I have very few photos of me as a child. I only have these few. I wish I had more. I did have a small book given to me by someone who knew my adopting adults but hurricane Ian took them from me and I did not have them saved digitally. Notice that until I was 17 and in the church boarding school was I allowed to have long hair. Hair was used as a way to set me apart from other kids, to reenforce the idea that I was less than the others, I was the one to be hurt and used. As I have mentioned while the other kids could have their hair the current style I was required to have my hair as short as possible. When I was young my adopting father cut it himself and would often leave bald spots and make it as ugly as possible. Hugs
Me at 7 months
These two pictures below I do not know how old I am, but again notice the hair. In the top picture we are at the large farm my grandparents owned. It was a place the entire family gathered at holidays. I was happy to be outside because inside the big farm house with a dozen bedrooms I was constantly being raped or made to please “my” siblings, cousins, and uncles. Even at that age of 4 or 5 I was no stranger to the emotional, physical, and sexual abuse that started at age 3. The clothing was always decent when we were there, to be taken from me once we left. At the farm house I had food to eat when hungry, and grandmother was always talking to me, hugging me, and just letting me stay near her. No one yelled at me even though I was scared of some of the adult men. But when we left the good times stopped and the abuse began.
The lower one I think was taken after we have had moved to the small cow town to evade the abuse charges against the adults. I think this might have been my second grade school photo. By now the light was going from my eyes and I learned not to talk. I simply looked at everyone as possibly the next one I would have to “make happy” or perform for. It was now happening at school, by the one of the town police officers, and of course at home. My siblings would drug me and take me to parties or simply have them at the house we lived in and I would be a party favor. 
In this picture below I am about 11 or 12. I am about to go to be taken somewhere to some event to be displayed. I think it might have been to church where for a while the adopting adult female and her daughters were going to hopefully to buy their way past their guilts. The pastor there was regularly abusing me, I have talked about that before. I was grateful he only wanted to play with my nude body or have me suck him, never put something in my butt as normally I would have been raped at least once before getting ready for church. By now I had no fight left in me. Notice the always long sleeves to cover the marks and bruises and the long pants to cover the welts and marks. Again notice the short hair at a time when longer flowing hair was being worn by boys my age in school. This would have been in the early 1970s. By now at this age I had accepted I was a toy to be used or displayed, moved and directed by them. I had no agency, no authority, no say in my life. My retreat was in my head, the place I lived, the dreams and stories I told myself that no one else could hear. 
Below is me at 18 at the church boarding school. This is the first time in my life I was allowed to grow my hair out. The adopting adults hated it. The adopting adult female constantly bitching and insulting me over. At this point the adopting male refused to speak to me or be in any room I was in if I had to be at their home during the school year. I tried to remain at the school as much as possible.
Below is me at age 23 or early 24 when I had just gotten out of the military. I had already started to let my hair grow over my ears. This was the way I kept my hair most of my life just longer on the sides and back. Parted on the left and swept to the right. Hugs
This is me at age 23 or early 24 when I had just gotten out of the military. I had already started to let my hair grow over my ears. This was the way I kept my hair most of my life just longer on the sides and back. Parted on the left and swept to the right. Hugs
Scottie's Playtime 
I am so sorry to hear the things you went through in your childhood. People are absolutely sick and it’s horrifying the type of people that walk this earth.
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Hi Goals and Good Vibes. Thank you. I don’t know how much of my blog you have followed or the one before this one. I was adopted to be abused. It has taken me a lifetime it seems to admit I was trafficked to be abused. Not just by adults, but also by other kids / teenagers. I have tried hard to deal with the emotions, I had a complete breakdown in 2014 when I just laid in my bed trying to die. I was once rushed to the hospital by grandfather because I had malnutrition to the point I coded and went clinically dead. They revived me. If you wish more details I can give them or you can use the search function on my blog to find all the posts I made using the child abuse tag in the categories.
Friend I understand what you are saying about people who walk the earth. However I was forced to save myself and to save my budding relationship with him wonderful husband to find some way to remove the anger and hate I had for those who abused me. I had to forgive but not forget what they did to me. To the point where at the end of their lives I was the one to provide personal care for their genitals that they used to hurt me or control me. I had to find it in myself to do it and not let it destroy me or to have me take out my anger / frustration on them. They came to me the child they abused so badly to get away from their own hell spawn offspring that they taught to take advantage of anyone less powerful than them. So their offspring were trying to take advantage of them the way they taught them to take advantage of helpless me.
They begged me and my husband to come get them and bring them here to let him die in the park home we had that we had before let them live in. We did so. We did so much for him, granting him his three final wishes, and I provided his in home care with help from my husband who worked in an Open Heart ICU and also with the help of the hospice people, until he got so bad that he had to go into a hospice house. He expressed his hate for me until he died even though he no longer even knew who I was. Again if you wish more information about me or my childhood just contact me. Best wishes. Hugs
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Amidst the sadness and pain this brought you, and I am bearing in mind you are gay, I still gotta tell you that had you been a couple of years older, I’d have crushed hard on you in that brown suit photo at age 18.
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Thank you, Ali. It is grand to be desired. Hugs
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Well, I didn’t want to be creepy about it. But I’m an equal opportunity appreciator of good looking men.
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Hi Scottie. I read the post and comments, and it took me some time for my heart to deal with this. As I look at these pictures of a cute little boy and then a young man, I realize that I would not have had the observation skills to understand what hurts boiled under the surface of those cute images. It saddened me greatly.
If nothing else, I hope that your story is able to help people be aware of the pain behind the smiles. Quickly young people realize that they can compartmentalize the hurt, deny the existence of it for the moment, protect the people around them from a pain they have no business carrying on such small shoulders. I remember when I was thinking on becoming a teacher and I wonder how I would have dealt with only knowing years later how I’d missed one of my students having gone through such, or how I would deal with learning of it at the moment. I don’t have the right words.
And, despite Ron’s objections…… MOHAWK!!!
Love you my brother.
randy
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Hi Randy. You are correct. I knew well what could happen and what I fear might happen if I talked, if others found out. Sadly though I don’t know if they missed the clues or simply were afraid of the answer but few ever asked. Some though would do things that showed me they suspected like the town librarians letting me keep the books I was reading / checked out behind their desk. I would try to go to the library every day so I did not have to go home after school. That was until I got old enough to work in the afternoons and summer. I would take a book, start reading it, then when I had to go back home I would return it to the shelf only to get the same book out the next day. One of the librarians explained I could check books out, I told her I did not have a library card. So she got me one explaining the rules. Then when I went to go home I put the book on the return cart. I asked if the book would be on the shelf the next day and she said yes but why. I slipped up and said because I wanted to keep reading it. Then she said I had checked it out so I could take it home. I looked at it, then at the floor and mumbled I couldn’t take books home. She then took the book and put it on her desk and put a note on it to save it for me. After that all the books I was reading went behind the desk unless I put them in the return cart. One of the librarians brought me a book she thought I might like to read. The story was about a boy like me, abused at home and how he told and got help. I was 8 or 9. I read the book over a few days, and I think she thought I would then come to her and tell her. She did ask me questions about it once. When I was done reading it, I put on the return cart, looked at her, lowered my eyes and left for home. I was too terrified to tell her, and I think she understood that as she called after me that I was always welcome there. As for teachers. Did any know or suspect? Those not abusing me themselves that was. I have no clue. No one helped me and I doubt they could have. Hugs
Oh and Ron is sure … no Mohawks if I want to get laid ever again. So brother but a man has to have priorities so … no Mohawk. But I did buy a pair of Pride colors suspenders to go with my pride hats. Hugs
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Thanks for the link back. Hugs
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