The Summer had always been a special time -- a special FEELING -- for me.

But that changed as I got older.

Because of what happened during the Summer, I think of 1980.

That transformed the Summer for me from something to be savored into something to be tolerated.

And, now, endured.

Summertime

The sickest I ever got was during the Summer of 1998.

We had moved back to St. Louis from Phoenix in July 1997. Things had gone sour at my job -- certain people, I think, didn't like how the head of the company talked about me, and viewed me as a threat -- and I had gotten sick of it and needed out. It also made sense because, by that time, we had two kids and grandparents who were desperate to see their grandkids.

So it made sense.

To move back to St. Louis for good.

What I didn't realize, because I didn't know -- I had NO idea -- was how sick it was going to make me.

I had briefly quit my job, then was re-hired when they realized that I was literally irreplaceable.

Then, in August of 1998, I was sent to Portland, Oregon, for two weeks to oversee the testing and certification of the product we had built by a third party lab.

While I was in Portland for those two weeks, I guess my head was still in St. Louis. And was feeling the effects of having moved back and committed to St. Louis.

To cut a long story short, what happened when I was -- alone -- in Portland, Oregon, was I started sexually abusing myself.

Like he had.

Raping me.

Myself.

I didn't see or understand it as rape.

Instead, I thought what I was dealing with was gender confusion.