In one of your posts, you said you didn't know I was sexually abused. Well. I was. And like I said, for many years, I thought it was the crux of all my problems.
I think I may have told you all at one point that in college I was a journalism major... I found my way professionally into other things, but during my time in college, I took many non-fiction and fiction writing classes. I was born to write. I haven't done it, but... hey... most of us shun what we are naturally inclined to do.
Anyway, for a few years, I did fiction writing on the side, as a means of catharsass... before I met my shrink. I wrote a story, a FICTIONAL story, about what had happened to me. When I say fiction... I altered names, places, etc. It is not the factual accounting of my tale, but every emotion that you would FEEL from this accounting is true.
I will say up front that this is a very disturbing story, most especially for men. But if you've ever wondered what it is like to be in this situation, then I think you might get it from this story.
It is very graphic and not for the faint of heart. If you would like, you can read it here: One More Day.
If it brings you any understanding at all of these types of sitches... then... well. I'll leave you all to your thoughts.
