When I was a teenager there was nothing I wanted more than "help". I was very confused about a lot of things. and, unlike most teens, I knew I was confused. I didn't think I had everything figured out. Adults, of course, could not be trusted and always gave hypocritical and conflicting messages (in my experience). The only friends I had were just as confused as I was (in particularly, about sex), if not more so. And my older sisters didn't want to have anything to do with their "creepy" little brother.
So, when I was arrested at the age of 16, for "raping" a 14-year-old boy, and the police detective playing "good cop" told me they could get me help, if I confessed, I broke down crying and told them everything as honestly as I could. I remember very clearly and poignantly crying not out of shame or even because I had been caught - I cried because I believed that I would finally get some "help" and my painful confusion would finally end. Of course, I was only betrayed. The nightmare that followed over the course of the next 20 years only made my confusion, and pain, a thousand times worse.
(For more information about the "treatment" I received and subsequent incarceration, please see the Fifth Nail Memories. The "Real Story" and "What Happened In Prison" [Part 1: The Punk * Part II: The Convict * Part III: The Transition * Part IV: The Queen * Part V: The Merry-Go-Round * Part VI: The Streets * Part VII: The Last Laugh] entries for starters...)
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