If I got anything from scouts, it was rape, abuse, and a gnawing fear that still eats me inside out. Americans believe you can get over it, especially via time.

That is simply not true. I am very difficult. I am not compliant. About anything.

I see his face.

It can affect your entire life.

I shot myself with a gun. I survived. I often think: what the fuck for. There is little to live for in contemporary life.

I have been to many doctors where I am required to disrobe. I cannot do it. Being naked and probed in front of authority just brings it all up again. And not for the duration of the day, but for months and months. The medical abuse of this simply gets filed in my brain as one of many disabling experiences. I cannot forget about it. Most doctors at this point refuse to deal with me. They are intransigent. So am I. I will not submit. “But we just want to help you.” I have heard this dog and pony show a thousand times.

They want to hurt me. They all do. I am not seen as a survivor. I am seemed as defying their authority. I do defy their authority.

No one wants to hear it. I have tried to write about how being raped as a kid goes deep as an adult. I can articulate how it works, but no one will hear or read it. People sneer like I am disgusting if I dare to bring it up.

You learn to keep your mouth shut. You learn not to write about it. You learn that indifference is real. You learn that stigma can ruin you. Therapy does not help.

It all began for me in the Boy Scouts. I was taken to the scout master’s home. His wife ignored us as most Americans ignore the devastating issue. It’s like a dog that is always biting at your heels as you try and fail to outrun it.