Flash back dream discipline
On being brave, for once this text is inspired by the words of Oliver Shiny, Alto, Marika Bianca, respectively by spilling their heart on being a feminine male, on abuse and pedophilia, and on undesired interaction, physical and mental abusive behavior. Words that touched my heart, stories that cling on mine.
But as we all are different here’s Vince’s.
Flash back dream
A few months ago I had this flashback recurring dream, a week before I had seen Henri Darger’s art in Rotterdam. His drawings and pencil paintings drew me in, into a world familiar. The world of being touched as a young boy, without consent, treaded on the sexual being we all are as kids; I was six or seven, we both were kids, however the age difference was significant, he was in his early adolescence. So I experienced the encounter as off balance. The setting a model train layout, my idea of riding trains was very different, and for sure not coupled to my butt.
The words he spoke when I left, they visited me regularly from a remembrance I for long couldn’t place, up to the mentioned dream, his word. of secrecy which in itself displays the difference on innocennce.
Do I blame him? no I don’t, not anymore, I did, on a subconscious level, it didn’t bring me anything other than misplaced anger.
From a playing kids perspective I try to understand now, as kids do in wonder, and it doesn’t make up for the age difference, at least I can see now he also was still an innocent boy, probably hurt himself, as I do conclude from his being able to phrase the words he phrased.
Where did it leave me, scarred I was for long, scarred in finding the sexuality that fits me, scarred into the depths of me where it hindered me on my path of spontaneous sexual interaction and love.
However I must add here, my sexual world from young age on, is on that of a surreal one, maybe slightly spawned by the mentioned occurrence; although I like to think the complexity of this surrealism comes from deep inside me, rather than only from a single scar.
Putting it away induced from out the self defense mechanisms we all seem apt with, or a lot of us at the very least; putting this remembrance somewhere deep down did inflict on my ability to lay contact inside myself with the very surreal world that’s mine.
Maybe my drive at young age to draw confined men being whipped and shackled by women or feminine creatures could be seen in comparable light as those of mr. Darger. Unfortunately the drawings were regarded too threatening and discarded. They only lived on in my memory, until I saw Henri’s.
With the knowledge and awareness of the young encounter I now watch back on how I set my first steps into a sexual life, and can only conclude that I was very unaware of my history and how it had formed me into a deformity that wasn’t mine. The deformity built on fear I couldn’t place. Fear of getting scarred in a same way I had experienced, but had shut away inside my vaults.
The very first encounter with a boy my age, classic textbook story that is blacked out by most straight men, but is in fact the predominant roadway all of us face as we, both men and women start off into this part of life.
It brought back memories of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Remembrance of hurt welled up, a deep wound that made me puke, the first acquaintance with the scar mine. One of total freeze, total disconnection from myself and what I felt.
I decided that very part of sexual life wasn’t for me.
With women the disconnection on such a level never occurred nor occurs. However I recall them ladies asking, after the getting to know had passed, where I did connect inside and with them. So even as I felt really comfortable in my body and with my partners the scar still played a significant role, I would now be able to answer.
The intricate questions of the females involved, then still made me foremost think instead of feel, it’s only now that I can get to deep bottoms of this.
And I must say the very ladies were on the spot, considering feeling is feminine business; starting to feel brought me closer and closer to who I am, and of course to find the very scar that had settled deep inside. To feel, watch and listen, it are sources now, but then I lived in disconnection from ‘m. Tried to find myself in reasoning, no wonder it didn’t succeed. Cause feeling, listening and watching is part of my nature. In that respect I’ve always been more of a feminine boy than an outright man.
Straight male prejudice
Slowly finding the hidden spare parts inside me, being part of a straight male world, confronts one with all the apparent prejudices these men seem to need to uphold their mask of masculinity.
For that matter it is important reason to write this, because I’m sick and tired of men who judge on only appearance, who label, who are overflowing of downright degrading prejudices, where most of ‘m can’t even find proper arguments for, let alone that they can justify why their mindset produces such. With this the masculine mask sets a kind of status quo on being straight in which words as these are still hard to display, and to discuss is mostly out of the question, for all to often such words are only being looked at as pathetic.
In fact I feel sorry for these men who are either incapable or even refuse to introspect and can apparently only live in this illusory view of strictly labeling, they themselves through their narrow eyes project.
And here I must add there are exceptional straight men who do not judge or indulge in all too prone prejudice.
As the contrary can be said on girls, and gay men and women, of whom I can say from heartfelt experience they are often the most open minded human beings one can encounter, certainly on the issues I touch. Let alone a few, that’s not many nor much, exceptions.
Also I should state that in my being a straight man, I might have hurt people with judgement, when I still complied to this utter disgusting habit that is rather habitual amongst straight men.
Not being able to get to my feelings, still filling in, failing to listen, got me into a state of self-hate, which I compensated by displaying very aggressive behavior towards men, even men I then called friends, on any boundary they crossed. Boundaries that I set, as part of the self defense mechanism, but in fact was the outcome of my inability to get to myself next to a loving woman.
I’m not proud of it, however have smacked some faces in, until my eyes opened and I asked for help on coping with this behavior.
Whilst in therapy I once got confronted with a wanker on the train. First I didn’t notice him because I was reading, felt awkward however, it was the scar that burled up, and I felt like being violated. It was a second time in acknowledging this very feeling.
Maybe because I’m a man, all it took was my darkest look that told the pissed stained prick to shove off, and like magic he went with his tail between his legs. Not needing to hurt him physically, which I would have done otherwise, was my greatest accomplishment at that very instant whilst still undergoing therapy.
Some three years ago I broke my back due to a stupid bike accident, it took long time for the bones to grow towards sufficient healing. After that was accomplished I again picked up my life as well as my sexual one.
The first activities struck me with appalling pains, it made me feel inadequate and incapable. It made me rethink and for once feel again where my sexual being stood. To see if it made a difference I also encountered some men, there was no difference in pain added with the old hurt, other than that it served the purpose of my road to finding my scar.
As I underwent additional treatment in rehabilitation I refound my strength into a new well being and it took me somewhere else, it made me question me and my sex life, as to how connected I had been to loving. Though I love sex, and to have sex, the disconnection to love is what I found, as I found my scar, inside me, veiled and shrouded by the self defense mechanism I had put over it.
It too had been broken off.
Deprivation and discipline
Now the total deprivation of the first year after the accident learned me this, that sex ain’t necessary to love someone, in fact when I truly put myself on loving, being there for me or someone I dearly like in a physical, spiritual, mental, and even virtual way is in fact sufficient for love’s sake. Yes, sexual also fits the sentence, but in a way it’s good to acknowledge I can do without it, it eases down on its importance, because it brings me closer to who I am, the me I love, and to whom I love.
Being deprived from sexual activity made me more disciplined, and discipline made me find the scar. Through it I found myself in love as never before, and by whoever, what wonder is it to find that women are on a same mindset. To be opened up, either by myself or them is what made me find ‘Paulinchen’ in me, me being my boy-girl for girls, who makes the old scar slowly disappear and makes it very easy to be in total honesty with the women I love.
Being honest is part of the discipline, as my girlfriend from before the accident once stated and learned me very straightforward that my façade becomes a showcase every time I am dishonest.
And with ‘Paulinchen’ it is really easy to commit to this discipline of being honest, as it brought even discipline in love, for in love it is too I like to be and become disciplined, or be the one who disciplines.
Because loving is a book that’s always new, and to see that is what made me start to write in the first place, now it’s high time to put this story into fiction.