Clean (aftermath)

I started writing as a kid, it was my way of coping with the chaos going on around me. At first, I would keep journals of everyday life. Then I started writing short stories based on real life events. After a while, poetry found its way into my journal. As a way of encouraging me to continue writing, my mother started buying notebooks and pens. 
My reasons for starting my blog was to share my thoughts and my story. To encourage those dealing with depression that they weren’t alone. To use my story to help others. To exposed the darkness in my ongoing battle with mental illness. To have a record of what my life if I’d ever lost my battle with mental illness. GOD FORBID! 
After posting the prompt “Clean” I received a lot of messages. I thank all of you for reaching out. I’d like to use this post as a response to all of the messages. 
First, it is likely that I will never stop writing or sharing my story. As much as I’d love to write more fiction, I can’t! I’ve tried and the stories have been good, but I have a feeling that sharing my life was my calling. This could be a blessing and a curse. I am aware that we all have a purpose, once your purpose has been fulfilled… I guess that was always my fear. 
What happens when my purpose has been fulfilled??
Next, yes that did really happen to me. I cannot begin to explain how many times I’ve thought about this guy or how many other incidents he and I have had for the year our parents were friends. I cannot begin to explain the mind thought process of a 7-8 year old. I remember hating him so much and wanting him to want me. There were so many times I knew that being alone with him meant that I’d get smacked around and fucked, and I accepted it. At that time, I accepted that when the adults in our apartment building hung out, the kids were forced to hang out regardless if they actually got a long. As much as I resisted it, I knew there was nothing that I could do but to deal with it. 
My sister can tell you a funny story of how I tried to stab this guy with a butcher knife. It was this day when my parents realized that something wasn’t okay with me, but still refused to ask. My brother Kyle, taught me how to defend myself after the “knife” incident. 
I have no idea what has become of this guy after all of these years. I have never searched for him. I don’t even remember his last name. But I am not mad at him. Like I said in the post, I understand now more than ever. What happened to me was what happens to most little boys unattended and vulnerable to other unattended boys.
Black men who are afraid to be who they are, who grow up hearing that being gay is wrong and are shamed for having thoughts or feelings.
We hurt other boys who we see the slightest ounce of our likeness. We abuse them and force them to keep the secret. We bully them in school yards and classrooms. We bully them in the workplace. We troll them on the internet and degrade them in public.. Then we find them on social apps and beg them for one amazing night, which turns into several nights. Then we stop calling them, and slap them around for getting attached to us.  
My concern is that there will be boys who will be too afraid to tell their mothers. There is no way to control that. My only advice would be to create an environment where your child is free to express them self. Create a forgiving and tolerant environment. Listen and pay attention to resistance because that’s the biggest clue. 
My mom still doesn’t know. I haven’t found the words to tell her. My healing has come from writing about it and sharing with a select few… and well, now everyone. 
Last!!!!!!!!! 

THANK YOU! For your thoughts and kind words!!
❤️

j

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