Story time: Why it's so hard for me to write about my feelings

When I was younger, I used to fill notebooks with poetry and long journals filled with teenage angst. As a gay kid from the south, I had a lot of emotional and mental turmoil that went on. At the early age of 9 or 10 I was molested by a baby -sitter, and even though I knew what he did was wrong, I had mixed emotions about what happened. At the time I thought I deserved it because I liked boys, and growing up Baptist, you know that's a one-way ticket to hell. Needless to say, there were so many thoughts and emotions running through my head that writing was the only release I had. I couldn't really talk to people about what was going. I was teased relentlessly by kids on the playground and at church. I would cry the moment the word "faggot" escaped from someone's lips. Every hate fueled word would spring forth a million tears from my eyes. My journal was my safe space. I would fill the pages with stories of my day, poetry that tended to be rather dark and painful and my feelings.

Sometime later, I may have been about 11, my cousin on my dad's side who was a hardcore meth user, started grooming me and essentially molesting me. He made it seem so innocent, and I was a confused kid, with loads of trauma. I actually thought I loved him and would write about what was happening between us. This went on for about two years. He made the interactions into this game, this weird manipulation of trust and truths and mostly lies to get inside of my head and my heart. They say molestation is a very elusive thing, and they are right. No one, not one single adult knew what was going on between my cousin, who was in his mid 20's at the time. Looking back, I'm rather disturbed that no one could even see what was going on. No one had a feeling or clue. My mother and father had long been separated, and I didn't want to tell my mother what was happening. My father is and was a hyper masculine man, who could his way out of a box. He had no emotional connection to me. I started not wanting to go the court mandate weekend visits with him. I started being rather lethargic and depressed, yet no one really questioned what was happening.

On the last year of this molestation, I was living with my dad in the 7th Grade and had a journal hidden in a sock drawer. Inside this journal was all the confusion and pain written in concise words. No one ever came into my room, so I never thought that was an obvious place to hide it. Big mistake. One day my father was going through my things because he was angry at me for telling a young guy at school who was also gay that I liked him and wanted him to be my boyfriend. The principal at my school called both of our parents into the office after finding these notes. Upon hearing all of this my father went into a rage, he punched me in the face and said a verbal string of words that I wish to forget. He took me out of school to punish me. He thought he could SPANK THE GAY OUT OF ME. When we got home he went to the sock drawer, looking for more notes and love letters from my junior high crush and I didn't even think to panic because I forgot my journal was in there.

He started reading my journal after he found it and afterward the scariest few days of my life happened. His face contorted with rage, I could feel the anger rolling off of him. He literally took a paddle that was from his college fraternity and used it to spank me, the whole time telling me I was disgusting and full of demons. NOT ONCE DID HE STOP TO THINK, MY SON IS BEING ABUSED.
THe anger from finding out I was gay literally blinded him to what he actually read in the journal. Literally, one page would say I loved my cousin, and the next page would say I hate my life I want to die, how could this be happening to me? I a was victim that day. I feel like, ever since that happened, ever since my cries and pleas for a life without abuse were not heard. I felt that by telling my truth to at least myself on paper I could save my self, but in reality, I damned myself. After this happened, I called my mother and told her what was happening. Thankfully my mother came and saved me from that situation

Recently I started practicing Reiki. After getting attuned they say it's really important to journal about the thoughts and feelings going on inside your head. It's been a bitch trying to journal. Fear literally grabs me in the chest and due to anxiety, I can't bring myself to write. Earlier today while practicing Reiki on myself, I heard my higher self say, "I want to tell the world my story." Maybe this can help someone who is going through something similar to what I did. Maybe by writing this down, and letting myself release this into the void, I will find a weight lifted off of the paper, and find myself free to write the wind of thoughts and emotions my 20's have brought me. As I write this, I feel release. I feel healing. I feel open.

It's very important for you to know, if you are raped, molested or emotionally, mentally or verbally abused, you are not alone. You do not deserve to have your body used for the pleasure of someone else. You deserve to be whole. You don't deserve the pain. You are loved. NEVER be afraid to speak about your abuse, because doing so may help the healing happen.

Thank you for reading this.