After dealing with this for a long time I can no longer keep it in and I just need to let it go.
This is just my story, I am not looking for sympathy or things along that line, I just simply have to tell my story before it wrecks me. For as long as I can remember I have always known I was different than other kids from the feelings I had. I grew up in the southwest on a ranch, I lived with my brother and grandfather most of the time. My father was out rodeoing and was very seldom home. It was rough growing up with my grandfather looking back on it now I think he was just to old and tired and didn't want to raise to more kids, he was always stern and quick to use the belt. I was twelve when he passed away. There were no child protective services to speak of back home and both my brother and I stayed on the ranch until our dad came back a few months later to face the fact now that he has two children to raise and no wife. He was very bitter and angry with everything, I think since his rodeo career wasn't going so well and frankly to old to rodeo, he took out a lot of his anger on us. I say us I mean me. At thirteen i wrote him a note expressing how i wanted to die because even at that age I wanted him to be proud of me and I knew I would never get that from him because I knew what his thoughts towards gays. I remember I was in my room at the time and my father slung the door open and grabbed me by the legs, he proceeded to drag me outside across the gravel driveway into a metal workshop that we had. He put his hands around my jaw squeezing as hard as he could screaming to me " if you want to die I am here to make sure you don't screw it up, no son of mine is gay " my brother stood in tears outside the metal door looking at me feeling my pain. My father grabbed a rope and made a make shift gallows and told me to get on with it he didn't have all day. I laid there crying and thinking only of my brother, he meant the world to me and after seeing that rope hanging from the roof I couldn't leave him alone. My father began to walk towards the house grabbing my brothers arm for him to follow. My brother keep staring back at me in tears and wanted to be by my side I am sure, but followed our father in fear of what might happen to him. As they walked on my father looked at my brother and saw he was looking back at me and told him not to look back because i was nothing. After that the dynamics of our family changed. My father began to drink more and stay drunk. When he was in this drunken stage there was never telling what might happen. He would find his way to my room and proceed to drag me to the metal workshop and would take out his frustrations he had out on me physically and mentally. He would rip my shirt off and with his belt begin to whip me with it until my chest and back were raw. He would then leave me in the shop and head off to bed. At times he would put a cottonmouth in my room in the hopes it would find me and finish his work. for the next two years this was my way of life. The only thing that kept me from going off the deep end was my brother. When ever our father wasn't around he would wrap his arms around me and we would just hug forever it seamed like. He would tell me he loved me and all the things i needed to hear to feel like I wasn't a mistake. He told me I had to leave otherwise I would die at the hands of my father or by a snake. I was fifteen and told my brother i love him with all that I am and I left home. I am forty now and have bad days dealing with this but i just needed to get it off my chest. I am sorry for the grammar and such I am not much of a writer.
This is just my story, I am not looking for sympathy or things along that line, I just simply have to tell my story before it wrecks me. For as long as I can remember I have always known I was different than other kids from the feelings I had. I grew up in the southwest on a ranch, I lived with my brother and grandfather most of the time. My father was out rodeoing and was very seldom home. It was rough growing up with my grandfather looking back on it now I think he was just to old and tired and didn't want to raise to more kids, he was always stern and quick to use the belt. I was twelve when he passed away. There were no child protective services to speak of back home and both my brother and I stayed on the ranch until our dad came back a few months later to face the fact now that he has two children to raise and no wife. He was very bitter and angry with everything, I think since his rodeo career wasn't going so well and frankly to old to rodeo, he took out a lot of his anger on us. I say us I mean me. At thirteen i wrote him a note expressing how i wanted to die because even at that age I wanted him to be proud of me and I knew I would never get that from him because I knew what his thoughts towards gays. I remember I was in my room at the time and my father slung the door open and grabbed me by the legs, he proceeded to drag me outside across the gravel driveway into a metal workshop that we had. He put his hands around my jaw squeezing as hard as he could screaming to me " if you want to die I am here to make sure you don't screw it up, no son of mine is gay " my brother stood in tears outside the metal door looking at me feeling my pain. My father grabbed a rope and made a make shift gallows and told me to get on with it he didn't have all day. I laid there crying and thinking only of my brother, he meant the world to me and after seeing that rope hanging from the roof I couldn't leave him alone. My father began to walk towards the house grabbing my brothers arm for him to follow. My brother keep staring back at me in tears and wanted to be by my side I am sure, but followed our father in fear of what might happen to him. As they walked on my father looked at my brother and saw he was looking back at me and told him not to look back because i was nothing. After that the dynamics of our family changed. My father began to drink more and stay drunk. When he was in this drunken stage there was never telling what might happen. He would find his way to my room and proceed to drag me to the metal workshop and would take out his frustrations he had out on me physically and mentally. He would rip my shirt off and with his belt begin to whip me with it until my chest and back were raw. He would then leave me in the shop and head off to bed. At times he would put a cottonmouth in my room in the hopes it would find me and finish his work. for the next two years this was my way of life. The only thing that kept me from going off the deep end was my brother. When ever our father wasn't around he would wrap his arms around me and we would just hug forever it seamed like. He would tell me he loved me and all the things i needed to hear to feel like I wasn't a mistake. He told me I had to leave otherwise I would die at the hands of my father or by a snake. I was fifteen and told my brother i love him with all that I am and I left home. I am forty now and have bad days dealing with this but i just needed to get it off my chest. I am sorry for the grammar and such I am not much of a writer.
) hold you back 