Chronicles of Adult Children of Sex Addicts - Part 5 - "A Sons Story"

Chronicles of Adult Children of Sex Addicts – A Sons Story! – Part 5 

The toxic sex-addict-pathological-narcissist-ignorant-ass that was my so-called mother, left in her wake piles of emotional debris (How do I really feel).

It was decades before I was able to still myself and begin to look back on my life. With the help of a loving sibling, I am writing how it felt to be raised by a woman so possessed of her own carnal desires, that she elevated her needs above everybody else, including her children.

Imagine if you will, it’s Saturday morning. You’re eight years old. You go to the fridge and open it up. Not much in there. A little milk and enough of the same old cereal you’ve grown sick of…but it’s all there is. So, off you go with your bowl, and head in to watch some morning cartoons. You sit next to one of your brothers or your sister and have no idea of the deep seated angst in your soul. This little worn out, dirty and messy house is not a home. It’s more like a prison. (But you’re life has always been like this and you don’t know any different). There I sit, waiting, unaware that I’m trying to avoid the inevitable. Because I know sooner than later something is going to hit the fan. Or someone is going to scream. Or someone is going to get hit. Or out from “her” bedroom she’ll stroll…in her little thinly veiled nightgown. Ew.

Sure as shit, here she comes. Like a princess. Like a tornado. Like a toxic cloud, intent on destruction. And more often than not, that destruction rains on her children. Maybe she didn’t get any last night. Maybe this ‘monster’ of a step father slapped her around a little too much. But whatever is was, it is up to her children to fix her. It’s up to the kids to make sure she feels good about herself. And she plops her fat ass on the couch.

I remember glancing at her breasts through her nighty. And the shame runs through me. I never knew what it was that I felt. I just knew it didn’t feel right. And I can tell she’s using this feeling as a weapon against me. I can tell what’s next. And she acts as pitiful as a broken bird. Requiring nurturing. Requiring my positive energy. And she starts sucking the life out of me and my siblings. And soon enough, she feels better. And soon enough we’re sent outside to play. And I feel exhausted and just downright crappy! And I don’t know why. This is the norm.

So as time passed, I came to equate that feeling of shame (it took a long time to recognize it for what it was), as normal. It was normal to think of sex as dirty. As nasty. Sex was a tool for control and power over others, with no boundaries. Because that’s what this vile pig embodied! Do what you have to do to use others, and if that entails sexual innuendo, or any other perverse form of sexual connotation…that’s just fine! Whatever it took to fill the vacuous space in her empty soul was always good with her.

There were countless times I’d hear the birther tell the worst of inappropriate jokes. In front of kids…or just about anybody, it didn’t matter. This sex-junkie never flinched from what she would say or when she would say it, again reinforcing the notion that sex is not something private. Or loving. There is nothing sacred in the act of love. That it is just a mechanical function, a detachment from one’s self. It was a form of medicating. It was just getting a fix and a high from a physical act, with no regard for the aftermath of shame left behind. And I have learned how her words, and actions, and images seeped into my unconsciousness, becoming a part of ‘my’ life. I hate her for this! Growing up around this ‘farm animal’, I began a life of detachment, for a lot of reasons. One of my siblings asked me not so long ago, what I thought of a particular dump of a house we lived in. I said, “not much,” because, without being aware of it, I was gone as much as possible…playing outside, playing at my friend’s house, or staying the night at a friend’s house. Or maybe joining up for sports, getting involved in school (eg. student council)…anything to not have to be in the toxic environment that was supposed to be home. It was supposed to be nurturing. It was supposed to be safe. And it was none of that! As a matter of fact, I spent a lot of nights sleeping outside. I remember sneaking out, when everybody was sleeping. Sometimes I’d just go out in the back yard and climb up a tree and look out over the starlit sky. It was pretty cool growing up in a small town surrounded by mountains and lakes and four seasons. At least I had that!

There were also a number of times I ran away from this trash heap. And the thing is, nobody ever noticed. And why would they, especially the so-called adults in my life? For the record, I can only name one aunt that had any adult character, in my childhood. Pretty lame. The rest of these people were alcoholics, druggies, sex-addicts, pedophiles, red-necks, white-trash, low-life’s. Quite a garden variety of people I would never want to emulate! So, the question is, who did I emulate? Who did I see as someone I would want to grow up and be like?

Funny thing…in high school, a lot of the people around me thought I was busy getting laid. I had girlfriends, but was not promiscuous in the least. I was very popular, and used that as a source of validation. High school was very good to me. It was cathartic to feel admiration and a strong sense of belonging. Up until my freshman year, I made excellent grades. Then as my social status grew, they didn’t seem as important. In part, the dumb-ass that was my birther only succeeded in getting to the tenth grade. And at twelve years of age, my intellect surpassed hers. Guess she wasn’t much of a role model in that department, either. She never attended any of my school functions. Spelling bees, athletic events, plays…nothing. What a turd! And right before my junior year, this pathetic woman moved us out of the country, knowing full well there were no schools for us kids to attend. She left us to live with other (not so adult) adults for the entire school year. She was done. Well, actually, she was done once we popped out of her unholy womb! We were her objects to use. We were her little pawns to exploit for her every need! And having a third husband to manipulate was more important that raising children.

And time passed. As I moved geographically farther and farther away from this little town, I struggled through relationship after relationship. They were always based on the same thing…sex. Sex was love. Love was sex. How shallow and hollow are those statements. And how shallow and hollow were my relationships. No matter where I lived, that woman’s grasp was always around my throat. Until…

It seemed forever, before I finally lived by myself (as an adult). And it wasn’t until this time, I was able to simply stop. And think. And remember. And be aware of the past, a past that had incessantly set up roadblocks. These weren’t little roadblocks. These were massive barriers I needed to break down. And with the help, again, of a very loving and kind and patient sibling I’ve been able to make serious headway in tearing these down! You talk about being blessed. Well, that’s me.

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