Thanks for making this thread. I think it's a great idea.

I don't remember most of it. After years and years of dealing with it and learning and years of therapy I still don't. Maybe I never will. It is strange to have something so defining, dictating so much of my life so far in the dark. Oh well...

What I do know is, that during or shortly after my parents divorce my dad molested me. I was somewhere around 8 to 10, not yet pubescent at all. The clearest, most complete memory fragment is of presumably the first, probably least bad time. As I was taking a bath, he came in all weird and - as I now understand - horny. At the time I had no way of grasping sexuality. I know he groped me and jerked off into my bath. Then he just left the bathroom. I was terrified of his cum. It floated ever so slowly toward me. When I tried to make a current away from me with my hands, it just came at me faster. I "sacrificed" my leg and managed to dilute it into invisibility. I just sat there and stayed in the bath until the water was cold. Then I had to poop. I held it in until, well, I pooped in the bath. Eventually my dad came back and took me out and cleaned up. To this day I am terrified of anything slimy.

I know from very small memory fragments, that at some point I had trouble breathing with a cock in my mouth. It was so freaken big. I have no idea whether it was "just" these two times or if it went on for years.

I blacked it all out very thoroughly. I remember my mum asking me if something had happened. She did an excellent job. I knew nothing bad would come of me talking and this was very important and all that. Only I had blacked it out. I had no way of knowing anything had happened. So I kept visiting him every other weekend.

My mum tried her best, but she was way out of her depth. With the divorce and becoming a single mum and everything I became her partner. She'd unload on me and I would play my part acting way too grown up. It was the only way to get intimacy, closeness - protection. I still struggle with that relationship. At that time I also was my dads partner, parent almost. I did everything to help him get better. He was seriously depressed and suffered from anxieties and I don't know (or care) what. Obviously I couldn't help. So much energy and love went into trying to help him.

At school and everywhere really I withdrew. Went from very talkative to silent observer. I became a very strange kid. Moving like a robot and apparently devoid of feelings. As kids are they prodded and teased me. I would take it and become even stiffer, so they would keep at it. Eventually I would burst into a fit of nearly uncontrollable rage. It became a sport for them. It was a terrible time. Only when I refused to go to school anymore it got taken seriously enough. Some parents talked to their kids and a really big kid from my class offered me protection.