Thursday, July 7, 2011

Growing up with neglect...

My parents always wanted me out of the house when I was a kid. They sent me to a Catskills sleep away camp when I was 6 years old. Yes, 6 years old. They sent me for 2 months. I was the youngest kid in camp. My parents should have known better and the camp should have been closed down for being enablers to my abuse. They shouldn't allow such young kids barely toilet trained into camp...

I had a counselor who used to tickle me silly until I couldn't stop laughing and then hit me until I would cry... and then repeat. He did this to another kid in the bunk too. I was confused but the other kid had the balls to go to the head counselor. He didn't do anything about it. The counselor continued on his merry way through the end of the summer. (I actually had the opportunity to confront this counselor years later when he came back to camp as a chosson for a shabbos. It totally was against my nature to do that but I asked him in public if he planned on abusing his wife the way he abused me. I don't know where I gathered the strength to do that.)

School was the same way. My parents started me off early at 2 years old in nursery so I was always the youngest in the class. Smartest, but youngest. Not a good combination for the bullies. They don't like smarter than them and being the youngest made me an easy target. Lucky me, I was sensitive and would react at the slightest provocation... that egged them on even more. I constantly found myself on the other side of harmony. I didn't have peace at home. I didn't feel protected in school and didn't have a respite from the madness in camp.

(Sorry for painting such a bleak picture but part of the reason I started this blog was because I needed to vent. It has been somewhat cathartic.)

It is horrible not to have anyone to turn to. At the time I couldn't, and even now I cant think of any specific person who I might have been able to talk to about what I was going through. The only picture of love I can remember was my grand father who lived nearby. I unfortunately came home from school one day as a young boy, to him having had a heart attack and passing away young.

My parents sensing my unhappiness had the sensibility to set me up with a therapist. More later on the disaster that experience would turn into.

To close this entry I guess I wonder why I was destined by shamayim to have my spirit so broken as a child? What was Hashem setting me up for? How has it shaped who I am today? Sitting in my den at home, while my wife sleeps upstairs, anonymously blogging about my gay existence, not wanting anyone to know who the real me is. Where will this all lead?


  1. I feel your pain. growing up I felt that the world was against me and that i was a victim.
    I think this did shape my sexuality and i too am sitting in my basement.
    I not sure if this is helpful but i understand in a limited way the pain you feel. ....

  2. I feel your pain and emphasize with you. I would ask though why you don't cut your counselor some slack. Assuming he was a teenager himself,he was probably struggling with his own issues at the time withou knowing how to deal with them. Unless you know otherwise he probably outgrew or dealt with his issues. I don't mean this as criticsm but rather to point out that just as you suffered so may have he and perhaps you can find it in you to forgive him.

  3. He was 19 years ol and could have been charged with abuse. I didn't say this in my initial post but he did it along with the junior counselor at the same time.

    If he asked me forgiveness I would agree with you but he hasn't.

    I don't judge him but it is hard to find forgiveness. He may still be doing it for all I know.