes he'd say where he was going and other times he wouldn't. When my dad didn't say where he was going, the only thing you knew, is that you wanted to go with him. You might end up going to the hardware store, or you might end up at Six Flags.

My dad collects things, you name something that was around in 1940-1960, my dad probably collects it, at least, if he thought it was cool when he was a kid (yeah, he was born '40). The coolest part about this that I can remember was my basement. My dad has a collection of beer signs, add to that a couple pin ball machines, a pool table, ping pong, a slot machine and a dart board, and you got a pretty good game room. A lot of the stuff was collectable stuff that my dad bought.

The Assault: The Drunken Pass

I have a small and select group of girlfriends. They are all the most amazing people, who I can trust with any information, and to take care of me if I needed it. I very seldom am accepting of new women into my life, I don't trust them. It's an instinctual thing, women are hard to trust because they are more emotional, they are more likely to stab you in the back. Due to this and a thousand other reasons, women are drama queens and to be trusted only at your own risk. I am more likely to befriend a man any day of the week than I am to let myself get to close to a new woman I don't know.

• Women with a childhood history of sexual abuse are 4.7 times more likely to be subsequently raped (Merrill, et al, 1997).
• Of female Americans who are raped, 54% experience their first rape before age 18. (Ibid)
• Of surveyed college women, about 90% of rape and sexual assault victims knew their attacker prior to the assault (Fisher, 2000)
• 69% of teen sexual assaults reported to law enforcement occurred in the residence of the victim, the offender, or another individual (Snyder, 2000).

Changed names...

• My roommates Best friend: Slut
• The guy I'm dating: Joe
• Slut's guy Friend: Creeper

I have always had the feelings that women were drama, and trouble, but while I was at college, I only had so many friends. Sometimes you just need a girlfriend, and while my lovely ladies were at their respective colleges, I had to fill the hole. I let myself get friendly with a rather anti-social girl, because that way, she needed me more than I needed her. After she got crazy and clingy and tried to sleep on the floor of my dorm every night (even though her room was just a few doors down); I had to make a new friend. My roommate was a pretty cool girl, and she was always asking me to come hang out. I eventually became sort of friends with her, and her best friend. I was more friends with her friend because we spent a lot of time hanging out with the same group of guys.

At one point, I was dating this really cute older guy. His eyes were amazing, he was sweet, and I really was attracted to him, in every way. I spent most nights in his dorm, and a lot of time texting him when we weren't together. One particular evening, he was having a guys night with his roommate, they were going to the bar and get wasted. My friends were all either home for the weekend or out at bars, since I was under 21, I had nothing official happening that night.

While I was on my trek from my car to the dorms, Slut pulled up next to me to see what I was up to. She had a case of beer in the car, we parked, and knocked back some beer. After we put a big enough dent in the case, we grabbed the last of them and headed back to the dorms. At the time I was a two beer queer. We weren't supposed to have beer in our dorm, but Slut had a friend who was over 21, so we went to Creeper's room, so if he got caught with the beer, he was old enough to have it.

I was already drunk by the time we got to the room, Slut kept asking me about Joe and how everything was, and what he was doing tonight, I didn't think anything of it, I was drunk. She kept passing me beers, and I didn't know my limit, and because it was happening so fast, probably not everything that I had drank had really gotten to me yet. I kept telling Slut that I wanted a cigarette, I wanted to go outside, and then I wanted her to take me to my room. I was so drunk at this point that I could barely keep my eyes open.

She asked to borrow my phone, gave creeper a hug and a big smile, took my phone, and left. Apparently, Slut had no plans of coming back for me. She was busy calling Joe and trying to get him to hang out with her because she wanted to fuck him, and she didn't care what that cost me. As I began to fade in and out of consciousness, Creeper started try and make moves on me. I pushed him off and told him I wanted to go to my room, he said he would take me soon.

As the time between conscious and unconscious grew, I woke up to Creeper on top of me, he was, rather vigorously, fucking my limp unconscious body. I tried to say something, but as I lifted my head I blacked out again. The next time I woke up, I was laying in his bed, half dressed, feeling very sick, and with a very sore vagina, he wasn't around. I managed to put pants on, and grab the rest of my clothes. I can picture walking up to my room as if I were watching myself, but I don't remember doing it. I just had a bundle of clothing and kept falling into the wall, trying to find stairs, trying to find my room, trying to be anywhere but there. I don't remember getting back to my room, but I remember waking up there, sore, and with the familiar feeling of being dirty all over. I stayed in bed most of the day, my roommate got my phone back from Slut, but I didn't want to do anything anyway.

Eventually Joe asked me to come see him, it was the only thing that seemed to make me feel better. He mentioned how Slut kept calling him from my phone, but he barely knew her and didn't understand why she wanted to hang out with him. I felt safe because Joe and I weren't having sex, never did, and he was a big guy so I trusted him to protect me. I remember falling asleep in his arms, and then him waking me in the middle of the night. He said he really had to pee and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Why one of those things led to the other I'm not sure, but that's what happened. We walked around the dorm building, and he finally stopped somewhere to pee. As I was standing there in the middle of the night, in the dark, freezing, wearing nothing put my pajamas, and wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, I felt something come out of my already very sore lady parts.

That feeling is very hard to describe, but it scared this shit out of me. I had no idea what just happened, for all I knew, I just had a miscarriage and there was a very small baby laying in my underwear. I was terrified, but didn't want to tell Joe was had just happened. I started bouncing up in down, and telling Joe to hurry up, I was cold, and needed to go to the bathroom. We made it back to his room, and I ran into the bathroom to see what had happened. That's when I saw it, it was just there, smashed up, almost unrecognizable, a ripped condom. Which Creeper must have lost while he was violently thrusting into me.

That was followed by the standard fears that anyone would have if a condom ripped during consensual sex. What if I get pregnant? What is this fucking ass's sperm actually got to one of my eggs? What am I going to do? How long can you wait until you take the morning after pill? Will is still work? What are my chances? I spent the next day waiting at planned parenthood for the pill, I had seventy two hours, after the incident to get the pill, which would, by the grace of God, kill whatever devil seed that prick may have put inside of me.

I only trust a few girls, because bitches are back-stabbing, and usually just out for themselves. Slut got me drunk, and then passed me off to some creeper, with no regards what he would do to me, but she wanted me good and drunk, so she could take my phone and try and fuck my boyfriend.

Daddy Dearest (Part 1)

Growing up in my house could only be described as a living hell. Well, most of the time. I can’t claim my life was always miserable, because that would be a lie. My dad had an interesting view on parenting, because his parents did such a great job with him.

My dad’s dad, who I guess I could consider my grandfather, but I never knew him to call him anything, was an alcoholic. He would beat my dad relentlessly when he was a kid. My dad hated his mother for never sticking up for him, but she didn’t really know what else to do. My dad had a brother, who I also never knew, he was in the military and after coming home and having a couple of kids, he killed himself. He was an alcoholic, and I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know the names of either my uncle or my grandfather. I have a rough idea of what they could be because we’re big in naming our kids after other members of our families.

As I was saying, my dad got his butt kicked as a kid; his mom ignored it, and then sent him away to private school. I can only assume that for these reasons, my dad has no idea how to be a parent, nonetheless a good parent. On nights that my mom would work late were probably the worst. My dad would yell at us a lot, send us to our rooms for no reason, and then right before my mom came home make us come downstairs and clean up his mess. If there was any argument with any of his unreasonable commands, he’d hit us. I’m not just saying, oh, parents spank their kids when their bad, I mean, he HIT us.

My brother took the brunt of the abuse because he was the oldest, so I would protect and/or hide my little brother. There were a few times when after a beating we were sent to our rooms, and we would all huddle together in my room waiting for my mom to come home to save us. She never saved us. The second we would see her car pull into the driveway we would sit at the top of the steps and wait for her to come in the door, because we wouldn’t dare go back downstairs without her in the house. When she would enter we would surround her, crying of all the things that dad made us do, and how he hit us, and how a wall got a hole in it, or a door broke during the battle. She would just emotionlessly say that whatever happened, we probably deserved it.

I remember two events that may have led to the end of the abuse. For me, one day I was standing against my dad, and he was threatening me, and I said, “Bring it on, it doesn’t even hurt anymore when you hit me, I’m used to it.” He ended up just looking at me, and then walking away, the fight was over where we stood. My brother on the other hand, had a more interesting turn of events with my dad. After a battle between them, my brother sat, beat and broken, and through the tears said “Go ahead Dad, walk away in your father’s shadow.” My dad went to his room after that and cried. We were never hit again, though there were a few occasions where it was threatened.

Ironically, like my father, I blame my mom for the abuse. I somehow hold her responsible, and for what I’m not completely sure. I have an amazing relationship with my dad now, and can barely get along with my mom. I know that she didn’t know what to do in the situation so she would ignore it, or hide from it. I understand that, I just can’t seem to forgive it.