I am a 16 year old boy currently going to an art high school. I need to vent about quite a few things. First of all, I'm gay and I've been out for two years now, but the loneliness somewhat didn't go away. I'm in a relationship and I love him dearly, but I find myself sexually unsatisfied, and sometimes wishing we did more. I usually feel incredibly guilty after these thoughts as he loves me very very much, and I can tell that, and yet I'm slowly struggling to feel the same. 

My relationship with love and sex was fucked up a super long time ago, or at least it feels like that. It happened when I was 13. I have an older brother. He's a lot for me to deal with. He's from a previous relationship of my dad's, and is much older than me. He is obsessed with his looks and has been for a very long time, and also is severely mentally ill from various trauma inducing events as a teenager. As a younger chubby boy, I was his target. I was socially persecuted and cast aside while my sisters got all the attention. This made me hate him, and yet I was obsessed with his attention. I wanted him to care about me. In a really twisted way, I fetishized it, made it sexual. Especially since I felt so physically inferior. I was not out at this time but I knew I was gay, and I was easily able to tell the signs that others were gay that straight people don't seem to understand until later in life. My older brother was clearly gay to me. I began trying to make him like me, bond in any way possible. In ended in potentially the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but yet was my choice. 

We ended up having sexual interactions even though he was much older than me and I was very young. At the time I was incredibly determined to continue these interactions as I'd never felt that sense of care in my life before. It was horrific and I would get nauseous afterwards, but yet I kept being obsessed with the idea of me being something sexually attractive. My body was very unconventionally attractive at the time and I was incredibly insecure, so I forced myself to keep doing things with him. At a certain point it just stopped, and we never did it again. I tried to talk about it once to him but he closed up a lot and I've never tried again. I cannot tell anyone because of the worst part about this story: I was the rapist at first.

I was the one who was cuddling with him as his little brother, and ended up pulling his pants down that first time. I made the hell that I lived in for next year. I deserved it all. 

After it all stopped with my brother I needed another sexual outlet for validation and relief. I had all things romantically important stolen by older men in the back of cars or in small apartments. I was only 14 and my first kiss was a thirty eight year old who I had multiple sexual encounters with. I met with as many men as possible. Clogging my after school schedule with sharing myself. The most addicting part of it was that nauseous feeling I felt. It continued ever since that encounter with my brother, but now I was obsessed with it. It made me unable to eat, or really to think. It was like a drug. Since I wasn't eating I was the thinnest I'd ever been. It only gave me more reason to keep doing it. By 15 I had gotten into the school I'd wanted to go to since fourth grade, and that distracted me for a bit.

I met people, and they made the disgusting world of rape disappear for awhile. It was clean, childish, teenage, fun. I really liked them. We opened up to each other a lot, in unhealthy long winded ways, but it was something at least. It all ended badly. I eventually told them about my sexual experiences. I told them that I was happy that I was doing it. They adamantly fought against my actions, until I did it again. Then it was a joke to them. It became my personality. I was the gay boy who had sex with older men. That was what I was to them, and it was hilarious. They'd make jokes where they'd just say numbers, the age of a guy I had told them about, and they'd laugh. I laughed too, even though I didn't find it funny.

Luckily I didn't have to end those friendships, they did it themselves. They were self cannibalizing attention hungry average teenagers, and eventually I was the problem. I was too sexually confident, to openly gay because of the things I had done. They had the strangest jealousy. Their jealousy turned into anger against me. Their jealousy pushed me away from them. Their jealousy was sick.

Having to stand up for myself that one time made a lot of changes to my character.

I stopped my unhealthy interactions with older men. I focused on being a kid. I met people I really enjoy now, and really like talking to. All of this would be great except for the fact that I'm empty. My art is empty. My relationship with one of the prettiest and most interesting boys my age is empty. I don't know what to do. Worse than that, I'm gaining weight. My self hate used to manifest strongly enough that I had an eating disorder to keep weight off, but now that I've gone through the process of battling some of my negative thought patterns, I can't muster that hate. I've begun to feel as though without the touch of older men my body has bloomed into a disgusting new form, and my life has just become a series of lies to myself. I'm starting to see those same patterns of jealousy in my friends as well. Annoyance. I'm just a nuisance. I carry so much already that to carry a burden of a friend is too much. I've ruined myself. I've lost things that never will come back, and simply cannot come back.  

In many ways I miss being a victim. I miss being raped. I miss the world shattering emotional sensations of ruining my self image. I miss the feelings of being thin and wanted. I miss being someone who had to be saved, rather than someone who has to save others. My friends see me and they see someone much more competent than I really am. I just need a floor to stand on, and yet I ask for what I cannot give to others.

I want to be beautiful again, and I want to feel terrible again, and I want to feel virile again.

But I don't really want it, it's just what feels normal, and normal is what my brain always thinks I want.

I'm the emotionally healthiest I've ever been, but I'm struggling with making it normal. How do I make this state of ok-ness something that just happens? How do I accept my body in a way that'll let me healthily improve upon it? How do I feel sexually satisfied in my relationship without not only ruining it but pulling my boyfriend down with me? What is wrong with me? Is my life ruined?  


Please respond to me, or at least read the first few sentences. I am shouting out into darkness.