Survivors' Story

Searching for my smile

I remember what was my first sexual encounter. Or what I had thought was my first. When I was serving in the armed forces. Within a week I recovered my memories of abduction and being sexually abused as a little boy of about 7. Going to buy my sweets cost me far more than my pocket money on that day. I began to experience as a 20 year old man the feelings and emotions I had felt as a 7 year old boy, as if they had been frozen in time. Memories like wondering what this sticky stuff between my legs was. The trigger that had been switched on in my mind was the most basic of senses. The sense of smell. I remember I was given 5 shillings for my sexual favours as he told me he loved me.

During my initial training in the forces I had my penis tied to the end of my bed by about six other people as punishment for being put back a week in training. I remember the pain as the knot was tied. On another occasion I was in a trench on exercise in Germany, when a senior NCO got in the hole with me and proceeded to fondle my genitals. I couldn’t do anything about it. I was paralysed with fear. With alcohol I survived and completed my enlistment.

As I held on to my insanity I turned my emotional response into a physical one. As there was nowhere to turn to, I turned into myself. I developed problems with my bowel. There have been times in my life when the time between bowel movements could be measured in months to years rather than days to weeks. I didn’t consult a doctor. It’s been a constant battle from then till now to function properly. Over the years as my awareness has grown so has my fear and anger grown too. When I came across my medals in a draw one day I put them in the dustbin.

As time went by, I began to remember other abuses. Such as the time at primary school when I was made to strip to my underpants and stand in the corner. I have never forgotten the taunts and laughter behind my back. Pretty much my whole life hasn’t felt dissimilar. My nickname at school was “evil” because it rhymed with my surname. My mates would say something like “where’s evil” and I would say “here I am”. I was a weedy kid. Teachers would stand either side of me on the bench that I was sitting on and force me to eat my school dinner. They told me it was my fault that thousands of children were dying in Africa. A teacher wearing boots with metal studs kicked me up the backside, it hurt to sit down or go to the toilet for a week. I was glad when I left primary school. I didn’t like being the devil.

When I was in my thirties I went to the doctors and told him I had been sexually abused as a child. The help I got was to be told there was nothing wrong with being gay. I left the room quickly. I didn’t want to be his last patient. I tried to kill myself once, by hanging myself from a hook on the back of my bedroom door. I let myself go. I could feel the pressure in my head as I hung there briefly. Then the hook cam out of the door and I crashed to the floor. I have acquired the obligatory list of petty criminal convictions in surviving the enemy, i.e. anybody, stroke potential paedophile, stroke everybody.

I don’t have any particular skills. Most of my jobs have been the jobs no one else wanted. I’ve never been good at selling myself to employers. It’s hard feeling you’re worthy of employment when you feel you’re worth 5 shillings. And with a criminal record to boot, I can honestly say I have never been headhunted.

When my father died and left me some money I did some one-to-one counselling and group therapy in the late 80s, where I found my own love. I even did a one year foundation course in counselling. But I have not resolved my fear and mistrust of people. In respect of relationships and sexuality I have been dead a very long time. I didn’t consider myself a man good enough to be with a woman. I no longer feel any guilt for a damned thing. But I do have enormous regrets which cause me much pain and much sadness. When I stare out of my bedroom window all day and every day…I think of sleep…where I can feel nothing.

I am in my 50s now, and I am so tired. I look forward to the peace of oblivion when I’ll be whole and pure again…and no one can hurt me. I don’t feel much anger towards my abusers now. My anger is a part of me and I think they’ve had enough. Apart from fear, the only thing abusive people make me feel now is glad that I’m me and not them. What makes me really mad now is the ignorant, stupid, bigoted, apathetic, arrogant, patronizing people who want to tell you how brave you are, as they shove their pity down your throat. And I can’t stand those people who project their stuff onto other people. I hate myself for doing it. I survive right now being penniless and living as a parasite with my mother and my brother. I’ve never known what I want but I do know I would have liked to of been of some purpose. I wish I felt like I’d had a country, and belonged to the human race, rather than just man kind.

I have never been a religious man, and although other people find warmth and happiness in it, it’s not for me. I now worship myself. I remember flicking through old family photographs one day and finding one of myself as a small boy. I was flabbergasted to see this great looking kid with a wonderful smile looking back at me. Now, when I remember to, I look through my mind’s eye at the picture of that little boy that used to be me. And I say goodnight Geoff, you are innocent, you are beautiful, and I love you.

Geoff

To read poems by Geoff click here.