For Alex (AKA "Scooter")

1983 - 2004

(Alex loved this little Alien)

My Personal Memorial and Tribute for an Amazing Young Man who Sadly was only in my Life for 3 Short Years.
However, during that time I grew to love him as a Survivor, Friend, and "Son".
Alex called me Mom or Miss Julie. It meant the world to me that he trusted me and let me into his life.
His life however (as you will read) was filled with horrible abuse and and he was trying desperately
to understand, forgive, and move on.

The only family he had left was his brother.
His parents were alive, but for obvious reasons as you will read, he would have NOTHING to do with his dad.
His Mom had remarried and Alex and his new Step Dad didn't get along.
Alex's Mom chose her new husband over her own son who needed her despertately.
I begged him several times to please come and live with me. However, he always refused.
No one wanted Alex to live alone engulfed in his own horror.
I knew what state Alex lived in, but he would not share anymore
information with me. If he had, I would have gone to him in a heartbeat.

I will always miss Alex horribly. Alex was there for me more than I ever was for him.
He might argue that, but it's so true. He would come to my rescue whenever I needed him.
Dealing with my message boards was difficult for me at times (extremely difficult)
but before I knew it there was my "hero" coming to my rescue...again.

Alex's Story
(As written by Alex before he died)

Part One, Acknowledgment of Reality

I always thought it was a lie or a bad dream. One of the favorite sayings back then amongst my friends was.. ""you're lying"" so maybe,,,,it was a lie from a dream, that kept on happening and I just made the whole thing up???

But it was just a cover up; I knew it was happening, I feared the next episode; I learned what horror was, and I began to feel shame, and a repulsive attitude towards the man, who gave me life; and up 'til then, taught me most of what was good in the world.

The physical spankings, beatings, or whippings; whichever you choose to call getting beat, were, to me, a way to degrade me into believing I was not a good child. I had been disciplined all throughout my early years to some extent, but then shortly before my body was invaded sexually, the discipline turned more violent.

So I was being prepared to be scared to tell, or talk... and I didn't even know why,,

At first, I would *play act* in my mind that it was not happening. I knew of sexual terms, and the ocasional joke from my friends, telling their tales of lust, but at 10, what was happening to me was new, strange, very uncomfortable, and very ,very, dark, and secretive. To top all that was happening off,,I was terrified at a new twist to what was happening, a new threat; "tell about this and your mother dies; and they wont find me and your brother",,,, ,,, so I blocked out all the pain I could, and blocked out the even remote possibility that I could have enough courage to tell someone what was being done to me; so I told my self it wasn't happening; how could it be???,,how could this man who I loved, do these things to me?

And when things started to just be a routine of numbness, and shame; I realized my brother was being used as I was, even to more depths than my mind could understand. And then, for the first time in about a year, I didn't feel so alone, or so near giving up. I had the first tool in dealing with the hole I was being buried into; I had my brother's shoulder to lean on; but he too, was scared and feared for my life, and our Mom's.

She worked at night, so it was all the more convenient. We were targets, and,by then, 11- and almost 14 years old.

The physical and sexual events got worse, and for most of the next year, I lost my innocence, my virginity, my self worth, and to a big extent; my will to live; or to acknowledge what even had happened. To me, I was at guilt for being the *whore* I was told I would be eventually. And the sexual awakenings in my body were telling me, any good feelings were just not allowed to happen to me,,as I didn't deserve those feelings.

I didn't deserve, to be a kid any more; I didn't deserve, to live without shame or guilt. And I certainly didn't deserve any ones friendship *if* I even admitted it was happening to me; so I blocked it all out; ignored that it was happening; hoped that any event would be as short as possible; and convinced my self, the punishment for me for causing all of this was to live with it forever, in hiding, because telling someone what was happening would surely cost my Mom's life...

I was successful, for the most part, in disillusioning my self from reality, for a while. All the hiding, the fears, the pains, the humiliation, the shame,,,were ended the day my Mom walked in unexpectedly to see her two naked sons and her drunken husband..

And all of a sudden, I had to acknowledge the reality of what had been happening; the complete and undeniable destruction of a family, and the plain fact that now I either hide it all and die, or get help, to live.


Part Two, Finding Courage

It was over. The abuse had ended. there would be no more Saturday mornings, when I would be awaken by the sound of the door being closed, and feel him slip into my bed faking a hug and feeling his hand on my stomach,,rubbing lower, hoping he would receive a nod telling him he would not be fought this was over, no more feeling like a circus act,,a stage show,,,a horror movie, starring me and my brother and the devil himself.....

It was over....

The abuse itself at the time could not compare to the real pain to follow; or, dealing with it....

Our life was a wreck. There was no pride in anything. I would look in a mirror and see a sickened pig of a person,,,, dirty,, nasty,,, and deserving nothing more than a pig sty of an existence. I hated my self. I hated living, I hated ANY good feelings I had,,,, and sexual feelings were taboo. If I got aroused by any erotic fantasies, I was nothing more than the whore that he taught me to be. If anything felt good, it HAD to be wrong.

It was hard to look at my brother in the eye. He had been such a source of strength for me during the abuse; he had tried, tho in vain at times, to protect me from the horror but now that it was over, I was having a hard time just hugging him, and memories would crop up time and time again of things he did,, and things dad made him do and made me do.

I was looking for blame, I was angry, I was desperate, and once again,,I was alone.

I was nearing my 13th birthday ,,,mad at the world, and wanting to just run away and die in a hole somewhere where no one would find me, a plan I had concocted out of desperation had me leaping onto a passing train and waiting till the right moment to jump down to the tracks between the speeding cars, and end my pitiful existence.

There is a park near my home where i would go and time the jump from an over head bridge, dropping a stone to see how long it would be before my body would slam on top of a passing rail car and all was well in the plan, I even packed my bak pack a few times to test my courage,, or lack there of, and sat on the bridge many times feeling the rumble of the train as it passed below,,it was just a matter of time, before I stooped to that level of hell and took the leap of ignorance, I was ready,,I had had enough, I was of no worth to no one, I had no sexuality, and I wanted to just die,,more than anything in my life so far,,I was ready to give it all up and live in hell forever,,,,,,,

..until my brothers best friend shot and killed him self...

When I thought about pain,,,running away from it,,hiding behind it,, ignoring it,, I was always scared to deal with it,,,pushing it off as a minor thing,,, to just deal with it in my own way. I was selfish when it came to my own pain,,I really didn't give a fuck what anyone else felt,,how dare any one have any more pain than me??? it just wasn't a possibility,,,no one,,,no one dare be hurting more than me,,,,,,but then,,,, I saw what life my brother had,,start to disappear right before my very eyes, as his best friend ended his life so violently.,,and along with that beautiful spirit my brother's will to live and fight started to drift away.


My own pain turned back into a fear I cant even explain with words again........I watched as my brother gave up on life. I saw him doing the things that I was only feeling like doing,,,,and for the first time; I saw the very special *need* to survive....

Fear makes you do desperate things. Being scared can make you become many times over, much stronger. Fear can bring on courage you didn't even realize you had. Fear,of being alone in your own struggle, will drive you to the brink of death, and make,you try to reason your own attitude of giving up. Fear instills priorities in people.

I was losing my brother,,,and I was so scared. I begged God not to take him; I made all sorts of contracts and deals with God to spare his life. The amount of fear I had in me surpassed any anger, or hatred I had concerning my own pains.

I was making a deal with God out of my own selfishness, to give back to my brother his life,, in exchange for something I had not obtained as of yet. I lied to God ,telling him I had what it took to be there for my brother, to be strong for him and to help him survive this new horror he now faced. I told God I had what it took, I screamed at God to believe me for once,,just to listen to me and believe me.

And for a few nights at the hospital, while my brother was at the edge of dying, from his own suicide attempt,,,I prayed,,,, endlessly asking God to forgive me for my lies for what I didn't have,, for what i wasn't aware even existed,,,,I was asking for my only hope,,,my brothers only hope,,,,our remaining family members only hope,,,,,,

I simply was asking for *courage*

Fear of losing and being alone made me wish for desperate things. Some people say fear promotes an adrenaline rush,,but to me, I think what promotes an adrenaline rush is nothing but courage,,,,courage to overcome,, courage to reach out and ask for help,, courage to help others,,,and courage to help your self give your self the will to survive,,,,,,,

That night in the hospital,,,,I discovered courage, I think we all have it,,,,but for me, it took an enormous amount of fear to bring it out.

The time for healing had started....


Part Three ~Can I Let Go?~

It was time to heal. There were so many unanswered questions, so many reoccuring memories, and it seemed the more I *wanted* to get better, the more that stood in my way.

The biggest answer I needed to have answered was, Why had I been blaming my brother? He had done nothing during the abuse but try and keep me as safe as he could. But toward the end of the abuse, Dad was into a *group* thing with me and my brother.. ;( I didn't blame my brother, but it was going to take a very long time to get over all that had happened to us both, and through therapy, and a lot of support from some of our family members, we started the healing process,,,*together*

Our therapy sessions were one on one, and even together at times, and I have ocassionally spent some time in a *group* setting. Therapy tries to regain some sort of consistancy, or balance to your past, your present, and for your future. Allan and I had to start to learn *who* we were again, and the boys that were abused, now had to come to terms with the effects of the abuse. We both had to go from a suicidal mode, to a survival mode.

It was about this time we discovered the *net* and all the different ways to discover new ways to heal,,,,and at the same time ,,not as much Allan, but for me,,,I discovered a lot of new ways to be abused.

I was almost 14,,,and discovered theinternet is full of perverts, and child abusers, stalkers, and boy lovers,,,,,

"boy lovers",,, I hate that term...

It took me a while to realize, that I was causeing more harm to my own healing, by going places and talking to *unkind* individuals; and all the while I was getting hurt more, and more, and building this wall of protection around me. I started trusting no one. I figured I was *used* material; so why not let that *used* material, just get more abused

.......who could it hurt???

I wasn't healing at all, I was helping to dig my own hole to die in,,,every time I thought I had a new friend, it turned out that they were not who they said they were, or some other lie just to get into my pants online.

I was so confused,,,,I had this new form of communication, with all the resources in the world at my fingertips,,and I was getting more abused online every day. I had to seek out some new form of help, if I was to be online and trying to become a survivor at the same time.

After one miserably failed attempt at another abuse help site, I was brought to MASSF. And for the first time, I felt *safe* and felt a sense of true compassion, for what I had gone through; and that scared the shit out of me. Was there really a chance that there could be a *real* help site; with *real* people who *cared*???

I had to get better. My brother was doing a lot better and I was going downhill fast. New memories cropping up everyday, old dreams that just wouldn't go away, and all the pressurized pain I felt online with all the seedy places I was visiting, didn't help at all.

So for the first time I started to trust people more. I made what I called *true* friends. Every friend I made was some one I had met through an absue related site. I was begining to feel good about my self. I became close to a few people my own age; *very* close to the internet's standards; *To* close,, in reality, and the inevitable happened,,,again..

One that I trusted for a very long time, betrayed me for almost two years. I didnt *waste* two years,,but I damn well lost a big part of them; to lies,,and to deception..

And perhaps the closest friend my age, and I met him at MASSF, was given his wings by God, in May of 1999,,

But he didn't leave, before he taught me about the real need to try and let things go. Here was someone who was dying, and who knew it, and faced it with an amount of courage that I can't even imagine yet. He could let go of the things that placed him in that position, and simply smile, and be happy if you talked to him. He hurt so bad, and yet, he would laugh and make a joke about how funny I seemed to be one night,,,, months before when I had been drinking and,,,,,welll I guess you'd have had to be there..

When Mike left and went to God; I wanted to go with him, or instead of him. Was I selfish?,,or just wanting to increase my pain more, so I didnt feel so bad that I am still alive, and he is with God.....Yes VERY selfish,,,,am I..

It has taken until just recently, for me to see why things hurt as they do. I think it's because we refuse to let a part of them go. I think, that we don't let the hurt go, and just keep the good times we had, the good memories. I think it's a big deal to us to still have to *feel* some sort of pain, to not feel guilty. And I think that,, *that* thinking is why we take so long to heal.

If it's your best friends death; or years of abuse, long over with, we *have* to try and let go the bad feelings; the true feelings of horror, and the true feelings of hurt. We NEVER should forget them; but we have to let thier hold on us release the grip that suffocates the very struggle we are involved with.

If I could, I would die for Mike, to get him back;,,, but I can't. If I just hurt more and more and more, it just hurts me, and will not bring him back. If I dwell on my abuse, and the pain and effects that it has caused on me; I will not get any better; or be able to grow or survive.

Don't everyone see????,,,there is ONE outstanding fact that I think we all miss a lot of times, concerning our recovery...ONE very overlooked fact.......

""""We Survived It,,,,,WE SURVIVED IT""""

..that one fact is plenty enough for me to WANT to survive even more. I am not going to let the negative things in my life control me. I am here for a reason, I am not here to die. I am going to fight for my right to survive *all* the effects of the abuse; by simply letting go, of the negative hold they have on me at times. And I *will* find the courage I need, simply by looking in the mirror; reaching out, and touching the image that stares back,

and knowing,,,for the ones who didnt survive...

,,I MUST survive!!!!!!


Part Four - When Will I Let Go?

I think the final step in my first step outward in Recovery, is to try and recognize the priorites in what I need to keep inside of me and what I need to let go.

After all it *is* my choice.

I will never let go the memories, good and bad, of my dad. It has to be that way. I have to remember who he was to me,,and who he is to me, now. It would not be fair, to what childhood I had, to block all the things out about him.

But what I think we must all let go is the results of the memories,,the feelings,, and the pains that strap us down and not let us grow, or heal. We can't forget, but we have to grow,,no matter how old we are or how much we have been hurt, we cant let the past keep us from growing and healing.

Maybe I need to be a lot older to understand, I dont know, but, when I see someone who is hurting so bad, and yet, acts as if he or she really doesn't want to get any better, it just confuses me.

Maybe I haven't hurt for long enough, maybe that's where recovery starts,,only after you hurt for so long, and just get tired of it.

But in order to grow, to heal, and to *get* better, at least for me, I have to grow out of the abyss, that says we *have* to hurt all the time for what was done to us.

We are not guilty, why do we have to punish ourselves over and over, by refusing the very essence of courage?.

It takes courage to let things go. But time and time again, we must re-hash it over and over,,if we make a mistake,,we not only penalize ourselves, but beating ourselves up over and over only causes more bruises,,,,,

....and where is the healing in that??

To me,,,the secret, that most miss out on, is simply to acknowledge the problem or the pain, and to start healing from it by *letting it go*,,it doesnt mean to forget,,it means the time for healing is NOW!!!!!!!

I think the inability to focus is completely controlled by not letting something go that causes distortion, or blocks out some sort of reality. We refuse to see,,,and we end up traveling backwards, and the next time around will be that much harder.

As this is the final part of my story, I will state, that at the time of writing this, I am 16. I wanted to clarify that if someone reads this in the future.

In closing, I am too young to be considered a survivor yet. I am sorry but that is the way I feel. I see too many people hurting, that have dealt with this survivor thing, ten times more than I have. I see their pain. I dont have any answers, but for me, the more pain I can let go, the sooner I will feel like a survivor.

I may not be a full fledged survivor yet, but what I haven't aquired in the surviving skills, I overwhelm mself by in my fighting skills, when it comes to being very stubborn, and bull headed about my ways *to* survive, for me.

I only hope if some other young person stumbles into this site, hurting, screaming, and needing help, he will be recieved, with open arms, and compassionate hearts.

God Bless You All!!!!!