The percentage of people who have a blog and are not depressed must be small. Especially considering words like “epidemic” being used around the word depression in the US today. Well, if not being depressed is the minority then I’m a member of the majority. Yay. There is the obvious thing about having a body that seems to think cartilage is a foreign substance that should be removed forcibly in my body for one thing. You’d be shocked how many places you have that stuff in your body. Really. But then I have things wrong with me that are nebulous. They aren’t easy to understand because they happened at a point where understanding was impossible.
My mother grew up in what could kindly be called a house of horrors with a father who liked to play sick sexual games with my mother and the 5 cousins that my grandparents helped raised after accidents killed off two sets of parents. And as much as I feel for my mother, those kids got doubly screwed. Parents dying in auto accidents and getting dumped into the laps of that perverted fuckhead has got to be one Hell of a nasty hand of cards to be dealt. Ironically my mother had a twin sister who floated somehow above the games. She was never touched. How that thought process worked I couldn’t begin to tell you. Eventually my Grandfather got in with what is called the Dixie Mafia and began to prostitute my mother out. All of this was hidden far beneath the surface. My father had no idea any of this happened until about 8 years ago. It apparently was still going on when they first got married and lasted until my Grandfather died when I was 5 years old. Mom doesn’t know I know any of this. It all got dumped into my lap by my Dad who thought I should know since my mother was unsure if any of the sexual abuse happened to me. She repressed a lot, as no doubt she had to. And yes, I am my father’s son. I may stand more then a foot taller then him, but trust me when I tell you I’m his. If my genetic condition I got from him wasn’t enough there is a very strong family resemblance. Mom’s family has some 7 footers in it, I get the height from her side.
I have no idea if anything happened to me. What I do know is that I witnessed things. What those things were specifically, I don’t know. Children under the age of 5 do not interpret adult situations very well. We just don’t have the tools for it. The only things I have from that time are impressions on how my mother felt and how my dad acted. It was during those formative years that my dad first started getting the symptoms of the genetic disorder we share. So he was angry, which is to be expected. But my mother was very distant, as I guess she had to be to protect me. Chances are she had to take me with her while she did some disturbing things. The only moment I have that I can point to as a connection to any of this is a memory I have of my dad finding a lot of money in an Incredible Hulk wallet that I had. How much, I don’t remember, but it was way more then a 4 or 5 year old should have. He sat me down and asked me where I had gotten it and I lied. I told as good a lie as a 4 or 5 year old could tell, which is to say not very well. Something about the Hulk giving it to me or something. My mom said something about where it might have come from and my Dad brushed the whole matter off. I don’t know why I remember that nor do I remember why I lied or, most importantly, what the truth really was.
The reason Mom doesn’t know that I know these things is simple. There really hasn’t been a good time to discuss it. Not in the last 5 or so years anyway. By the time I was better equipped to have the talk with her the money situation got tight and traveling down to see her was no longer within the realm of possibility. And this isn’t exactly a conversation that should take place over the phone. Whatever I witnessed screwed up some of my thought processes and only got aggravated more and more over time. I compensated well and didn’t turn out to be a complete fuck up, but eventually it all caught up with me. Me having to go on disability was simply one straw too many for the camel’s back. I knew I had gone off the tracks somewhere. I just didn’t know where. Fortunately I found a very good therapist who was able to take the scraps of information I had and build for me a map to show where it went wrong and how to fix it. I’m a happier person today then I was six years ago. Sure I still have depression. You try to deal with this much pain and being stuck in bed before the age of 40 and not have it. But I deal with it a lot better.
So why tell you all of this? That comes down to fetishes. Psychology tells us that fetishes are developed at an early age depending upon what is going on around us. Finding out where those fetishes actually come from is usually not a really good idea because chances are they have strong Freudian overtones. Its probably the one area Freud was right in. Everything isn’t about you wanting to screw your mother, Siggy you sick hack. Anyway… among the questions I have for myself that I will never truly know the answer to is simply, is this where the Daddy thing come from with me? I hope not. I like to think it comes from a more nurturing place. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say its a possibility. I’m pretty sure my aversion to having kids come from what I saw way back then. And I know that even though I like ageplay I could never do that to an actual kid. The thought is entirely too repulsive to me and was before I found out what I now know about my history. I’ve tried looking at kids as sexual creatures and it simply doesn’t work. They are innocents. Regardless as to what has happened to them, they are innocents. Why the Hell would anyone want to take that away from them? How could anyone be that twisted on the inside to take something away from someone when you can never have what you are taking and they can never replace what you have taken?
Daddy is a role to me. Something I slip in and out of. Its not something I aspire to actually be nor do I visualize Grace as being younger then she is when I’m fucking her in that role. Just that thought was enough to turn my stomach. I want Daddy to come from a happier place. I don’t want him to have come from that Hellish house that I only have fragments of memories of. But I’m probably wrong. The only thing I can do is continue to use it as the positive that it has become in my life and not look too far beneath the surface of it. So my advice to anyone who has a fetish that you enjoy and you wonder where it comes from is to ignore that question and enjoy the fetish. You may not like what you find if you dig too deep.