I made a mistake, read what I shouldn’t, now can not stop thinking about it.

**** Trigger warning, talk of abuse with a few graphic details. ****

I had stopped going to the male survivor site as it was causing me to spiral badly into the bad places in my head, triggering my negative emotions, getting seriously depressed and spending hours stuck in my memories, crying, then having horrible nightmares as I tried to sleep.   

Look even without going to the site I still scream out in my sleep.  It is agonizing because in my dreams I am struggling to verbalize the words, get them out and it feels like my mouth is locked shut, sort of my like my lips are sewn together.  In my nightmares I can speak and scream normally until it gets so intense it seems I struggle to get the sounds out and they become much more guttural.  That seems to be when I am getting audible in the awake world.  When it seems I am able to unlock my jaws or rip my lips open is when I am in reality shouting out in my sleep.  Ron had to wake me just two days ago when I was shouting help help help.  I spared him the description of the abuse even though he is always willing for me to tell him the memories or nightmares because he knows it is very helpful for me to talk about it or get it out.   Especially when it has just happened.  

Anyway back to this morning.  So a new friend who is a survivor who has been on the Male Survivor site much more than I have been and posts there often about everything going on in his life, like I do here, this person has been saying to me that they wrote about their holidays so could I go to their posts to see what had been going on with them.  I went to the MS site, I started reading new posts before I got to his posts.  And I never made it to Steve’s posts.  

The post was about being anally raped and the person leaving their cum inside you that you try to prevent leaking out.  The post and the people replying / joining the conversation all also wrote about their underwear being stained with poop and cum or in some cases blood.  The conversation was about trying to get rid of or wash the evidence out before it was discovered by a mother or other who cared for them and they did not want to find out they were being abused. 

I did not have this problem.  My abuse was much more open and known in the house so I did not have to hide it or wash my sheets after.  I did get in trouble if I wore my white underwear after without cleaning myself up which would leave stains / marks in the white underwear.  So those if I saw that I would wash them myself soon as I could like the people in the conversation said they did.  When the wet underwear was discovered after a few times of me doing that, I was caught in the act cleaning them.  I was yelled at for it, told I was so stupid then pulled to the kitchen in front of everyone while naked, while my adoptive mother “taught me how to wipe my bottom and clean myself” after being raped.  I was told to rather than lay in the bed or put my underwear on, that as soon as the person was finished with me and they did not want to use me anymore I should go empty myself.  Then wipe / wash my bottom.  I then had to repeat and show I knew how to do this in front of the laughing hell spawn.  All that taught me was to wash and dry them before I put them in the laundry basket. 

So this brings me to what I can not get out of my head this morning.  Before I got side tracked by my memories and started the downward spiral, I was busy reading news articles, adding to my posting of crazy stuff that the right was doing, and gathering memes of Sunday’s meme post.  Then it all came to a halt and I started to crash.  Writing this out is helping.  So what about the above triggered me?

See I could hold it in, the fluids inside me normally while laying in the bed, or in the short timeframe from when it was over until I could get to the bathroom or if outside until I could dump / empty my bowels, but that left nothing to wipe with so I would have to carry my underwear until I could do so hoping not to soil my pants.  But there was one place and time I couldn’t do any of that.  It was when raped and abused at school.  

Please stay with me and try to understand the feelings / thinking of a small kid as I try to describe this without being too graphic.  It started at school when I was 7 and continued but tapered off as I became a teenager. So imagine being 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, or 12 and being taken to a supply closet, empty room, or after school hours to the principal’s office.  Once there told to drop my pants.  Being fondled and touched.  Then ordered to my knees to give oral sex to a male.  So far none of that deals with what I wrote about above, soiling myself.  But that comes from when instead of being told to kneel, I was instead told to turn around and stand on something, or picked up and draped over something, (more than once being forced to lay over the copy machine as it dug into my chest / belly while my ass was used to make the male staff / teachers happy) when I was very small I would be made to take my pants off then placed on my back on a shelf with my legs pined up as my back was bent to position my butt hole correctly for their use. 

Ok I tried to put if off as long as I could.  This is the part I was trying to get to and that the conversation on the site was about.  After being used, trusted into sometimes with lube and sometimes without, filled with those fluids and possible messiness, my bottom full of the ejaculate of the guy who just … fucked me, I would be told to get dressed and go back to class.  Of course the person who used me wanted to make the time I was away from class as short as possible if I was taken from class for the abuse.  So if I had been summoned or escorted from the classroom, I would be told to get dressed quickly and return to class.  I knew better than to tell.  If it had been painful and hurtful, I would be told to stop crying and wipe my face on my shirt.     

 So this gets back to the stained underwear.  I would have to put my underwear on, no choice, and go back to class not knowing if I was messy or not.  I would only know my butt hurt, maybe my belly, back, or legs would also hurt.  I would have to enter the classroom trying to not show anything wrong, feeling like everyone in the room was looking at me knowing what had just happened, what I had just done.  Again if it was oral all I struggled with was the taste in my mouth.  But if it had been anal specially if it had been forceful, in a bad position for me, or if no lube had been used, then my butt / asshole would be very sore and full of fluids.  I would be forced to try to sit still, and desperately pinch my butt cheeks together as painful as that was or let the liquids mixed with poop ooze out creating both smell and stains.  Most teachers soon understood and did not scold me for not paying attention or being not being still in my seat.   It was the same as when I had been given a belting, spanking, or bad paddling before school, they seem to understand the pain I was in that my clothing / pants covered. 

As soon as I could or when the teacher would quietly whisper in my ear asking if I needed to use the bathroom, I would leave the classroom walk carefully to the bathroom where I would rush into a toilet stall.  I would also check my underwear as best I could.  I would do the same as I walked or rode my bike home.  I lived about a mile and half from the school.  It was so much better in the warm months trying to do it in when bundled up for the cold was horrible.  Because in warm months I could run in to the woods or somewhere not able to be easily seen, strip off my lower clothing and then remove my underwear, and redress.   Then I could take the underwear to a brook like the one we had behind our home, wash the underwear, hang it in the sun to dry off something where I should be able to retrieve it later.  Stories of what happened the few times I was caught doing this another time.  

Many abuse victims just threw their soiled clothing out.  I couldn’t do that.   Punishment for losing my clothing was as severe as for soiling them.  

So that was what has destroyed my emotions and focus for the last 7 hours.  Taking the time to write this has helped me calm down and recenter.  But the remembered pain of being so small, the over whelming emotion of feeling that everyone knew when I entered the classroom, and the fear that it was leaking into my underwear knowing that I would be publicly punish and possibly also privately punish if they were stained.  Maybe most parents finding semen, blood, or poop stains all over the back of their child’s underwear would cause them to question what happened or rush to defend / help their son.  Not mine, if they felt anything at all maybe they were happy it was happening to me.  Maybe it relieved their own guilt knowing others did the same to me.  I don’t know. 

Just more from my childhood I have to deal with.  Anyway, no more meme hunting today, nor news about the stuff the right is doing.  Today I am going to answer comments and concentrate on the love and out pouring of support I get from this community.  Oh and tomorrow I have a doctor’s appointment.   Hugs.