The Missing Males

[Editor’s Note: Please welcome Gabriel to the show. Gabriel has a very, very dark subject to talk about today, so please be warned that this is not a happy post. Be that as it may, it’s something that needs to be discussed, just as all other atrocities committed in the darkness do.

Gabriel is a very talented writer and poet, and is quickly becoming a very good friend of mine. More than that, Gabriel has served our country in war and seen atrocities the likes of which would melt my mind into useless puddle of plasma. Yet he’s still going. He inspires me. What I’ve endured is nothing compared to what he has and he keeps on trucking. It gives me hope.

Please take a moment, either now or when you’re finished reading here, to visit Gabriel’s blog and, if you’re so inclined, click the follow button and support him. Thank you.]

First, I want to give a special thanks to Twindaddy. He has been a huge support to me and I don’t know how I could ever thank him enough for what he does and who he is as a person. Second I want to warn you guys that this is a serious piece and it deals with a lot of adult topics that might be uncomfortable. Nevertheless, TD said I could write about anything so I hope he doesn’t hate me too much for this (haha). [Editor’s Note: Not a chance, bud.]

One day, after frantically searching the internet I found myself in a ball on the floor, a normal position for me frankly.

I wasn’t in pain
No, I was sad.

One in six women is raped. That statistic is from RAINN and if you are not familiar with them, I highly recommend you look into them if you or someone you know is dealing with trauma.

However, that is not what I was sad about, no. I was not sad that 16.67% of women are raped in their lifetime, or that the number is most likely very, VERY under reported. I was not sad that people judge the women, oh, she had a few drinks, or she should not have been out alone, or out that late.

What was she wearing?

My personal favorite, like it is an invitation to be violated; that you are not a person if you show cleavage or wear a skirt that is too short. I was not sad that 75% of the women raped are done so by friends, family, people that know this person, have seen this person, and know that this person is… a human being.

I was sad, curled in a ball on the floor because I am a male.
I am a male and I was raped.

That my friends, is the sad truth of the matter at hand, I was raped; I had no obvious way to reach out for support. Sure, I eventually found some comfort, I am with a lovely women who GETS me. Who understands and is there for me. I take medication and go to counseling to learn how to deal with the trauma and scars that were left behind.

Because not all scars are visible

I had a hole punched in me, in my soul. I was not a person, I was an object a thing used and bartered with like some animal that you could put an actual, literal price on. I was sad, because guys don’t get raped. Guys always want sex no matter what, right?

Right?
Not me…

I was sad because when I look in the mirror I do not know who is looking back at me. I do not know the person that I am seeing. That can’t be me, that isn’t me, I’m disgusting, fat, ugly.

No one can love me!

Certainly not myself, I am a monster. I am a piecemeal golem, a shell; I am nothing. However, I am not alone. I am sad because as under reported as the women rape statistics are. I would bet my worthless life that the men’s rape statistics are even more so under reported.

One out of 33, that is the statistic for male rape victims.

One out of 33
Congratulations, I am part of the 3%.

I would have paid my membership dues but I think they are still being collected. You know I would want nothing more than to come here and write about something happy. Make a few jokes; get a few laughs.

Hey, did you hear the one about my father?
He was the first to rape me, guess he wanted the friends and family discount the cheap bastard.

Yeah, bad joke, I know. Which is why I don’t do stand up. No, these days I do the fetal position more than I stand up. These days I am less a person and more a plaything.

I take that back, these days, these last few. They have been good to me. I am with the woman I love and despite struggles for the both of us, thanks to a shared past, we move forward together. So I’m here to say it does get better, it just does not feel like it at the time.

And to anyone reading this, if you are part of the 16.67% or just like me the 3%. There is help, there is hope and most of all there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

I am a male, I was raped and I am NOT alone.