1982 was probably the beginning of the end for me. My life went to a bad place and I didn’t leave that place mentally until almost 15 years later.
I guess growing up with a family that didn’t like each other, but called it love, made me a bit warped. Even my aunts and uncles were almost all divorced. There was a good bit of child abuse and not a lot of real affection. It was normal for someone who said they loved you to also say very hurtful things and hurt you in physical ways. I guess I didn’t know what love was. I guess I believed that love was what I saw and lived in.
While we were living in Rugby Valley, I made some “friends”. They were these three boys. They played with me almost everyday. I was 11 at first and turned 12 during the course of this friendship. I guess they were between 11 and 14. I know one of the boys was a bit older. These guys weren’t brothers or anything, just boys who already had a friendship of their own. I learned a lot from them.
I learned what a handjob was.
I learned what masturbation was.
I learned what tongue kissing was.
I learned what going down was.
I learned what an orgasm was.
I was touched, everywhere.
I touched them everywhere.
Luckily, I didn’t actually lose my virginity. I didn’t even realise that what was happening was wrong. I was naive and strangely innocent for my age I guess. I heard them say they loved me and I thought they did. I heard them say this is what people who love each other do, and I thought it was. I was severely blind to the situation. I can’t even imagine how they knew about stuff like that. Before I met them, I certainly didn’t know. It changed me though. Changed the way I thought and felt.
I was fairly promiscuous after that, too. I learned that I was too young for that stuff eventually. But I just didn’t do it again until I was about 14. I went back into heavy petting and coming thisclose to sex, but not crossing that line. I thought it was okay as long as I didn’t actually do the deed. I felt somewhat loved when I was involved in it.
I was confused for many years about the difference between sex and love. I didn’t feel comfortable turning down a boyfriend, because he loved me. If I loved him back, then I had to show that in a physical way. If I didn’t love him back, then I shouldn’t keep dating him. Or rather, if I didn’t show him my love in a physical way, then he would date someone who would. It was a short slippery slope to destroying my self-esteem.
I don’t know. I feel like there should be a better way of saying all this. I just can’t think of one. Was I molested? I guess. Maybe. I mean, I was a willing participant, so maybe not. Right? But I was really a child when it started, so maybe it wasn’t as willing as I thought. But the boys were children, too. I don’t think I molested them. I do know that it started the warping of my concepts of love and sex and physicality. It damaged me mentally and emotionally, even if not physically. I am slightly sickened to think of it now. I can’t forget it though.