dpnorman

May 29, 07 - 5:31 AM

Therapy in the morning...

Hey,

So...I have therapy in the morning.

I process things by writing a lot of times so I thought, with your permission, tolerance, patience...I would take this opportunity to write. As one more available forum of expression.

I started doing therapy sixteen years ago. I made the appointment with a couples counselor. She came highly recommended. She was into behavioral therapy. My wife had just disclosed that she was...well, she told me I needed to make an appt with the doctor because there was a very high degree of probability that I had an STD. She had tested positive. Which was...my first clue. We had two daughters at the time. They were fourteen and eight. Turns out she had several relationships outside of our marriage.

That night I literally spent three hours in the shower after the girls went to bed. I could not get it off of me...out of me. I had never told anyone about my experiences. No one. Ever.

We did about ten sessions and my then wife decided that was enough for her. I continued on by myself. Decided this was the time. If everything was going to fall apart, okay...but I did not want it to ever happen again. I needed to figure it out.

The therapist had no prior experience with male survivors. I saw her for about three years and moved on. By that time we were mostly arguing back and forth...not getting anywhere. I looked, called...searched out anyone that had experience with male survivors in my area. Nothing, no one. So I found a very compassionate therapist who I really liked. He said we would learn as we go. Four years later we cut back to twice a month from each week, then down to once a month and I eventually stopped going in.

During that time frame I disclosed about my experiences. My father was the perpetrator. He killed himself within three months of my disclosure.

I got divorced, made the attempt at a geographical cure and moved about fourteen hundred miles away to New England in the states. Which, you know...always works for a while.

I started doing various workshops around the country. Where they told me any number of different things about being male and being a survivor. Because if you want to gather statistics and you are lazy...it would seem that the prison system is the easiest and quickest way to gather statistics about male incest survivors. Where they tell me that seventy percent of of the inmates have been sexually abused. Of those a disproportionate number of them were also offenders. Which, as they did the math...came out to prove that we were dangerous characters...we who are incest survivors.

To be male and to be the unfortunate benefactor of your father's rage...and that is what it was the first time he raped me at three and the last time as he held me up against the wall and raped me at twelve...to be a male and be an incest survivor is an indictment that carries a lot of baggage with it as we wander through this process.

I am as angry at the ignorance and the arogance as I am about the abuse itself. I have an amazing capacity to love and be loved...to share my experiences and my time with various organizations but am automiatically excluded from them because I am male...and a survivor. A threat, a liability.

But, here I am...the night before...therapy. I did a workshop several years ago and found a guy that did have experience with males. I said, "Do you...?" And he said, "Yes I do. Are you interested?" And I said, "Yes." So I drive a hundred and eighty miles each day I go. It is worth it to me. Has been.

He set me on fire at night...in my bed...to watch me burn. Dad did. I told myself, "Never again," no one will do this ever to me again. In the isolation I told myself that I do not need anybody. Alone any success is hollow and every failure is magnified far beyond what it really is. Every relationship is suspect and every touch burns, ignites the same old flames.

But in this process, that spirals, often times seemingly out of control...there are unique and amazing men and women that see beyond the lies, recognize them for what they are, stand with their arms outstretched...waiting patiently...and tomorrow...I want to reach back.

Because this is my life.

Thank you

Dave

martin

May 29th, 2007 - 8:55 AM

Re: Therapy in the morning...

Thanks for sharing, Dave, your story has some similarities with mine. Welcome to the site.

Martin

dpnorman

May 29th, 2007 - 12:53 PM

Re: Therapy in the morning...

Thank you, Martin...

Dave

Author	Comment
dpnorman May 29, 07 - 5:31 AM	Therapy in the morning... Hey, So...I have therapy in the morning. I process things by writing a lot of times so I thought, with your permission, tolerance, patience...I would take this opportunity to write. As one more available forum of expression. I started doing therapy sixteen years ago. I made the appointment with a couples counselor. She came highly recommended. She was into behavioral therapy. My wife had just disclosed that she was...well, she told me I needed to make an appt with the doctor because there was a very high degree of probability that I had an STD. She had tested positive. Which was...my first clue. We had two daughters at the time. They were fourteen and eight. Turns out she had several relationships outside of our marriage. That night I literally spent three hours in the shower after the girls went to bed. I could not get it off of me...out of me. I had never told anyone about my experiences. No one. Ever. We did about ten sessions and my then wife decided that was enough for her. I continued on by myself. Decided this was the time. If everything was going to fall apart, okay...but I did not want it to ever happen again. I needed to figure it out. The therapist had no prior experience with male survivors. I saw her for about three years and moved on. By that time we were mostly arguing back and forth...not getting anywhere. I looked, called...searched out anyone that had experience with male survivors in my area. Nothing, no one. So I found a very compassionate therapist who I really liked. He said we would learn as we go. Four years later we cut back to twice a month from each week, then down to once a month and I eventually stopped going in. During that time frame I disclosed about my experiences. My father was the perpetrator. He killed himself within three months of my disclosure. I got divorced, made the attempt at a geographical cure and moved about fourteen hundred miles away to New England in the states. Which, you know...always works for a while. I started doing various workshops around the country. Where they told me any number of different things about being male and being a survivor. Because if you want to gather statistics and you are lazy...it would seem that the prison system is the easiest and quickest way to gather statistics about male incest survivors. Where they tell me that seventy percent of of the inmates have been sexually abused. Of those a disproportionate number of them were also offenders. Which, as they did the math...came out to prove that we were dangerous characters...we who are incest survivors. To be male and to be the unfortunate benefactor of your father's rage...and that is what it was the first time he raped me at three and the last time as he held me up against the wall and raped me at twelve...to be a male and be an incest survivor is an indictment that carries a lot of baggage with it as we wander through this process. I am as angry at the ignorance and the arogance as I am about the abuse itself. I have an amazing capacity to love and be loved...to share my experiences and my time with various organizations but am automiatically excluded from them because I am male...and a survivor. A threat, a liability. But, here I am...the night before...therapy. I did a workshop several years ago and found a guy that did have experience with males. I said, "Do you...?" And he said, "Yes I do. Are you interested?" And I said, "Yes." So I drive a hundred and eighty miles each day I go. It is worth it to me. Has been. He set me on fire at night...in my bed...to watch me burn. Dad did. I told myself, "Never again," no one will do this ever to me again. In the isolation I told myself that I do not need anybody. Alone any success is hollow and every failure is magnified far beyond what it really is. Every relationship is suspect and every touch burns, ignites the same old flames. But in this process, that spirals, often times seemingly out of control...there are unique and amazing men and women that see beyond the lies, recognize them for what they are, stand with their arms outstretched...waiting patiently...and tomorrow...I want to reach back. Because this is my life. Thank you Dave
martin May 29th, 2007 - 8:55 AM	Re: Therapy in the morning... Thanks for sharing, Dave, your story has some similarities with mine. Welcome to the site. Martin
dpnorman May 29th, 2007 - 12:53 PM	Re: Therapy in the morning... Thank you, Martin... Dave