Wednesday 29 February 2012

Hayatimin buyuk bir bolumunu diger insanlarin ihtiyaclarini kendi uzerimden karsilamalariyla gecirdim.

BEN bir erkegim geride kalan çocukluğum da cinsel taciz kurbaniyim. Benim büyükbabam beni hem cinsel hem fiziksel ve duygusal yonden 12 yildan fazla taciz etti.Hem o hem de davet ettigi dostları ve diğer aile üyeleri aynısını yapti.Ben cok kucukken benim anne ve babam hayatini kaybetti. Kızkardeşim de fiziksel ve duygusal art niyetli beni taciz etti. Bir cok insan beni yetiskin yasimda bile cinsel yonden kullanmaya calisti bir cogu benim arkadas, dost ve ailem zannettim insanlardi.

Hayatimin buyuk bir bolumunu diger insanlarin ihtiyaclarini kendi uzerimden karsilamalariyla gecirdim. Bu bana cok pahaliya mal oldu.
Bu durumdan biktim ve onlara karsi savasiyorum. Ben artik mutlu olmayi istiyorum ve bunu cokdan hakkettigimi dusunuyorum.

I am a male survivor of childhood sexual abuse. My grandfather sexually, physically and emotionally abused me for over twelve years. He invited his friends and other family members to do the same. Both my parents died when I was young. My sister was also physically and emotionally abusive towards me. My life was a living nightmare.

Many others have tried to use and abuse me in my adult life. These include people I thought were friends, colleagues and again family. I have spent my life looking after the needs of others above my own needs. This too has cost me a very high price.

I have had enough. I am fighting back. I want and deserve happiness in my life.



Have you been forced to "keep the secret?" Have you been told that the child abuse you suffered through "didn't happen" or "wasn't that bad?"
Every 10 SECONDS a young child is reported being brutally raped, sodomized, beaten, abused, assaulted or neglected in America--80% by their own parents!
Today, there are over 600 MILLION child abuse survivors with 1 in 3 girls and 1 in 6 boys being sexually assaulted before the age of 18.
These survivors were just children, alone, tortured, filled with fear and scared to speak out--until now.

THE CHILD ABUSE SURVIVOR PROJECT is a 'shocking' journal filled with over 40,480 words of raw, emotional real-life stories of real-life abuse which details personal acts of EXTREME mental, physical and sexual childhood abuse. It honors the strength, spirit and courage of these survivors by empowering them to speak out against their abusers and validates their heroic resilience to the abuse they suffered. This non-fiction completed manuscript is a community social action project intended to help everyone understand child abuse & neglect and the overwhelming impact it has on ones life.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take

He broke my trust
He tore me apart
I screamed inside
I hurt
I cried
I begged

Now I lay me down to sleep
I ask the Lord my soul to keep
For I must die, no more to wake
More of this I cannot take.

Tuesday 28 February 2012


Cycles of Abuse - Stop Whispering @triciagirl62

Please view this video and support survivors of abuse who choose to speak out. It is important to bring these subjects to the forefront of society; we need to accept and talk about these crimes!!!! If you are a survivor or know someone who is then you know the scars it leaves behind; the forced silence that destroys us. In this video and in the book "My Justice" I talk about my abuse and how those scars have effected every aspect of my life. The scars that have caused chaos and disruption in my children's lives. Please watch this video, join Stop Whispering at Whispering and read the details of the horrific abuse I suffered in the newly published novel "My Justice", which is available through amazon, barne's & noble; and also listed in google books. It is up to us to change the lives of our children and grandchildren. Thank you!!!

Monday 27 February 2012

Don't Ignore The Warning Signs of Child Abuse

Warning signs of emotional abuse in children

Excessively withdrawn, fearful, or anxious about doing something wrong.
Shows extremes in behavior (extremely compliant or extremely demanding; extremely passive or extremely aggressive).
Doesn’t seem to be attached to the parent or caregiver.
Acts either inappropriately adult (taking care of other children) or inappropriately infantile (rocking, thumb-sucking, tantruming).

Warning signs of physical abuse in children

Frequent injuries or unexplained bruises, welts, or cuts.
Is always watchful and “on alert,” as if waiting for something bad to happen.
Injuries appear to have a pattern such as marks from a hand or belt.
Shies away from touch, flinches at sudden movements, or seems afraid to go home.
Wears inappropriate clothing to cover up injuries, such as long-sleeved shirts on hot days.

Warning signs of neglect in children

Clothes are ill-fitting, filthy, or inappropriate for the weather.
Hygiene is consistently bad (unbathed, matted and unwashed hair, noticeable body odor).
Untreated illnesses and physical injuries.
Is frequently unsupervised or left alone or allowed to play in unsafe situations and environments.
Is frequently late or missing from school.

Warning signs of sexual abuse in children

Trouble walking or sitting.
Displays knowledge or interest in sexual acts inappropriate to his or her age, or even seductive behavior.
Makes strong efforts to avoid a specific person, without an obvious reason.
Doesn’t want to change clothes in front of others or participate in physical activities.
An STD or pregnancy, especially under the age of 14.
Runs away from home.

Reporting child abuse and neglect

If you suspect a child is being abused, it’s critical to get them the help he or she needs. Reporting child abuse seems so official. Many people are reluctant to get involved in other families’ lives.

Understanding some of the myths behind reporting may help put your mind at ease if you need to report child abuse

I don’t want to interfere in someone else’s family.

The effects of child abuse are lifelong, affecting future relationships, self-esteem, and sadly putting even more children at risk of abuse as the cycle continues. Help break the cycle of child abuse.

What if I break up someone’s home?

The priority in child protective services is keeping children in the home. A child abuse report does not mean a child is automatically removed from the home - unless the child is clearly in danger. Support such as parenting classes, anger management or other resources may be offered first to parents if safe for the child.

They will know it was me who called.

Reporting is anonymous. In most countries, you do not have to give your name when you report child abuse. The child abuser cannot find out who made the report of child abuse.

It won’t make a difference what I have to say.

If you have a gut feeling that something is wrong, it is better to be safe than sorry. Even if you don’t see the whole picture, others may have noticed as well, and a pattern can help identify child abuse that might have otherwise slipped through the cracks.

Prisoner of the Past

Last week I was asked my by friend Dorian (@lessonsinbroken) to write a guest post for his own blog. I was honoured as the more people who read and understand about the effects of childhood sexual abuse the more chance is that they will be more vigilant in the future. The subject of male childhood sexual abuse still carries a stigma and few are prepared to stand up and talk about it. This must change in order that we may educate adults about the steps they can take to prevent, recognize and react responsibly to the reality of child sexual abuse. There is no shame in being the victim, the survivor. There is life after abuse. There is life after rape. It's up to us to ensure this life is filled with love and support and not merely an existence.

Prisoner of the past

Life behind invisible bars
No-one to let me out
Who is there to listen
No-one hears me shout.

I climbed the heights of insanity,
Almost drowned in a sea of despair
Imprisoned by childhood terrors
Live or die, I just didn't care

Used to wish for a window,
To slip through and fly away,
Freedom forever out of grasp,
For their sins I had to pay.

Prison walls built by a society,
Not even trying to understand
An eternity of pain in one lifetime
Shame stamped with a burning brand.

You ask how I've got this far,
With a slow fuse burning inside?
I did whatever I had to do,
Kept the secrets, played the ride.

Locked it all up inside me,
My own prison, my own hell.
One day soon it'll all come out,
From highest rooftops I will yell!

Original post here Lessons In Brokeness

Jan Frayne is a writer, a poet and a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. His first book, "Beyond Survivor" is to be released early summer 2012. He lives in Wales, in the U.K and has travelled extensively. He writes from the deepest corners of his heart and soul of the pain of the past and also of love in all it's forms. Having the internationally renowned poet and playwright Dylan Thomas in his ancestry has been an inspiration for him to bring the pain and suffering of dealing with sexual abuse out of the shadows. His goal is to empower all victims of childhood sexual abuse and adult rape with the knowledge that the shame and guilt is not theirs, it belongs firmly in the hands of the perpetrators and those that turn a blind eye to these crimes.

Sunday 26 February 2012

The Wounded Warrior: Coming out of the Dark - Stand up and make your vo...

The Wounded Warrior: Coming out of the Dark - Stand up and make your vo...: I've been blogging in ernest for about eight months now. I'd started my blog a year earlier, more as a way of getting my thoughts down than ...


Stars shiver
on the edge of elimination,

these nightwater histories
of ivory and architecture.

Cold bell, cold loops
of the counted blessings.

The ward's flowerbruised brightness,
the slow blossoms

of hurt.

Powerless at 3am

So this is how it comes:
in the dark of early morning
reaching for light that doesn't come
you look to the not glowing
alarm clock...
The darkness
is partially interrupted
by flashes of lightning that
shatter the shadows
the house, and you wonder
if you are alone
as you get up and make
for the kitchen...
You try another light and it doesn't come
but you have been up too long now
no point in sleep, you know what time it is
and no one else is here anyway, take out
a match and light a candle, leftover from Christmas
because the darkness is almost unbearable;
you cannot make out the colour of your own flesh,
and it helps to know you are here, anyway...
You know know what time it is,
and you are sitting in a room
listening to your whole world thunder
and crash, and to the sound
of him or her not snoring
in the bedroom, and watching
the whiteness of the lightning,
no longer spider-like, throw itself
out toward the black sky
like a fisherman's net, and
resurfacing with nothing...
And maybe, just maybe
one night that lightning
will go out once and come back;
catch those damn stars
and send you one or two to keep...
As long as they aren't the
same ones
that keep you up
counting wishes and stars
when there are no clouds out
and it's not raining.
Again powerless at 3am

Saturday 25 February 2012

In Your Eyes

Most it seems are content
to engage in small talk
a verbal banter
like fighters in a contest
dancing around the ring
for a prize
that for the most part
is measured in bruises.
Though, if one explores
the depth of conversation
beyond the fringe areas
and past the fences
we build around our existence,
there lie treasures
that defy the imagination.
On one such journey
I happened to discover
in the tone of your voice
the pain of your eyes
and felt your hurt
in my heart.

A Life In Shadows

I've lived my life in shadow,
hiding from the light
Day by day I made it through,
knowing I must fight.

There were times I lay in gutters,
feeling lower than the low
Just surviving took it's toll on me.
I took it blow by blow.

They did their best to keep me down,
They turned my day to night.
Though I knew the rules to life,
I broke them just the same.

I walked the streets without a home,
Sold my soul for a bed, for the night.
I drank myself into blissful oblivion,
There was no lower to fall.

I had no-one to help me,
I crawled back into life alone.
My body, bruised and broken,
My Mind fractured and displaced.

There were times I fell apart,
times I just sat and cried,
But there were days that I stood tall,
of that I do take pride.

No matter how dark my night,
a light glowed deep inside.
Now I stand tall, I won't give up,
the light spreads far and wide.

Friday 24 February 2012


This world has turned
too complicated,
and we hardly seem able
to do things that matter
in simple, beautiful, ways.
There are a million customs,
thousands of possible rituals,
endless unfathomable mixtures
of customary practices,
merged, evolved, melded,
in infinitely complicated ways,
as chaotic patterns,
that defy proper response,
defy reasonable prediction
as to course of action.
The world has turned
too complicated
and we hardly seem able
to do things that matter
in simple, beautiful, ways,
and that is part of the reason
why it is so difficult
to find even on effective way
to say to a beloved other,
that one truly loves,
for it always seems lost
in the noise of it all,
among customary practices,
among a million rituals,
an endless compilation
of complications,
until it is the hardest thing
to find one effective way
to say to a beloved other,
that one truly loves,
the hardest thing to say
I love you, truly I love you,
and find one has response
that is simple, beautiful,
instead of all lost
in the endless dark abyss
of human culture
with its confrontations,
its meldings, mergings,
its confoundings,
its compoundings
of conflicted ways,
and what now do I do
to tell my beloved other
that I love you,
when a world turns
ever so complicated
that hardly anything is heard
and ever less is believed
of anything as can be said
in simple, beautiful ways?
My beloved, tell me,
what can I do,
what can I say,
how might I convince you
in simple, beautiful ways?

Tuesday 21 February 2012

Mon Amour

Quotidiennement je pense à la façon dont nous sommes éloignés,
Mais de quelque façon que ce soit, vous serez toujours dans mon coeur.
Mon amour pour vous ne peut être expliqué,
Mais cet est amour que j'ai finalement gagné
Un jour sans entendre vos pensées semble durer toujours
Ne vous inquiétez pas, je ne vous laisserai ni maintenant ni jamais.
Avez-vous jamais eu un sentiment profond de crainte?
Avec vous autour, aucune pensée de ce genre ne surgit dans ma tête.
Bien que vous soyez vraiment loin, si loin,
Je ne puis m'empêcher de penser à vous chaque seconde du jour.
Je ne veux jamais que vous oubliiez, que je serai toujours là en esprit
Vous voyez une étoile en chute qui est moi, envoyant mon amour de loin
Je vous aime trop pour rester loin, je serai présent dans votre coeur chaque jour,
La seule chose que je désire, dans l'univers tout entier, est d'être avec vous pour toujours,
pour le meilleur et pour le pire
Je ne l'ai jamais ressenti pour personne avant.
Je ne pourrai pas demander plus que d'être avec vous
Sans vous près de moi je deviendrais fou
Je dois être dans vos bras, là, je ne ressens plus de douleur

Every day I think about how we are distant,
But any way whatsoever, you will always be in my heart.
My love for you can not be explained,
But is this love that I finally won
A day without hearing your thoughts seem to last forever
Do not worry, I will not leave you now or ever.
Have you ever had a deep sense of fear?
With you around, no thoughts of this kind arises in my head.
Although you are really far, so far,
I can not help but think of you every second of the day.
I never want you to forget, I'll be there in spirit
You see a falling star that's me, sending my love from afar
I love you too much to stay away, I will be in your heart every day,
The only thing I desire, in the entire universe, is to be with you always,
for better or for worse
I've never felt for anyone before.
I can not ask more than to be with you
Without you near me I go crazy
I must be in your arms, then I do not feel pain

Male Survivors of child sexual abuse/Boys and Men Healing Film Excerpts

10 min excerpts from Boys and Men Healing documentary, an independent film about the sexual abuse of boys, the impact on both the individual and society, and the importance of healing and breaking silence to end the devastating effects of child sexual abuse. The film portrays courageous non-offending men whose arduous healing helped them reclaim their lives--while giving them a powerful voice to speak out, and take bold action toward the prevention of other boys. Boys and Men Healing is produced by Big Voice Pictures.

"Emotionally Powerfu!l"
Matthew Mendel, Ph.D.
Psychologist, Author of The Male Survivor: Impact of Sexual Abuse

"An Excellent Film!"
Ernesto Mujica, Ph.D.
Clinical Psychologist and Psychoanalyst
NYSPA Division of Psychoanalysis

"Will have a profound effect!"
Eileen King, Regional Director
Justice for Children

"Extraordinarily touching and brave!"
Alex Bottinelli, Resource Coordinator
Vermont Network Against Domestic and Sexual Violence
For More Information and to Order your DVD visit:

Monday 20 February 2012

Male Childhood Sexual Abuse - Healing Broken Men - Video

"Healing Broken Men is a ministry where male survivors of childhood sexual abuse can integrate faith with the healing journey. As a male survivor of CSA it was devastatingly difficult to find help and resources in the Christian community. In seeking for help often more guilt and shame were added. Therefore, I wanted to create a safe environment and place for men be to accepted, loved and guided through the healing process while keeping their faith in tact." Thomas Edward (

Sunday 19 February 2012

Through A Child's Eyes: The Shame & Guilt of Sexual Abuse

Through Child's Eyes is a video about the shame and guilt the victims of sexual abuse, molestation and sexual trauma very often experience. Why do they feel shame and guilt when they did nothing wrong? The answer lies in the unique child's eye view of the world. Victims can learn that they are not to blame, and that there is hope, that they can get better.

This video is presented as a public service by Prof. K. Elan Jung, MD, author of the new book Sexual Trauma: A Challenge Not Insanity, A Revolutionary Approach To Treatment & Recovery From Sexual Abuse and PTSD, and ,

The book, Sexual Trauma: A Challenge Not Insanity, A Revolutionary Approach To Treatment & Recovery From Sexual Abuse and PTSD, by Prof. K. Elan Jung, MD. is a revolutionary revisioning of the impact and treatment of sexual abuse, molestation and sexual trauma that gives new hope to the survivors of sexual abuse and trauma. Survivors, family members or friends, practitioners, policy makers or simply interested readers will have their sense of themselves, or of the victims of sexual abuse, molestation and sexual trauma, transformed by this book. They learn about the many famous, creative, dynamic and powerful victims of sexual abuse, people who have transformed our world. They will also learn the hows and whys of the effects of sexual abuse, how trends in therapy have not worked to the benefit of sexual trauma victims, and a new revolutionary perspective on treating sexual abuse, molestation and sexual trauma.
*About The Famous Victims of Sexual Trauma
*Why Sexual Trauma Transforms Its Victims
*How It Transforms Them
*How They Have Transformed Our World
*The How and Why of A New Therapeutic Approach

Saturday 18 February 2012


Do nothing
about it,
express nothing
about it,
bottle it up,
use up
the energy
to keep it in,
all inside,
don't say anything
about it,
what you don't know
about it,
don't explain it,
don't dream
about it,
we could have been
to each other,
my love,
I feel
the same
as a shooting star
would feel
if it could feel anything
when it shoots
so bright and brief
its lifetime
across the sky
burning up
its short lifetime
within the span
of many millenia,
then disappearing
into the blackness
having once been
briefly glimpsed
as having been
what I was
when you lit up
my face
with a look
from your eyes,
now it seems
our eyes
ever touch again
and everything
seems utterly dark.

Friday 17 February 2012

Thoughts At Sixty via @McGuireHimself

One of the things I find amazing about social media is the fact you can get to know people from all over. The internet has opened up the world, made possible social connections that would have been all but impossible before. Personally this is a life changing experience.

In my own journey, I have viewed much of life from the sidelines. I have two passions, writing and educating people about child abuse. This week my guest is writer Patrick McGuire.

Patrick McGuire is a writer of fiction, poetry, drama, and essays.

He has been teaching English at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside since 1986. He has received various teaching awards including the prestigious, career-achievement University of Wisconsin Regents’ Award for Excellence in Teaching. His university offerings include courses on specific authors–Chaucer, The Gawain Poet, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, W.B. Yeats, Wallace Stevens, Toni Morrison–as well as general ed. courses such as Intro to Literature, Intro to World Literature, Intro to Modern World Literature, American Literature to 1850, American Literature 1850-1920, American Literature 1920 to Present, British Poetry, British Literature to 1800, British Literature Since 1800, and Three Irish Poets: Yeats, Kavanagh and Heaney. He also has taught a panoply of writing courses: Developmental English, Composition and Reading, Advanced Composition and Advanced Composition for English Majors, Creative Writing: Fiction, Creative Writing: Poetry, and Playwrighting. He has also taught Intro to Language, History of the English Language, Modern English Grammar, and Grammar for Teachers and Writers.
He is married to Chicago theatre director Anna Antaramian. They have five children, all grown and mature and on their way to wonderful things

Please welcome Patrick to my blog.

A few days ago, I celebrated my sixtieth birthday: the Big 6 and 0. It is one of those milestones that gives one pause. Two things have been uppermost in my mind for the few weeks preceding this birthday. First, I have become keenly aware that I have lived more days now than I may expect to live in the future. Even with our advances in medicine and genetic engineering, I'm fairly sure that I do not want to have a one-hundred-and-twentieth birthday. And the second thing is that when I evaluate my life--the mix of disappointments and failures with the joys and successes--it has been a good life, but it has been a seemingly inconsequential life.

I believe in the idea that small actions ultimately have huge consequences. This idea is sometimes called Chaos Theory. I give my current students an example by telling them about a fellow graduate student at NYU asking me to share notes with him when he knew that he would miss next week's lecture. I did share them, and to thank me he suggested we have a cup of coffee at a nearby shop. His name was Josh, and we became friends and were friends all throughout graduate school. About four years after we met, Josh gave my name to the Chair of an English Department in Paterson, New Jersey. I got the job, and over time met a woman named Anna. Anna and I sometimes bumped in to each other on the commuter train between Paterson and NYC. And then eventually we discovered that each of us had let a train go by just to make sure we would bump in to each other again. Well, Anna eventually became the mother of my five children, and we have been happily married for more than 30 years. Anna, a native of Kenosha, Wisconsin, had moved to the Big Apple to pursue a career in theatre. We lived in Manhattan, but often vacationed in Kenosha. As the family grew, so did our need for space. We had four kids when we eventually returned to Kenosha to set up house. I got a position at the local university and Anna became a professor of theatre at a university in Chicago. I tell my students that I am their instructor simply because a man named Josh asked me to share my notes on Medieval English Literature.

This brings me back to my introspective birthday. I realize now that my inconsequential life will never end. I will die, but my influence on the universe will never end. I have affected, positively and negatively, thousands of students. Some I have made a real impression on; others have forgotten me and what I had to teach them two minutes after they left the final exam. Whatever I gave them became theirs; they became themselves, and their presence in their small world touched others, who in turned touched others.

What I say about my students is true of any other professions or jobs. People meet people and affect their lives. I was checking out at the grocery store recently, and one of the baggers came up and announced, "Oh, one of my favorites is here." I asked him what he meant, and he said, "You. You're one of my favorite customers." I didn't even know the kid knew of my existence or had taken any note of me. All of us affect those around us, and those effects continue on.

It sounds like I'm preaching IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE; I'm not. Life is hard and dangerous. We have disappointments and failures, as I said earlier. But I believe we are each of us immortal in the way I've described.

My immortality is most assured in the lives of my children. They are a wonderful mix of Anna and me. There was a pose my father unconsciously took whenever he read the newspaper at the kitchen table. He sat with one hand on the table and the other, the left, on his knee. His left thumb pointed inward on his thigh, and the other four fingers pointed down on the outside of his leg. One night many years ago, I discovered myself in the same position; more interestingly, however, about two weeks ago, I saw my youngest son in the same configuration.

That pose, that position, must go back in time. Perhaps my father saw his father reading that way. I know now that that pose, that position, is also going forward.

My children carry me into the future. We older folks perhaps teach our children about the past; we drag from our memories family stories--every family has its myths--and attitudes and recipes and gestures. And our children carry us and those stories and gestures into the future.

So, at sixty, I feel myself immortal. What about that mix of disappointments and failures with successes and joys? Well, this milestone birthday is a reminder that, if we had to live our days over, we would most likely make the same mistakes. I say that because the failures I regret most are the ones of character.
I contend that the life I have so far lived is the only life I could have lived. I am me, for better or worse. Luckily, I found a woman who accepts that, who knows when I am insensitive and who guides me in that moment so that I do not seem so. Luckily for me, my five children can utter with complete love and disapproval when I say something stupid, "Oh, Dad" or more ironical, "Oh, Papa." Luckily for me, I have a daughter-in-law who accepts how absurd and thick I can be. And hopefully, she and my son will raise their beautiful daughter to be patient to her grandfather.

The only real problem with being sixty is the disparity between mind and body. In my mind, I can still run like the fastest kid on the block. But when I call on my knees and ankles, they don't respond. I decided a year or two ago that I will never change a flat tire again. I don't shovel snow. And when I mow the grass, I ride rather than push.

One bodily change has suited me perfectly, however. With age and experience, I now can distinguish the difference between a fine whiskey and a great whiskey. Can it get any better than that?

(The photos are of me at 27, 43, and 58.)

I am Patrick McGuire.I teach writing and literature at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside. One can read my fiction and poetry (and my famous soup recipes) at can follow me on Twitter @McGuireHimself

Wednesday 15 February 2012

Mad Poet

Mad poet's disease took up into trees
fell from the rafters and tripped over laughter

Mad poet's salvation beyond frustration
took up into heaven's scrutiny division

Mad poet's disquise to write white hot lies
studying maps and falling in traps

Mad poet's mistake the harlequins make
terrible dyes under capricorn skies

Mad poet's discovery, life's red and rubbery
blue and bright green, just as it seems

Mad poet's posessions astute little lessons
hidden agendas for big spenders

Mad poet's discipline indelible medicine
an american dreamer on a cumberland steamer

Mad poet's rage tears up the page
rips down the walls & fires up the halls

Mad poet's depression inquisition'd confessions
not me, not today, some other way

Mad poet's decision, oracular fission
immovable object unstoppable subject

Mad poet's writings thunder or lightning
a bird in his heart sings a new part

Mad poet's lessons learned lived and lessened
nothing is real, everyone squeals

Mad poet's people good, God, and evil
wasted young lives brainwashed to strive

Mad poet's understanding knowledge is demanding
Power is useless in the face of a tempest

Mad poet's past, elaborately cast
Old skin is discarded, self sought and guarded

Mad poet's reasons the years all of seasons
Life will go on after we're gone

Mad poet's ending it was impossible blending
short lines and rhymes I succeeded this time?

A Book and its Cover

Will I remain forever unread

like a tired novel, forever trapped,

caught in a remainder store rut

never to be snuggled up with in bed

the cover staid, dull and uninviting,

keeping potential purchasers at bay,

the attention caught by brighter prospects

whose blurbs sound much more exciting

A quick ,cursory flick through the pages

reveals a shifting, uncertain artless polemic,

its dull prose prohibiting passion

Too many tired characters, trapped in cages

lacking a real sense of self

to make their own, to stake a persona

Yet most won't ever get this far, as the

gaudy paperback is lucky to get off the shelf

its young pages already torn without a touch

being bestowed upon their rough surface,

while the cover remains neat, prim and proper

the recommended price of nothing being to much

to tempt anyone's interest, an impossible task

any marketing consultant would refuse,

their astonishment clear in their incredulous grin

"No one would ever buy this, its too much to ask!"

Tuesday 14 February 2012

Poetry Is...

I have found
poetry is invariably
not unlike a candle
that burns out
having consumed
its possibilities.
The theme going through
various stages,
of loss,
into idealism,
which is always dead
nothing fleshed,
nothing to touch,
nothing interactive,
no answer ever,
nothing of the beloved,
no affections,
only mourning
of lack and loss,
as the candle burns
until it has consumed itself
and then perishing
into no more
than the dark.
That does not prevent
of wanting it
to be more than that,
as if a candle
can be lit
and something better
might happen,
rather than perishing
into the dark
as it flickers out.

I Will Always Love You

"I Will Always Love You" is a song by American singer-songwriter Dolly Parton. The country track was released on June 6 1974 as the second single from Parton's thirteenth solo studio album, Jolene (1974). Recorded on June 13, 1973, the singer wrote the song for her one-time partner and mentor Porter Wagoner, with whom she was having a business splitting at the time. "I Will Always Love You" received positive comments from critics and attained commercial success, reaching number one on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart two times. With the accomplishment, Parton became the first artist ever to earn a number one record twice with the same song as a singer, and three times as a writer.

In 1992, singer Whitney Houston recorded the song for the soundtrack to The Bodyguard, her film debut. Houston was originally to record Jimmy Ruffin's "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted" as the lead single from The Bodyguard. However, when it was discovered the song was to be used for Fried Green Tomatoes, Houston requested a different song and her co-star Kevin Costner brought her Linda Ronstadt's 1975 version of "I Will Always Love You" from her album Prisoner in Disguise. Houston and producer David Foster re-arranged the song as a soul ballad. Her record company did not feel a song with an a cappella introduction would be as successful; however, Houston and Costner insisted on retaining the a cappella intro. The tenor saxophone solo was played by Kirk Whalum. Whitney Houston's recording is not the only version of the song featured in the movie. In a scene where she dances with Kevin Costner, a version by John Doe can be heard playing on a jukebox.

Houston's version was a massive worldwide success, appearing at number 68 on Billboard's "Greatest Songs of All Time."

If I should stay
Well, I would only be in your way
And so I'll go, and yet I know
That I'll think of you each step of my way
And I will always love you
I will always love you
Bitter-sweet memories
That's all I have, and all Im taking with me
Good-bye, oh, please don't cry
Cause we both know that Im not
What you need
I will always love you
I will always love you
And I hope life, will treat you kind
And I hope that you have all
That you ever dreamed of
Oh, I do wish you joy
And I wish you happiness
But above all this
I wish you love
I love you, I will always love

I, I will always, always love you
I will always love you
I will always love you
I will always love you



My Infatuations.


My Encrypted Disconnections.


My Innocent Intentions

And I Could Be Yours

And You Could Be Mine

And We Could Be Stars

Selected To Shine.

Desire Me Whole

Desire My Soul.


My Tragedires In Disguise

Desire My Truth And Devour My Lies.

Close Your Eyes

And We'll Pretend

Under The Moonfilled Skies

We Have No End.


My Picture In A Locket

Break The Clasp

And Break The Chain

All This Vanity's In Vain.

Take Some Belledonna, Deadly Niteshade

Strap It In A Book For Memories

And Watch The Colour Fade.

Wild Horses

Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady, you know who I am,
You know I can't let you slide through my hands

Wild Horses,
Couldn't drag me away,
Wild, wild horses,
Couldn't drag me away...

I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines,
Can make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild Horses,
Couldn't drag me away,Wild, wild horses,
Couldn't drag me away...

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie,
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken tears must be cried,
Let's do some living after we die

Wild Horses,
Couldn't drag me away,
Wild, wild horses,
We'll ride them someday

Wild Horses,
Couldn't drag me away,
Wild, wild horses,
We'll ride them someday

My Love

My love for you is like an ocean
It's depths and treasures await.
My love is like a summer rose
Waiting to open its heart to you.

My love is like a river
Flowing towards to you forever
My love, you are the air I breathe,
For surely without you I would die.

My love is greater than a mountain,
But you don't have to climb.
My love, my arms await you here,
Step in, come close, you're mine.

Monday 13 February 2012

More - Theme from Monda Cane

An old song, but a longtime favourite of mine.

More than the greatest love the world has known,
This is the love I give to you alone,
More than the simple words I try to say,
I only live to love you more each day.
More than you'll ever know, my arms long to hold you so,
My life will be in your keeping, waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping,
Longer than always is a long long time, but far beyond forever you're gonna be mine.
I know I've never lived before and my heart is very sure,
No one else could love you more.

More than you'll ever know , my arms they long to hold you so,
My life will be in your keeping, waking, sleeping, laughing, weeping,
Longer than always is a long long time, but far beyond forever you'll be mine,
I know that I've never lived before and my heart is very sure,
No one else could love you more, no one else could love you more.

Free of my Love

There is a beauty in your eyes…
a sudden smile you wore,
a softness in your sighs,
that I didn’t catch before.

There is a laugh when you rejoice…
and a confidence you allow
to a faith within your voice
that I hadn’t heard ‘til now.

Your alarming un-clichéd
charm - so easily cast,
I wonder how it strayed
my attention in the past.

And now that you are free
from our relationship itself,
I see that it was me
who had kept you from yourself

Something Inside

Something inside of me
lived for that moment
when I would find you,
something inside of me
lived for that day
when I would love you,
something inside of me
lived for that feeling I felt
when I was near to you,
now that you're gone
can't find a way to say
it's like something has died
that lived for that moment
something inside of me
I was keeping alive for you
something inside of me
now I don't know
how to make it alive again
that something inside of me
that lived for that moment
when I would find you.

Sunday 12 February 2012

Agony Of Unfinished Words

I could not write
one single line
last aching night.
I felt so discarded.
I could not form
one paltry verse
into poetic form.
I felt so unwanted.

I could not work,
not concentrate,
on anything.
I felt so unloved.
I had to put it
all aside, picking it up
and putting it aside.
I felt so lost.

I was not happy
with even one word
of my writings.
I felt so rejected.
I could not create,
invoke or evoke
anything of any kind.
I felt so buried.

I wrote and wrote
and not even one line
said what I wanted to say.
I felt so constrained.
I hated all the lines,
as all they were
was his absence.
I felt so in love.

His absence
made into an infinite
kind of symbol.
I felt so alone.
Everything the absence
of all that I love most
as to the man I love.
I felt so desiring.

Perhaps only I care
what I felt.
After a while
all I could understand
was one untitled work
inclusive of everything:
as to how cruel
a twist of unloved fate.
existence proves to be.

I wondered,
is that one untitled work
the only true masterpiece
I might be given to create ?
This time was different
I could not do art
to distract myself
from the pain of heartbreak.

The Loss

How it all goes,
hasn't changed that much
the way it all goes,
though I feel the loss
all the time
in how it all goes,
I feel the loss
in the loss of you.
I feel the loss
where there is no loss,
in the loss of you,
in how it all goes,
though it hasn't changed much,
as to how it all goes
the way it all goes
despite the loss of you.
If I could change one thing
only one thing
about how it all goes
the way it all goes,
I would change
the loss of you,
so I would not have
this loss of you,
in how it all goes
the way it all goes,
don't want to know
this loss of you,
as everything goes,
the way it all goes,
however it goes,
the way it goes,
want so much
to know
this is not the loss of you
in how it all goes,
the way it goes.

R.I.P Whitney Houston August 9, 1963 – February 11, 2012

A great loss. Rest gently Whitney.

Stars shiver
on the edge of elimination,

these nightwater histories
of ivory and architecture.

Cold bell, cold loops
of the counted blessings.

The ward's flowerbruised brightness,
the slow blossoms

of hurt.

Run To You

I Have Nothing

Where do broken hearts go

Didn't We Almost Have It All

And my favourite

Greatest Love Of All

The Movie of Our Lives. Via @StrongMenFilm

Please welcome Jim Henson,

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

Right now, we're in Awards Season where the film community pats itself on the back one too many times in one too many awards shows.

I always dreamed of getting an Academy Award but now there's such a radical shift in my thinking that I don't care whether I win a little bald guy or not. I'd rather get a hug from someone saying that the movie STRONG MEN saved their lives.

You see, I've read the stories. I've seen and heard the interviews. I've talked to the experts who are by the way, wonderful people. I talk to friends who have shared they have been sexually abused and I grieve for them.

Yesterday I stood in line and heard the story of one of us (yes I'm a survivor too) on my iPhone. I was on the verge of tears, but counted it a blessing that I could feel something other than fear or numbness.

The idea of raising the money to do just a short film is daunting, let alone raise 3 million for a feature film. I'm not doing this for me, for the attention, or for the accolades. The days of needing people to like me is over. I'm not Sally Field.

STRONG MEN is for all of us -- the ones we've lost along the way, and to those of us who are still here to tell our stories -- to remember that although we went through Hell, we are still here; that as long as we can still breathe, we can always have hope.

During the Oscars, the winners usually dash through a laundry list of people no one knows until the orchestra plays over their nervous chatter.

No matter where I go, this film is for you, and to remember that despite the pain, love and healing are possible. I don't need a laundry list of people to thank. STRONG MEN is the story of our lives. This one's for you.

Jim Henson

Website :-
Facebook :-

Saturday 11 February 2012


I was among people,
among friends, I suppose,
but so estranged
from mental sparring,
intellectual jousting,
from unwording anyone
who happened to ride
upon a phrase.
Tilting an alleged fact
at an opponent,
the diversion failed,
and for all the world
I wanted to rush outside
and walk the streets
not knowing where,
as if I could chance
to find you
walking the streets,
as sleepless as I was.
I wanted to sieze
the first telephone box
and dial your number,
to hear your voice,
instead of all the other voices
of the world talking
at each other,
with not a word from you
and all I could do
was repeat your name
to the sky
as if you could hear me
telling you I love you.
When we love someone
we cannot go looking
for whom we love,
and must forge chains
to hold ourselves
from passionate pursuit
those chains
as then must chain
heart, mind and body
to ache and strain
against constraints,
keeping to one's self
all that one would express
if only the other were near
and would allow
such expressions.

To be, or not to be, that is the question.

I have agonised over sending this post. It is probably the most revealing thing I've written. I have spoken to some friends and the reaction was mixed. Overall the opinion was to post it. I did so briefly yesterday, but then chickened out. To quote a good friend of mine "There are costs & consequences associated with living in truth, just as there are with living in lies & falsehood."

If you choose to judge me harshly then you are free to do so. If you choose to unfollow me then again that is your choice.

To be free of the past, to be free of the nightmares. To be free of my own, personal, demons. My fears haunt me. My desires terrorise me. The overwhelming pressure I feel inside to share all I know; of myself and of the realities of trying to survive through my teens and twenties.

There were times that I sank so low I thought I could never climb out of the gutter. I had different personalities within my own head to deal with too. We've all seen the cartoon depicting a man with an angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other I think? Imagine four on each side... Each determined to be heard, with me in the middle, mostly unaware. I thought for years that I was mad. The biggest proof I had was the evidence of others and the fact I lost time so often. Blanks in my memory.

Drink caused me to behave in ways that would make me cringe with embarrassment when sober. I smoked weed, at first enjoying the triply highs, but later only experiencing earth shattering lows. Anything to escape who I was. I was soiled goods. I was dirty, second hand trash. Unworthy and unable to fit in with society.

I was raped by a college "friend" on my seventeenth birthday. He was seven years older than me. In some ways I don't blame him because I acted out sexually with anyone who liked me, or wanted to get to know me. I acted out this way through my late teens, my twenties and into my very early thirties.

I left college a year later. It wasn't a decision that made me popular with my family.

After a few weeks someone else tried it on with me. I reacted badly. I sank into a black pit. I ended up homeless, slept on the streets for six weeks in the middle of winter. I also sold myself in order to get some money for food, for drink.

I managed to pull myself together, and with help from a friend got somewhere to live and a job in a nightclub. All went well for a few weeks, though I felt I was losing my grip on reality.

I experimented with much during my late teens. Drink, drugs, sex, religion and even magic. I also experimented with death. One weekend, at an all time low I swallowed a load of pills washed down with copious amounts of vodka. I woke during this attempt to see my mother in front of me. She was mighty pissed at me. Told me it wasn't my time, that I had much to do. I saw her, I heard her, I even recognised her scent. I promptly emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor, then passed out face first onto it...

A few months later my father died. I knew he was ill, but his death still came as a shock. He had remarried, had a "new" son and lived near his wife's family. I spent little time there. When he had been diagnosed with cancer, I was eighteen. He asked me to look after his wife and baby when he died. It was a difficult moment, but I agreed. When he married her, I was living with the grandparents and also an uncle who lived near my school.

On the night of his funeral, my dear sister, her then husband and also her "next" husband got me very drunk. They sat me down in the living room and she started interrogating me about my life. This is the same woman who had called me a liar when I plucked up the courage to tell her at sixteen that I had been abused...

A few hours into this "discussion" my sister decided I should be put into a mental hospital. She was a trainee nurse at the time and her ex boyfriend worked in such a hospital... My fathers widow tried to dissuade me, but I told the family doctor whom my sister had telephoned that I feared for my life and that I wanted to be admitted into the hospital.

My sister and aunt had told me a few times that I was responsible for my fathers death. That worry about me had sent him to his grave early... My sister had blamed me for my mothers death too. She told me when I was nine years old that my mother would have lived if I hadn't have been born. My mother chose to have me knowing she had cancer. She delayed treatment until after my birth. She lived a further nine years...

I spent about ten days in that hospital. My sister spread the word that I was "nuts. The doctors in the hospital eventually disagreed however and told me to stay away from her for my own sake. I was discharged and had no choice but to go back to the grandparents house. This was after some torturous "therapy"

I spent eighteen months in therapy, but even back then, the full extent of the sexual abuse did not surface. The therapy revolved mostly around my self image and my self harming behaviour. The reasons were never fully explored.

The grandfather died, I married. I saw my fathers widow and my half brother once only. I saw my sister about three times in ten years. After my marriage failed I went off the edge again. I spent my first night alone with a bottle of vodka. It was empty by morning.

The self doubt, the insecurities came flooding back. I spent ten years "in the wilderness" with my fractured personalities. The conditioning I had undergone as a small child leading me. My place in life was to please others. To be subservient, to simply exist. There are memories of these years that haunt me almost as much as those of my childhood. There are people I knew then that don't understand this.

Towards the end of this period I started assimilating some of my personalities. I grew more confident, I longed for normality. I was desperately unhappy. One Christmas I tried to kill myself again. A good friend talked me through my pain, a friend that I've now lost.

New Years Eve, the same year... My sister called me, drunk, apologetic and full of shit. She was having a party. She asked me to hold on then next thing I knew my fathers widow was talking to me, then my half brother. We agreed to meet up. It took 14 months for me to pluck up the courage to do so.

I cleaned up my life. This was eleven years ago.

I eventually kept my promise to my dying father, but not in a way he might have imagined. I fell in love with and married his widow, became stepfather to my own half brother. We are a family. My sister reported me to the police for marrying my fathers widow. They checked everything and we had done nothing wrong. They were considering prosecuting her for wasting police time however... I haven't heard from her since.

The aftermath of the childhood sexual abuse followed me like a shadow.

Rather than go into individual details I shall list those that I have experienced. Still am in some cases.

Alcohol and/or drug abuse. Self harm. Self loathing. Anger and fits of "rage". Random feelings of immense grief or doom, sexual dysfunction, doubts over sexuality, "prostitution", feeling unworthy, feeling dirty, feeling set apart from society, depression, D.I.D, mood swings. Losing time, setting myself up for a fall, hurting others before they could hurt me. Being withdrawn, eating disorders, fear of meeting strangers, fear of being hurt, acting out, attempted suicide, physical manifestations of past abuse. There are more, but even writing this is triggering me.

My life was a mess. Along the way have been those who took advantage of my naivety, my good nature and my generosity (materially and otherwise). I have made mistakes, I have hurt people. I have hurt myself.

I survived the years of abuse, the years of self harm, I lived. Surviving or living is not enough. I deserve more. I could write for days filling in the gaps above. One day.

In the meantime, I will continue to try and thrive. I lost my childhood, I ruined my early adulthood, I escaped.

I've lost my business and the way of life I enjoyed. So I must start afresh. I shall rise from the ashes of my past. I shall do so with head held high and with a determination to succeed, to enjoy life.

This is my life.

Friday 10 February 2012

Friends Without Faces

We sit and we type, and we stare at our screens,
We all have to wonder, what this possibly means.

With our mouses we roam, through the rooms in a maze,
Looking for something or someone, as we sit in a daze.

We chat with each other, we type out our woes,
Small groups we do form, and gang up on foes.

We wait for someone, to type out our name
We want recognition, but it's always the same !

We give kisses and hugs and sometimes we flirt,
In DMs we feel deeply, and reveal why we hurt !

It's true we form friendships, but why, we don't know.
Though some of these friendships, will flourish and grow !

Why is it on screen, that we are so bold ?
Telling our secrets, that have never been told.

Why is we share, the thoughts in our mind,
With those we can't see, as though we were blind ?

The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell !
We all have our problems, and need someone to tell !

We can't tell 'real' people, but tell someone we must !
So we turn to the 'puter', and those that we trust !

Even though it is crazy, the truth still remains,
They are Friends Without Faces and Odd Little Names !

Poet - Tom Teague

My Chiseled Corner via @lessonsinbroken #poetry #survivors

Last November I read a blog post called FATE. It was written by my guest blogger this week. "Dorian" has become a good friend on Twitter, he is worth following! @lessonsinbroken

He tells it as it is. His skill as a writer is obvious, his mastery of words and the way he portrays his own pain cuts the reader to the core. His words may be too raw for some people, but as I've said of myself. If you don't like what you read then don't follow.

I understand his feelings of self loathing. I was so close to becoming addicted to alcohol and drugs many years ago. I have done much in my earler life that I am ashamed of, things I regret but cannot change. Life goes on. I have a lesson of my own to share here...

Your past does not define who you are today. Let the choices you make today define who you will be.
Hugh is a different kind of survivor to me. He is a survivor nonetheless.

I am blessed with his friendship, I am honoured to introduce you to him.

My name is Hugh McGuire, I have been using the name Dorian Gray for a few years now.
I picked Dorian because he searches for any pleasure or desire despite being good or evil. Then searches for a redemption in his life of regret. Theses are in many ways very similar to my life.

The Alter Ego

I have caused many problems for myself in my life. I have seen darkened holes but have crawled back to the light.

I write to vent, I write to feel, I write to be,

The Man
I am a man, I am young, I remain young, I have a painting that keeps me young. I have hurt and I feel pain. Redemption I do seek as well as pleasure. I have found my Angel. She is the Angel from my nightmare. Shown me this light, has she.
I feel darkness with everlasting pain. My pain and my problems are self induced.
I am Dorian Gray

These are my feelings.

My Chiseled Corner

In a dim lit corner of hell,I sit

Alone in coldness, I sit

With glass filled whiskey, I sit

Concerned with fate, I sit

Forever alone, I sit

Forever dammed, I sit

In hopes for consciousness, I think

In dreams of carnal pleasures, I think

Pleasures once had, I think

Violated by truth, I think

Without redemption, I think

With lost hope, I think

In eternal suffering, I rest

In eternal suffering, I lay

In eternal suffering, I die

In eternal pain, my soul dies.

I live my own Hell.

Wednesday 8 February 2012

A childhood lament

Can anybody hear me?
Does anybody care?
Each night I pray for death to come,
But it's not death that climbs the stairs.

Can anybody see me?
I'm right before your eyes!
I've become withdrawn, I dont laugh or play,
I just gaze emptily up to the sky.

Will anybody miss me?
Would you even notice me gone?
Tonight I'm going to fly to heaven,
My suffering here on earth is done.

Sunday 5 February 2012

Male Survivors - Coming out of the Dark - Stand up and make your voices heard.

I've been blogging in ernest for about eight months now. I'd started my blog a year earlier, more as a way of getting my thoughts down than spreading my words around the world. In that first year I had about 500 hits to my blog.

Facebook was pretty much a mystery to me and Twitter might as well have been a place somewhere on the other side of the galaxy. I wasn't really up on social media or social networking.

I threw myself into it initially to help my business, then a friend suggested I blog about my experiences, my personal background. At this time I was in therapy. The stresses of the economy, health problems, other business problems overseas added up and earlier in 2011 I had what I can best describe as a meltdown.

The past came back to haunt me. In truth it felt like being slapped in the face several times an hour. I remember sitting on the floor in the living room just rocking and repeating out loud " I can't cope... I can't cope... I can't cope..."

I thought I was losing my mind.

Writing has always been an escape for me. I was able to write down my true thoughts and feelings, things I could not vocalise. I'm very shy and insecure by nature (until you get to know me at least... Though even then the insecurities linger), so by writing I could vent emotions; anger, frustration, confusion, pain, longing, etc, etc.

Although I had experienced a great deal of life, I was still quite naive. Especially in business. I was too quick to trust, too ready to accept a "great opportunity". Maybe I was greedy too. I wanted success. This was eventually to be my downfall. Ok, to be fair to myself here, this was during the worst recession in over sixty years. My business failed.

As all of this was going on professionally, I was falling to pieces personally. My childhood memories initially came back like a tidal wave, they then slowed to a trickle. These days very little, though the "dam" does still burst on occasion.

My use of social media kept me sane. Telling my story gave me a new purpose. Sharing lifted the weight considerably, and enabled me to function. I found it much easier to share this way than face to face with a therapist. The only exception to this was when I attended the Amsosa weekend retreat for non offending male survivors of childhood abuse last summer. I have written of this previously. Basically amongst other survivors I was able to let my walls down. Hell, I even sang them a song! I have no voice for singing I promise you. I think the song I made up was "Take your abuse and shove it, I don't own it anymore..."

I have been very remiss in keeping in contact with most of the other guys from that weekend, but have remained in fairly regular contact with Steve, the guy who runs AMSOSA.

In the last six months my blog has grown and grown. I probably pee a lot of people off as I post so much, but then I can't force anyone to read it... I have met some truly amazing people on Twitter too. Yes, there have been a few idiots along the way, but on the whole really fantastic people. The ability to connect with other survivors has been crucial in my development from being victim, to survivor and now I hope thriver. I post some utter rubbish sometimes, but hey, it's my rubbish!

I'm no great writer, my spellchecker gets used to death and my grammar needs serious work. The thing is though, that I write from inside of myself. My heart and soul is in my writing. It's real, it's raw, it's me.

Something that I am painfully aware of is how few male survivors are able to "put themselves out there" to stand up and tell their story, or even some part of it. I suppose men are traditionally not so good at sharing their innermost feelings, especially about a topic that still appears to be heavily stigmatised. There is still a cloud of shame that seems to hang over male survivors. I have bared myself to the bones this last six months in an attempt not only to heal myself, but also to show other guys that it's ok to put your hand ip and say "me too" or "yes, I was abused/raped"

The most important quality we can exhibit is that of honesty. Be true to yourselves, and be true to others in turn. Everyone has aspects of their lives they want to keep private, I understand that. However, if something that happened to you as a child, teenager or even adult is affecting your quality of life now, then I say get the help you need. Reach out and share your troubles. How much you say is up to you. Remember that it's your life, you control it. Unless more men feel able to stand up and be counted, the subject of male survivors will always have some stigma attached to it.

There is no shame upon the head of the victim. The shame is on the head of the perpetrators. I include in this those that might have stood back and allowed abuse to happen. I am pretty certain my grandmother knew what was happening to me, yet she did nothing. I later told my sister, she didn't believe me. The shame is not mine. It is theirs.

I am a male survivor of childhood sexual, physical and emotional abuse and also adult rape.
Aspects of my life have been disastrous because of what happened to me. I survived though, I am here and I will not sit down quietly and brush it under the carpet of life.

I feel shame, yes. I am ashamed of those people within my family that hurt me, those that did nothing about it and those that called me liar. I am not ashamed of myself. I feel very strongly that those who turn their backs or refuse to believe are almost as guilty as the abusers and rapists themselves.

So come on guys. Swallow that male pride. By speaking up you are helping to get real knowledge out there. We might have been inhibited by the reactions of society in the past, but unless we make a stand now, the truth about the impact on male survivors and therefore the available help will always be limited.

I'm not going to say we can wipe out sexual abuse or rape, I'm not that naive anymore. We can however shine a very bright light on the subject. Perpetrators need harsher punishment. Having indecent images or film of a child should carry far heavier jail sentences than are currently handed out. Pedophiles and rapists steal innocence, ruin lives so I believe in an eye for an eye i.e life imprisonment. Rehabilitation? Ha! Most sex offenders go on to reoffend once released. Fact.

Make the punishment fit the crime

In these past six months I have shared my story around the world. I decided also to share the intimate details of some of the affects of the abuse on myself then, and now as an adult man. This was my choice. Knowledge is power and it's about time that power was taken away from the abusers, pedophiles and rapists.

Some have warned me I might be seen as obsessive, or that people don't want the facts "shoved down their throats". I understand this. If you don't want to hear the truth then it's simple. Either don't read what I write or don't follow me at all. Turn your backs, look away, pretend that the growing epidemic of child abuse doesn't affect you. Obsessive? I was sexually molested, raped, abused in ways unimaginable to most. I think I've every right to speak up, to help others understand or show that's it's ok to talk about it.

This is the social media age. We have the chance to make a difference. We have the chance to be heard., even from behind the safety of a computer, mobile or tablet. Speak up guys, and gals! Sexual abuse is about power, so let's take it for ourselves. Let's make a difference. Nobody can undo what happened to me, or any other survivor, but we can do our best to protect the children of the future.

This might sound like a call to arms, maybe it is just that. Pedophiles use the Internet for their own evil ends so lets use the same technology against them. Better still, take the message further, out into the "real world"

We were the victims. We won't stand back and let yet another generation endure what we had to. We can and we will make our voices heard. We were innocent and have nothing to be ashamed of or frightened of by standing up and saying NO MORE.

Together we CAN make a difference!

I have added a new page to the right of this blog called "Male Survivors - Your Space"

Please use it, please add something. By reaching out to other survivors we can help them.

Saturday 4 February 2012

Cries of the Innocent

Darkness has settled over the skies.
Clouds thick and grey full of evaporated tears,
The cries of the innocent rustle through the trees.

Wind chafing faces and chapping lips,
Like dirty fingertips, soiled, cutting...
On the flesh of the innocent.

In an empty house all you can hear,
is the echo of yesterdays,
Forlornly sobbing.


You wish me goodnight, then you turn out the light,
You then lay with your back to me in the dark.
Are you waiting for sleep or some magical spark...
But our loves on the run, the spark will not come.

We both lay there quietly and worry and wonder.
With a silence which is louder than thunder.
Where will this all end, we're going around the bend,
All we can hear is the sound of goodbye.

We sit at the dinner table in silent despair,
We could talk of the weather, pretending we care.
We could talk about promises, talk about lies,
But it's all the same in the end.

We've nothing to say, our love's flown away.
We promised forever, that bright summers day..
We promised the truth, it now looks like a lie,
And all we can hear is the sound of goodbye.

Thursday 2 February 2012

I'll Be There For You

When the darkness around you is tangible,
When you feel comfortable in the pain,
When your head is pounding and you feel alone,
Just remember that you can lean on me.

When you aren't even sure why you want to cry
But you can't stop the tears that fall,
When you can no longer find your tune,
Just remember you can turn to me.

When you think you will crumble to your knees,
When the only good you find is in a bottle,
When you think you've messed up beyond repair,
Just remember to reach out to me.


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