Uh, OK this is getting too creepy. I’m done here.
It gets a little hot on the understanding department and it blows your mind? Good God. What a coward.
No. It’s creepy that you’re talking about pedophilia being a “deep love for kids.” Not wanting to be involved in that conversation does not make me a coward.
Sure it does.
Do you have any idea how many times I tried to hint at friends growing up that I had SSA? Do you know you’re giving me the same blow off they did. They thought it was creepy too. Trying to understand someone who isn’t like you shouldn’t be creepy. It might make you feel uneasy? It might strike you as totally the wrong way facing? But it shouldn’t be an excuse to run away and plug your ears.
I mean what if this guy was one of your pals and you never knew? What if he told you in a moment of weakness because he needed your strength to go on? What if he turned his trust to you and you answered like that?
So full of judgment. So full of assuming you knew what he was feeling? So full of assuming you knew better than he did what he truly wanted?
How could a guy like that ever try to get help when that’s the default people brush on to him?
He didn’t choose that path man. He didn’t wake up one day and figure it’d be a good day to be a pedophile. What happened to him was a whole long list of things.
And since I’ve got nothing to do today? I’ll share it with you.
It started with his dad pushing him down the stairs at 4 or 5. It started with his mom working double shifts at work to pay the bills while his dad drank the money.
From there it was watching the fights. It was being picked up as a little guy and thrown across the room.
It was being told he was the reason they didn’t have money. It was watching his older brother getting beat up for trying to defend his mom. It was learning early and heavy that no one wanted him. He learned when young that people didn’t care. He learned that adults did bad things. He learned that adults were monsters.
So when he got older and tried to date? He was terrified. He couldn’t talk to a girl in his teens. He couldn’t see them as anything he could understand. He was afraid they’d make fun of his stutter. They’d tear into his confidence and strip it bare in a heartbeat.
But he wanted affection. He wanted some way to connect. He needed love and wanted understanding. But he couldn’t get it from people in the normal way. He couldn’t trust anyone in a real sense.
So he started making things kind of ideal in his head. He started idolizing a childhood he never had. He started imagining what it was like to be a kid in a place of love. A kid who was safe from hurt.
And from there he started to love that kid. He wanted to be close to that kid. He wanted to share in that experience. He wanted to share in all the toys and games and carefree laughter that a kid in a normal house got on a regular.
He wanted it so bad he could taste it. It became an obsession. It became his fantasy. Something he used to get himself through the day. Because he works with seniors. And their needs are sort of like those of children in a way? But they’re battle-scarred. They’re ornery. They have sicknesses and diseases. They have ticks and are strong and sometimes fight with him in the dementia ward.
But kids? They’re innocent and sweet. They live a pure life with few inhibitions. They say what’s in their hearts. No games. No pretenses. Just honest and raw truth as they see it.
So he pines for that. He wants a connection with that. He wants to orbit that world and live inside it.
But he can’t. He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t want to hurt kids. He wants to protect them. He wants them to go on living in that pure world. He knows he’d ruin it for them. He knows he’d bring adult ideas into that safe place. He knows he’d destroy the very thing he loves most about them.
So he lives in a torment of his own experience. And lives a sideshow that makes him bitterly depressed.
I hope you understand what I’m saying here. I hope you get it. And I hope you forgive me for being so angry. I don’t really have a beef with you. I really should understand by now that so few people even want to sit and spend time with a leper that it’s really an of-course that most would be this way. I’ve just forgotten what it’s like. I’ve forgotten my first gut-instinct on it too by now.
Peace.