Well, it is done.

I might have a few commas in the wrong places, and I might have a few of the tense articles wrong, like saying 'here' when I should say 'there', or 'now' when I really mean 'then'. There are a couple of places my words get a little too flowery, and I need to simplify. I even have one chapter where I completely break with my narrative structure, to tell the tale from a different point of view.

Flaws and all though, it is done. It's taken me just under a year to complete, and I'm actually proud of what I accomplished.

I've gone back and forth over the story, adding and subtracting paragraphs, re-arranging thoughts, and even dumping things I thought were important, but really just slowed things down, or didn't matter. Sometimes removing those bits of the story were like performing self surgery. It was painful and messy, but I had to do it.

When I first started this thing, I didn't know where the story was headed. (I thought I did.) Its true destination only came to me about half way through writing it. Even as I wrote the last words, I was surprised. There were a few little things I had done with the story, and a few choices I had made along the way, that suddenly resolved. I didn't realize they needed resolving, until I wrote the resolution. My subconscious likes to mess with me.

I'm probably the only person who will find this story interesting. It is really not very different from a lot of offerings already on the Fiction Archive, some of which are written a lot better than this. I had a message I needed to share, though. Something I needed to say that could only be shared here on the EA. I can only hope that what I have is just interesting enough to entice a reader to read through until the end.

Even though it will be a long time before I can submit this to the Archive (I have to wait like everyone else.) I wanted to see if I could entice a reader or two to offer their time, and give it a read for me.

I also wanted to try and write a teaser for it, like you'd read on the cover jacket, were it ever to be published as a real book.

So here goes nothing;

Jason Sidney is forced to look back on the story of his life, and find the one moment that truly defines him.

Is it his unconventional upbringing in an affluent home? Is he defined by the eccentric friends his parents associate with. Is it his struggle to fit in?

Jason examines a time in his life when he was ten (almost eleven) years old. A time when he began his quest to gain entrance to the forbidden and mysterious room in the basement. His quest will lead him to unusual and exotic people, truths about himself too difficult to face, and ultimately to the love of his life.

It is a quest of understanding, loss and finally redemption.

Join Jason Sidney on his journey of self discovery. Share his pain, his torment, and his rebirth. Follow along to the unbelievable conclusion, and perhaps you too can learn, How to Breathe

How to Breathe
by Cainanite
© - 2012

TAGS: [GAY][STRAIGHT][BI][TG][TESTICLES][GENERAL WARNING][INCEST][MINOR]

If anyone out there is interested in giving it a read, send me a PM and I'll send you a copy. Let me know your email address, and what format you want it in. If you have a book reader that you can manually add books onto, I can even do that. (I just discovered how to convert files to e-readers :aok: )

I may also send a few PMs to some folks I respect to not spare my feelings.

Thanks to everyone on the EA. I couldn't have finished this without you.

I had imagined how easy it would be to write, if only I had the time. I thought I could write a novel with no effort, if only I didn't have the distractions of work, or had enough days off in a row.

I was wrong.

I've been off of work for two months now. I've had ample time to focus on my writing. There have been a few excuses, but overall, I've had the time I wished for so often.

My brain is a funny place. Even if I know exactly what I want to write, and have all of the plot points laid out, I can still only write when the inspiration hits me. And I thought I was creative.

The story I'm working on now, has been forming for almost a year. On the 20th of this month it will be exactly one year since I started it. The novel evolved from where I started, and I've had to re-write much of it to conform with that evolution.

I've had to write a prologue, an epilogue. I've added chapters and characters I never thought I would include. Those characters keep surprising me. I find, if I am not surprised by my characters, I can't really write their story.

I started to write the novel, a few days after I became a member on this site. It was just after I learned I was sterile, and suffering from low testosterone.

I'm not critically low on my T levels, but low enough that it has caused me some problems. Writing my story was my way of working through those issues. I don't think those issues will be resolved once I've added the last word to the page, but it has allowed me to change the way I think, and re-examine the way I've been reacting to things over the course of my life.

I'm writing this blog today, because I feel like I am getting close. I deeply desire to finish what I started, before my year is up. My need to share what I have written is growing in me like I have never felt before.

A few people on this site have read the start of the story, and chapters still in flux, but no-one has read the chapters that mean the most to me. I woke up one day realizing I didn't have the inspiration to write the chapters in order. I did however feel a great need to write the end of the story. So, I jumped ahead, wrote the last chapter, and the epilogue.

I am not ashamed to say that I wept real tears as I wrote the conclusion. Of course, writing the ending caused me to go back and re-write other chapters that suddenly didn't exactly fit where the story needed to go. Writing the conclusion re-inspired me to write through where I had stopped.

I'm jumping around the story now, Going from the beginning, middle and end with no order, but always narrowing in on where I can see the end in sight.

When I started the story, I thought I was writing about my fear of being in crowds, and my low self esteem. I thought at most, the story would go seven or eight chapters. I foolishly called the story, "How to Become the Life of the Party".

As I wrote though, my understanding of the story changed. I noticed themes I didn't know I was writing. Yet, my subconscious knew what it was doing. I was writing something much more important to my mental health.

Will it be important to anyone else? I doubt it. Nonetheless, I feel a growing need to share it with someone who understands. I need to discuss the themes, and meanings, metaphors. Writing it has been an outlet, but not the only one I am needing.

There is no-one in my life I can share this with. My story involves the sex of children, sex with children, sexual experimentation, abuse, sexual orientation, castration, and other themes best never mentioned in public. Running through all that though, is a simple love story, and a statement about real human nature, I think is important.

I am using forbidden topics to confront and analyze my own issues of sexuality, self esteem, and confusion with what seems a sexual world around a non-sexual me, and my purpose in it. My main character is a child, not because I wish I were that child, or desire a child sexually, or wish to do to a child what happens to mine in the story, but because I am that child.

I have no family, no friends or confidants I could comfortably share this story with, without them thinking I was a monster. I could only ever trust the people on this site to understand that what I am writing is not literal, but emotional.

I am writing this blog post, to vent. To get out of my system the need to explain myself and the story I am writing. To share with you what has been ripping me up inside.

I have decided I won't share the chapters I have written again, until I am finished. Perhaps I can use my burning need to share it to overcome any writer's block I may be feeling. I just need to discuss what is going on in my mind.

It took realizing I had a medical issue with my sexual development to realize a lot of this. I always fancied I'd write a novel one day. I had tried several times before.

My previous attempts to write a novel all had a similar main character.

The first novel I tried to write, was about a child created by science to have inhuman powers. Through an accident, he had the mind of an adult imprinted on his own. A kind of ghost Jiminy Cricket for his Pinocchio. A child guided by the mind of an adult.

My second try, followed a dying scientist who managed to reverse his age before he died, only to find himself trapped in the body of a child. A child with the mind of a man.

My third try was less science fiction and more fantasy. I tried to write of a child who would not age, and could not die. He bore the curse of his tyrant father, to spend all of human history as an insignificant boy, always present, but never vital.

My fourth try was a lot more successful, and I still have friends that beg me to finish it. I went all out Sci-Fi, with weird alien races, space ships, wacky technology and the rest. My main character was a man forced to live among aliens who all shared two bodies. To blend in, he had a second body cloned, to which his mind was linked. That second body grew naturally, and the man was forced to live as both a man and a child simultaneously. There was a lot of humor to be had, and my friends enjoyed the story.

My issue with all those prior attempts to write a novel is that they all shared the same problems, which led to my abandoning them. I was trying to write to be published. I avoided talking about sex and sexuality. I was trying to write for a broad audience that wouldn't judge me. Keeping the stories PG was restricting my creativity. It was a barrier I could not overcome.

This is the novel I have been trying to write since I was seventeen. It has taken me twenty years to sort out my brain enough that I can finally do it. Diving into that which is forbidden is the only way I could understand myself. It is the only way to honestly tell this story.

I'm scared that when I finish, no-one will understand it. No-one will be able to get through those taboo subjects to enjoy the meat of the story. Even when I'm done, I won't be able to share the message I want known to the world.

I understand now that the story I am telling is really my autobiography. It is the story of my life, and what I have learned. It is not literal. The graphic detail I use in the story never really happened, and possibly never could happen. Instead, it is the story of my life told through emotional beats. I am writing how I feel, and how I have felt. It is all the emotions of my life taken to extremes.

I hope that when people read it, they can overcome the taboo to see the love and compassion I have felt, and still feel. I hope they read to the end, so they can feel the freedom I finally feel, and the gratitude I have for my life.

I know that is a lot to ask of a story meant for the Eunuch Archive, but it remains my wish.

I'm going to go back to writing now. I just needed to get that out of my system.

Can you flipping believe it? I'm less than 12 hours away from getting on a plane to see my parents. I'm cleaning out my car, and boom. My back goes out. I can barely move.

I know the problem. It has happened before. I have some muscles in the core of my spine, they've been damaged before, and are prone to strains. Problem is, when my back goes out, I can barely bend down to tie my shoes. I'm fine if I'm sitting or standing, it's the transferring in-between that is the problem.

I'm nervous enough about seeing my parents and telling them about my hypogonadism. Now this? Right now I'm cursing the universe and all its atoms. It sounds selfish, but I was hoping to tell my parents about my condition and I wanted to appear strong. How can I appear strong when I can barely stand up out of a chair without wincing in agony?

I'm still going. If I have to crawl onto that plane, I'm going. Just... Dang-it.

Right now, I've loaded up on some pain killers and am waiting for them to kick in. I still have to do laundry and pack my bag. I'm a procrastinator, and I usually like to do things last minute. My back giving up on me makes that all the much harder. I really need to stop procrastinating so much. Maybe I'll work on that tomorrow. ;)

I've already called my parents and told them not to plan anything too strenuous. They like to plan things where we go walking from one end of the city and back, shopping. I think that much activity may be off the table until my muscles begin to mend. Fortunately, I was in my early twenties when my back first went out. My back issues are not unknown to my family.

I just had a vision in my head of how I would tell my parents about my issues. I'm just now trying to re-write how that conversation will go. I "know" it wont go how I imagine, but I like to have a plan. It seems the universe is trying to tell me, not to bet on anything.

For one, I guess I'm checking my luggage now. No way I'm going to be able to lift anything into the overhead compartment. So, there goes that idea. It's really the little details that vex me.

I guess I really am seeing this trip as an important milestone in my life. I can't really equate this to coming out as homosexual to my parents. I'm not sure this is on the same level. I can see parallels however.

I'm explaining to my parents why I am the way I am. I'm admitting my sexuality. Not homosexual, but asexual. I need to tell them I don't want to change. I'm accepting a part of my life I've been at odds with, and I want them to accept me for that. I'm not sure where my journey will take me, but I want the support of my parents as I figure it out.

Does that equate? Am I being pompous, and blowing it up into something bigger than what it is?

Whatever I call my planned discussion with my parents, it's got me worried beyond belief. I really didn't need a screwed up back on top of that pile of worries.

Well, I'm going to try and have some supper before I try doing my laundry. Wish me luck.

Okay, I'm not coming out as gay to my parents. I'm coming out to them as Hypogonadal. I'm debating telling them about my asexuality, though I'm sure they already know.

As a gift to me for my 37th birthday (which happens in August.) my parents are flying me home to Saskatchewan, this month. I'll be there for a whopping five days.

When we have a quiet bit of time, when we are sure not to be interrupted, I'm going to tell them. I know I don't have to tell you, I'm scared witless about it.

The reason I feel I need to tell them, is to give them a measure of comfort. Hopefully they will feel the same comfort I do, but I can't know for sure.

As I understand it now, the story of my life is very different from the one I thought I was living. I blamed myself for things that were outside of my control. My parents struggled to raise me without knowing what they were doing wrong. I'm sure at some level they've blamed themselves.

After my bout with Kawasaki's Disease at age twelve, and the orchitis that came with it, I went from being a fairly active kid to a more sedentary child. Though I stayed near the top of my class, I fell behind in physical education. I didn't develop the physical stamina of my peers, nor did I develop the muscle mass. My friends quickly left me behind. I became for all outward appearances, a somewhat effeminate nerd.

My parents did not see a big problem with this. They accepted me as a nerd. I guess someone has to be one. My real problems came when I was fourteen. Unknown to my parents, (Because I didn't tell them.) I was developing small breasts like those on a developing girl. Where everyone I knew was developing body hair, I wasn't. While all the guys were talking about jerking off, I had to pretend I knew what they were talking about. I was also starting to carry more fat around my pelvis and hips. Entering the school shower was something I still have nightmares about. This led me to a lot of body issues. It was also the start of my most violent mood swings.

At fourteen, I took a knife to my bedroom and most of my belongings, shredding almost everything I owned. I was also caught bringing a large hunting knife to school. I'm not sure I would have done anything to another person. I was too cowardly. But in my imagination I was going to kill the people who were picking on me, and ostracizing me. I think I was hoping someone would kill me. I hated myself for being different.

My parents took me to a psychologist to "fix" the problem. What I got were a series of lectures on how to manage my anger. The psychologist wasn't interested in WHY I was angry, or WHY I wanted to die, he only wanted me to find a safe outlet for my anger. He never once asked me the right questions, or looked for a physical link to my problems. I was a good little actor at that time, and basically lied to him to end the sessions. I convinced him I wouldn't kill myself, and that part of my life was over.

Unbeknownst to my parents, were my body issues. I started wearing long sleeves, and long pants, even in the summer. The last thing I wanted anyone to see was my lack of hair, or my flabby body. I didn't even have my first ejaculate until the day before my 15th birthday. On my 15th birthday I thought my problems were finally over.

Despite a new found love of my body, I was still having body issues. I wasn't able to keep friends. I still had extremely low self esteem.

I had my first girlfriend when I was 19. I was lucky with her. She was as big a nerd as I was. She was also a virgin, and she was as scared of sex as I was. (or at least I thought so) Helping her clean her room one night, I found her erotic magazines and toys. I'd never so much as looked at that kind of stuff. If I masturbated, it took only a few moments, and it was done. She was clearly more advanced than I was.

We had sex for the first time when I was 21. We had been together for 2 years. Sex was pleasurable for neither of us. No matter what I did, I couldn't release. Try as I might, it was a no go. I was able to maintain erection of my 4 inch member almost an hour (a record for me), but with my short size and thin girth, it did little for her other than to pass the clock. It took a lot of work for me to stay interested and up to the challenge. It was exhausting.

My psyche was very damaged by that experience. After that, she showed no interest in sex with me. I think I was grateful to be let off the hook. I loved her, but more for her company than her sex. when we no longer enjoyed each other's company, it ended.

During my time with my girlfriend, my parents were ecstatic. I think they were worried I was gay. It was a kind of validation for them. They even made presents of condoms to me. They gave them with a kind of wink and a nudge. I think I used two out of a package of twelve. The rest expired.

Subsequent gifts were parsed out to my horny friends.

I didn't have another girlfriend for about four years. I dated a single mother who saw me as stable and safe. I liked her company, and cared for her children. We went out for nine months. She started pressuring me for sex at two months. I pretended to be old fashioned, and wanted to wait. How's that for a reversal? We had sex twice. Neither time was enjoyable for either of us. In the weeks after we had sex I discovered her cheating on me. I left her, but I still miss her children. They were good kids, and they had started calling me "Dad" like small kids are wont to do.

My parents consoled me. They told me there would be other women. I just hadn't found the right one yet. By this time I knew one truth. I was not attracted to women. I was attracted to their company, but not their bodies. I also knew sex was not enjoyable for me. Even masturbation wasn't as enjoyable as it once was.

I haven't sought out sexual companionship since. I've actually lost track of how long it has been for me.

I've gotten fat too. It's getting to the point it's starting to be a problem. Being fat and having body issues keeps me away from doctors unless it is urgent, or an emergency. I literally hadn't had a physical since shortly after my bout with Kawasaki's.

I am the last male in my family line. There is no-one else. When I die, my family name will die with me. There are some distant cousins, three or four times removed, but the family tree that started with my great-grandfather, ends with my generation. I will be the last in a long unbroken line to carry this fine name.

My parents have come to my aid many times. When I lost my job three years ago ( due to flying into a rage at a customer.) I became very suicidal. I tried in earnest for the first time in at least ten years to truly do myself in.

They dropped everything to fly 1000 miles to come to my aid. They got me back on my feet. They helped out financially. They let me know my family still loved me no matter what.

They've seen me fail time and time again. Undone by my own low self esteem and mood swings.

Fortunately, in the last few years, my mood has begun to stabilize. I still have moments, but they are less extreme.

I tried therapy shortly after my last suicide attempt. The topic of my sexuality came up. I've lived my life pretty confused about the whole thing. I began to tell her about my confusion. I stared to say "I'm not attracted to adults per-say..." That was as far as I got. The rest of my time was her lecturing me on the dangers of revealing feelings of pedophilia in therapy. I could end up on a sexual predators watch list. I could be involuntarily committed to an institution. It was a peach that really went on, and scared the crap out of me.

I wasn't going to say, "I want to have sex with children." I was trying to say, "I feel like I am one." Regardless, she put enough fear into me, that I never went back. I was no longer sure if what I said in therapy was safe. That was the end of that exploration.

I've been very lucky these past few years. My moods have ben much more stable than I can remember. Even sexual feeling has diminished further than ever before. My doctor says at this age it is natural for men to have less swings in testosterone levels, and for me that means a low stable amount. Almost no sex drive, but lessened mood swings too.

My problem before was that my testicles would go through on-again, off again production. Never enough, or for long enough to engage a "normal" sex drive, but enough for my body to gain dependency, before going through withdrawal. I'm at a low enough production level now, that the mood swings have significantly lessened.

Who knows what my parents thought of me through all of this. Am I a disappointment? Do they feel they failed? Am I that unpredictable burden in the family with no explanation?

When I found out this April that I was Hypogonadal was the first time I could look back at my life and see where my low and unpredictable testosterone had led me.

Suddenly it all made sense. I have long ago given up on having children. So learning that I don't have what it takes was no big loss or major discovery to me. Testosterone could provide me with a sex drive, but it can't give me the stuff for making babies. That was gone when I was twelve. It doesn't change anything for me.

I felt peace for the first time in my life. Suddenly, the things at the core of my problems had a reason. For the first time, I made sense to myself. I'm just so grateful to know there is a reason. I can finally DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.