The Cycle of Abuse - part 3

Iniquitous

I was seven or eight years old when I first ran away from the children's home for no obvious reason than that of adventure with another boy that was well acquainted with trouble. We left for school early that Monday morning a short walk of about 2 kilometers and even before entering the gates we had organized with one of the other boys that he would carry our bags into school, place them on the racks, and talk to no one of what we were up to. Unfortunately for him, he also had to bring the bags back home. The day before we had all attended church as a family and a dollar was stolen from the offering plate which enabled us to eat and travel Sydney's trains. I had no idea of what lay ahead or for that matter that I was even going with the boys. It was a last minute thing, I was so easily influenced and led. We jumped a train at the closest station which took us into the suburbs of western Sydney, Parramatta. I recall eating frozen ice cream from the freezers at Woolworth's and running rife throughout the store. This was all new to me as I had lived quite sheltered up until this point. We boys had a firm hand kept on us at the home and discipline was regularly handed out when needed. Now armed with cap guns taken from Woolworth's we burst into the empty halls of the local council chambers and fired those guns recklessly. The echoes pounded the corridors throughout the chambers bringing adults in suits out of their offices looking in fear both ways down the halls. Shoes scuffed running down the slippery polished floors whilst Kenneth and I ran for fear of being caught. Hurled abuses in earshot startled me as I had not heard these come from adults before and my perception of the authority figure altered that day.

Ken was fairly new to Ruhamah, the children's home, a little older than myself and more worldly than I. He knew the ropes and I just followed. He spoke of many new and coloured stories, things that I could never imagine. He also was a victim of sexual abuse and also was caught in the habitual satisfaction of unnatural desire. On our journey over those two days we slept under the house of a previously known girl to Ken. It was cold and damp and to keep warm we hugged tight throughout the night, a night of fear and unfamiliar sounds taunted me and daylight was a welcomed relief. We crawled out from underneath the old timber veneer house and left for the railway station. I vomited first thing that morning, from what I don't know but I suspect the gravity of the whole situation weighed heavily upon my slight and fragile mind. We had reached the town center and many people were staring at both Ken and I, we hadn't noticed up until this point but we were both fifthly from the dirt we had slept in under the house. Still wearing our school uniforms and looking ungroomed, ridicule and revilement's were cast at the both of us. We looked down at our appearance and shocked we tried desperately to brush away the dirt that stained our clothes but to no avail as we quickened our steps away. Hoping onto another train we ended up in Bankstown and jumping the tracks we escaped the railway guards as we had no money to pay for the ride. We jumped fences and stole food from the local store to satisfy our hunger. That day I longed to be back at home as now I'd had enough and was tired but we continued on, hung around shops and played games in the park. Ken knew a friend of the family who lived nearby so we decided to go and see if he was home. His hangout was also the local pub and if at first we couldn't find him at home this is where he would be Ken said. So we traipsed across town to the apartment with no answer as we rang the door bell. We waited on the street for only a short while when Ken spotted the friend walking toward us in amongst the crowd. He was a thin old man, old to me a boy of around seven, he must have been fifty or so with worn leathery skin and unkempt thin dark hair. His appearance was almost clumsy and I remember he smelled like stale beer. With nicotine stained fingers and discolored nails he wore a red plaid shirt with brown creased trousers and wore an old pair of brown shoes. He was pleased to see Ken and allowed us both in to visit. Surprised at his small apartment we entered into the dark room and sat on his sofa. What are you boys doing out of school he asked, knowing full well what we were both up to. He then asked Ken a peculiar question, I remember it so clearly to this day! He asked if we had played together. Ken answered boyishly, yes! I didn't understand at the time what he meant. I soon learned though the implication. The old man led me by the hand to the kitchen which had a fold out bed in it and sat me on it. He then proceeded to remove my pants whilst his hand entered his own. This was the first time I had experienced oral sex. I remained in silence, frozen still in fear as he finished what he had begun, surrounded only by the low volume of television coming from the next room. I only spoke once and that was to be excused to go to the toilet. I cried.
Strangely he allowed Ken to ring his natural father right after this and Ken's dad was fuming mad, being fully aware what this man was capable of. Ken also had been subjected to this deviant in the past. His father turned up within minutes and a short violent conversation was had between Ken's dad and the old man out of our earshot, then we left and were driven back to Ken's fathers house. It didn't take long before Mom and Dad were rung and within an hour or so we were both taking baths at home, pyjamad then readied for bed. We both were in a whole lot of trouble, missing for two days without a word and found with stolen property on us. Not much was said that night, the silence unbearable. I had never spoken of this encounter to anyone until now.
These events touched my life on a daily basis reliving my past with nightmares and the scourge of others that knew something of what had happened in my life. Even now as a mature adult and in Christian influenced circles I am still shunned as if my past has a promiscuous effect on me today. Jesus said to the pharisees on one occasion of scripture in the gospel of John, "if you can't believe that I am of the Father, then believe in the works that I do" Jesus had done nothing to disprove His righteousness, holiness and obedience to God. Even after all these years people who know me don't want to believe in the works I do, the way I live, instead have my secrets in their minds waiting for me to relapse into this horrific past life. As Christians we tend to keep people in boxes containing them in our tiny minds rather than growing them in love open heartedly. Why? The effects of our pasts are life long and you can never forget, if only! The reminders are there for a reason, to prevent you from repeating history, going against God and His ways. We have all been subject to one thing or another but its easier to cast stones and point out another's sin rather than face up to your own. This is the sin in my past life which you can see, but what is there hidden in the lives of others which no one can see. The bible tells us clearly that whatever has been kept in secret will be revealed. Luke 12:2 But there is nothing which has been completely concealed which will not be uncovered, nor hidden which will not be known.
I have struggled with my issues for years and dealt with so much only to have the resolved thrown back up at me by judgmental hypocrites. What gives them the right to uncover what the blood of Jesus has already covered? God allows certain things to happen in our lives for the greater purpose and then there are things which God does not allow and will intervene. I don't understand why I suffered so much as a child but what I do know is He was with me all the while and comforted me and guided me to Him. God's purpose was not to have me assaulted and tormented, no that was sin at work in someone else's life which effected and impacted on me as a result of the choices they made, which by the way will be held accountable by either the governing bodies here on earth or by God in His final judgment. No, God's purpose has always been to unite all of mankind to Him and in my desperation and despair He was the only one who could help, heal and change me. Now its my turn to reveal Him and His great healing power to others. The cause and effect scenario. God has the power to remove sin and its effects on us and on our futures. Future generation have been changed because I chose to stay and fight for them. There are no other Christians in my family. I am the first! and I will not be the last.
I had left the likes of Stephen and others like him behind at the age of ten when I went to live with my grandmother and sister. But the urges of habitual gratifications had followed me. For a time these dwindled into nothing but memories of the familiar moments of infatuate experiences nothing more, nothing less. The next few years seemed to coast along without incident to my relief but all the while nursing an injured esteem and protecting my contemptuous secret. Buried deep in the recesses of my mind were the decaying bodies of unwanted recollections which permeated my soul with the foul stench of immoral lusts. Corpses of shame and guilt ridden regrets were occasionally illuminated by conscience only to further expose iniquitous skeletons which at times were rattled by abusive triggers. Would I ever be free of these agonizing visions and abhorrent souvenirs, I needed an escape, an out, a life of regular exceptions. Alone in an empty apartment at thirteen I was again touched by further abuse. Now living in the inner city of Sydney with an absent mother who went about her own life, a new neighbor moved into the building awaiting his family to arrive from overseas. I was lured under false pretenses by him, how naive and vulnerable was I to think that a lonely married man would not do such a thing to a young boy. Did these occurrences really exist amongst adult males, how rampant was this? He offered me friendship and we walked together around to the local laundromat to play a few games of pool as his washing finished its cycle. The winner has to massage the loser, he said. Instantly I felt cornered but had laughed off the insane wisecrack as paranoia. Later he insisted it was no joke and was fully intent on going through with the deal. He tried to lose the game but I was not a great pool player and therefore was defeated. When we had arrived back at our building I found it hard to refuse the offer of going inside, so I went in. He again spoke of the massage and as the loser I was to be receive a full back rub. Afraid but believing that it would end there I went along with it. I had removed my shirt at his request and lay on the bed, but only then did I realize this was going to go beyond the back rub as he lowered my pants to look at my underwear size and quipped a remark about them, as if to test the waters and see if there would be any objection. His intentions were no longer obscure! It was the final assault on me as a child and I never saw him again. It was a month or so later when I noticed his wife and baby had arrived, I never spoke a word to them or to him. I avoided them like the plague. I felt so foolish, I was so disturbed by the event that I even begged him not to tell my mother what had happened for fear of her further rejection and repulsion of me. I was so blinded by the deceptions that surround abuse, guilt shame etc, that I never recognised that it was he who was the condemnable one, the erroneous one. I was so plagued and shackled by the lie the abuse bewitched upon me, I honestly conceptualised that I had been the seductive one. A young mind can be so easily manipulated into coercion of limitless bounds, for the devil refines lies until they resemble the truth.