User: hellticket

More info about the rapper in the video.

On: Random Humor

Tragedy begets tragedy. The link below explains much about how rap like that could be inflicted upon us. Break the cycle. Stop the crap rap.

http://movingforward.org/v1n2-firstperson.html

Text below.

Sexual Child Abuse: A Male Survivors Story

by M.E. Hart

I am an African American male, an attorney, and a professional actor; but first, I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. This is my earliest life memory:

I was four years old. It was winter. There was a fire in the fireplace. I watched as it reflected through the room. The whole room was magically aglow.

"Okay, it's time for bed," Grandma yelled.

I grabbed the covers and climbed into the big, white bed. From up there, I felt like I was on top of the world. There were four us in the bed, one adult and three kids.

The adult was going to sleep beside me "so I wouldn't be scared." That's what everyone told me, although I didn't know why I should be afraid. I figured if he was there I would be fine. I laid down in the warmth of the fire's glow and I drifted off to sleep.

Later that night I felt something behind me on the adult's side. Many thoughts raced through my head. What was it -- maybe the thing I was supposed to fear -- maybe the Devil? But how could it get to me with an adult there to protect me? I didn't understand.

I felt it poking me. It was kind of soft-hard. It started poking down my back. It went down, down, down until it was poking me where my underwear covered. It was poking me in that place.

It started pulling down my underwear. I was really getting scared. I wondered if it had already gotten all the other people in the bed. Was I the only one left? Oh God, what was I going to do? Childhood denial set in. It wasn't hurting, just poking. Maybe it was trying to be friendly. Then it stabbed deep inside of me, tearing through my skin.

It was hurting me! I felt wet on my face -- tears. I was so scared I couldn't say anything. No words would come out. I wanted to go to sleep -- if I could sleep maybe it would be gone when I woke up. I was wrong. When I awoke, it was still poking me hard, but I knew I had to go to sleep. If I was going to go to hell with the Devil I wanted to be asleep. A pattern was set, poking, sleep, poking, sleep....

From that night on, I didn't really feel much anymore. I had been physically, emotionally, and spiritually assaulted. It was a brutal violation of my four-year-old world. My innocence had died, my cry had been silenced, my connection with my own body had been broken. The four-year old magic glow was gone; silent terror took its place. My life was changed forever.

This was the beginning of a fifteen-year cycle of sexual abuse. Within two years, that adult, a male cousin, had introduced his brother to the practice. Then he told a friend of his who also began to abuse me.

My family situation helped keep the abuse secret. I grew up in a public housing project. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother was taking tranqulizers. There was always fear in the house. We didn't know how my father was going to act when he came home and there were always arguments over money for food, rent, and clothes.

When my abuse started there were three children in my family -- eventually, there were six. With each new child came more demands, more alcohol, and more arguments. Fear prevented me from saying anything to my parents -- I was afraid they would blame me. But most of all, I was afraid it would cause more problems within the family.

My abusers started spreading rumors about me among their peers. Many of them called me names, exposed themselves to me, and then tried seduce me in private. Days and nights of utter terror made growing up difficult. During those warlike years, thirteen people were responsible for sexually abusing me. If this cycle were just beginning today, with the threat of AIDS, I shudder to think of the consequences.

Growing up abused affected my whole life. As a todd