To All the Broken Girls


I am daily touched by the lives that are portrayed in these blogs. Today I want to take the time to write to all the broken girls.


I am so deeply sorry for the abuse and trauma you have been faced with. I wish I could take all your pain and heartbreak away.  I am so sorry that you have been broken and wounded. 

You need to know, it’s not your fault. That you don’t deserve to be broken, that you don’t deserve to be hurting, scared, frustrated or lonely.  

You need to know people are listening, they are here reading and feeling your pain right along beside you. You need to know that you aren’t alone and that you are loved.

You are loved because you are lovable. Often times brokenness makes us feel like we are not deserving of love but we are. 

You might not have family or friends. You might have those, like I do and still feel so broke and alone but we have each other. You can find so much healing and grace in these women on these blogs.  It is possible to put our pieces back together and embrace the new masterpiece we have become.

The abuse we have been through is not the ending of our stories but the turn we were unfortunately forced to take. It’s time to embrace the change in direction and love the people we have become.  It’s ok to be broken. 

With our brokenness we are no longer the same as everyone else. You have unique pieces, shaped like no one else. We can adjust to the new us if we let go of the image we have of what we used to be.


If you’re broken, don’t be scared to comment below, I’d love to take a look at your blog, listen to your story! Even post a link to some of your work you’d really like me to read because I want to read. 

Broken with you,

GraySkyHippie

( 9/16/14 b) 

Sometimes Feeling Nothing is Best


You know, I get really frustrated. Frustrated I can’t spell brain. I’ve never been able to because my brother ( I use that turn loosely here because I don’t consider him that any longer but so you understand the relationship and my confusion with the word) anyways, my brothers name is Brian. I curse my parents now for naming him that! Not that they knew he would be my molester, but he was. Feels good to put his name out there!

I learned to spell Brian first. So I was taught brain is the other way. So now, with my brain fog, brain problems I have reverted back to old habits. Always having to figure out which is brain and which is Brian. Auto correct has helped some but I still have to type one of them to know which!

Handwriting brain, is much harder. Trying to figure out which is which. It seems so elementary. I should know. But now I’ve concluded that Brian fucked with my brain. Fitting word, I wouldn’t normally type it out to post, but it’s accurate!

Still achieving that now after years of not talking to him. Can I add that to my list of reasons why you can’t just get over being molested! I’m glad I don’t know the names of my rapists, that I never checked those court documents or restraining orders I kept for over a year always in arms length.

But as for Brain. …un yes, see what happens when I capitalize before I spell out brain. I mean, but as for Brian, it’s a curse.

But I need that reminder to not forget. To not be cautious about this subject. Sexual child abuse happens. Happens more than statistics even know because people stay silent. But I won’t stay silent anymore. I will speak out against incest, molestation, child sexual abuse, rape, sexual abuse and abuse!

I’ve always said love and hate are the same thing. Sure, you respond differently but the feelings are the same. The passion of love or the passion of hate ! I don’t want to hate anyone, I would rather feel nothing for someone than have hate for them, to give them my energy of thinking about them, talking about them, feeling rage for them.

I hate my brother, I hate Brian, but I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want too give him energy. I just want too feel nothing about him. I think finally realizing I need to look at this brain Brian thing as a gift from God to never forget to fight for a better world, an educated world, a less ignorant world!

Maybe this is the first step to not hating Brian. To feeling nothing for him. We will see, I’ll let you know the process because I’m sad to know you have also felt this way.

How have you gotten over hate? How have you been able to move past and not care about your abuser?

GraySkyHippie

One Small Step for My Man, One Giant Leap For His Mankind


Well I can’t make a post about writing more and not follow through! Keeping me accountable!

I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when I posted on FB a comment about rape and soon after my husband got a text from a friend saying “can I be smart on your wives FB without her getting mad at me” my husband looked and only saw the recent post was about rape and replied, “I wouldn’t do that for good reason, she’s sensitive about rape”

Well his friend answered a few minutes later, “well now I feel bad I was talking about her post about the nails!.” My husband, “this is really awkward now, no she wouldn’t care about you joking with her”

This had my mother in law and I in a fit if giggles. I struggled breathing. At least they were talking about it.

For me, I was impressed. My husband has stopped using the word like it’s just mean sex, that it is something you do to someone’s mother. He started working on it the first time he said it in front of me and I cried way back when we started dating in college.

Before. I would just ignore it. But I thought it was good, wether he made it sound like it was all me or not that he was warning him I’m not gonna joke around about rape.

I’ve been happy before when I watch his head jerk sharply to check on me when someone said “rape.” And I guess that he spoke up, even though spoken directly too, it still means we are moving in the right direction.

Yes, I do wish he had just jumped ahead and gone off on him but baby steps.

How do you advocate for abuse? How do you help people understand your stance on issues?

I really struggle. I don’t know if its all groups if boys or all my husbands groups of boys that have issues. That it isn’t funny to say things that are derogatory. And I don’t think they discriminate towards just gender. They say racist, sexist, piggish things.

When’s it your place to sit on the sidelines or go and say something. I make comments I wish people wouldn’t hold against me, I joke about things maybe other people find offensive. How do you know when you’re standing up or being too much?

Thanks!

GraySkyHippie

Sometimes, it is About Me


I get really frustrated these days. I’m not sure why now and not so much before. Maybe I’m angrier, maybe I don’t care as much about pleasing everyone else. But I need it to be about me.

I kept my pain, my hurt, my trauma to myself for so long that I think people think that I am doing ok. And sure, some days I am. But most days, it’s a real struggle. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD. So I think people think this is just depression. That I will just snap out of it but I won’t.

I’m not saying I won’t have better days, that things won’t be better. But what my brother did to me, will always effect me. It’s not just something I can drop. Not just something I can go on longer pretending didn’t happen and all is well for the people around me.

With that, with this blog, I am healing. I have several people in my life that have allowed me to speak freely and accepted what I said without throwing in how it makes someone else feel. I greatly appreciate those people that realize sometimes, it is about me.

For what, 24 years or something. I’ve worried how everyone else will feel. My parents, my siblings, my family, my friends, our church, culture. It’s time for me to worry about me. I would love for them to feel the same but I can’t make anyone feel the same but I have a voice now.

Sometimes, it’s about me. Sometimes I might hurt you by what I say or what I do but I need to share my thoughts and feelings and not be reminded of what happened to me, hurt everyone. I know that.

I KNOW that, that’s why it took me so many years to finally tell. But it wasn’t me that did wrong, it was my brother. I should be free to say that. I should be able to say how much it hurt me. I should be able to freely be able to say, it still hurts me.

It effects me daily, looking in the mirror, thinking of my baby girl. Don’t tell me to get over it, don’t tell me to forgive. And don’t tell me how it hurt you. How it hurt everyone. Sometimes, it is about me.

Those things only makes me feel worse. Because that says to me, what I did hurt everyone. It puts blame back on me when I have no blame in what my brother did to me.

I will not stay quiet anymore. I will protect myself and my feelings by speaking up and speaking out. Sometimes, it’s about me.

I don’t want to hear how well he is doing. I don’t want to know how his life is going back together while mine feels like it is falling apart. No matter what he does with his life, it will not make me take back what he has done to me, nor should it. I will not trust him, I will not subject myself to being around him.

The family we had, wasn’t lost when I spoke out. The family we had was lost when my brother molested me. I will feel no guilt about it now. He made the same decision time and time again for years. He made the decision long past a time he knew better. I did not. He took my decision from me. He betrayed the family.

Me speaking up, does not betray the family. It embarrasses the family, society, the norm. And that, is not on me. If I embarrass you for something I am finally coming to terms about, it’s not about you. It’s about me.

I will no longer let my brother have a hold on my life, I no longer will let him keep my mouth shut. I will be allowed to speak up because sometimes, it’s about me.

GraySkyHippie

Easter, Belief in God after Sexual Abuse


I’ve realized I probably haven’t made it Clear that I believe Bible is Gods written word. I do believe it’s ancient book full of people’s stories. But stories God wanted us to remember now.

I celebrate Easter not for the candy and Easter bunny but because I believe God suffered for us. He was nailed to the cross. It’s a reminder that God went through trials, through condemnation He did not deserve. That He was beaten, He was nailed to the cross. He deserved none of this, so he understands abuse, sexual abuse, incest and molestation. He too knows what it feels like and was un rightfully was killed for what He did not do. But in much higher form, He was perfect, without sin.

He did that for us. For our sins. So we can be forgiven if we just simply accept He carried that burden for us and that He is Lord. Today in church, sitting through Easter sunday church service, He showed me a new perspective, I’m sure from the openness this blog has given me but to feel Jesus’s pain more vividly than ever before. I did not deserve that sexual abuse I received growing up or later in college and Jesus knows my pain and confusion 100 times over because He hadn’t even thought a wrong thing in His life yet he was beaten, abused, killed because of it.

I also am reminded at Easter that Jesus was able to show all those around then, and all who believe now that He un rightfully suffered and was raised from the dead. Something miraculous . To show He wasn’t just man but also God.

That made me think of what amazing things God can have in store for us. Those who silently suffer and have done no wrong, those who are abused, molested. It was such a strong story that his pain didn’t go in vein and neither do ours.

In no way do I think I am or we should compare ourselves to God/Jesus. But I do think hearing the Easter story after writing this blog allowed me too see a whole different side of things.

That I wanted you to understand I fully believe in God. That my issue is more with Church not growing in knowledge of incest, sexual abuse and trauma into its teachings. Especially since often times the abuse can come from their own church leaders or worshipers. They need to have a more open mindset.

That reaching people isn’t one size fits all but Jesus is. And His character was one much different than shown in many churches. He always surrounded Himself with those less fortunate, He didn’t do it once a year. He came to the sinners level and helped explain the God/Father He loved. That was forever many years ago and He didn’t use scare tactics you see in churches today. He used love, compassion, understanding and patiently teaching.

Where has all that gone? He showed through His life, the way He acted that He was the son of God and I believe we as the Christian I want to be, walk around and show what kind of trust and belief we have in Him without giving them the what Roman Road Rules? (Been a while since we had to go out evangelizing.) God doesn’t need us to save people, He has done enough to show His Love by sending His guiltless son to die for us and forgive our sins. I believe He does and can use us to help show others God is grace, mercy, love not wrath and hate as I seem to feel lots of people feel today.

And I feel like church has come more about what you wear or who you know. Jesus didn’t care what you looked liked, how you dressed or who you were. The church today is condemning those very same people that Jesus would have sat to dinner with, shown His love to.

I just don’t want to be part of churches that are gay bashing, or sit outside abortion clinics with pamphlets about how they are going to Hell for aborting their baby, or look strangely at people with tattoos, or piercings. (Trying to think of less harsher examples but going blank, it will come after I post hah I’ll leave it in the comments). And let’s note here there are several churches that I believe strive hard to be open to anyone. But I think a lot are stuck in an ancient book when God is here, present. But….

My God is stronger than that, He is better than that, He would show those people love and mercy. He would be kind. And I think that’s the part of Christianity we should focus on not always the one of the rules. Rule followers or rule breakers.

Then people would feel differently about the church today. People might feel welcome to come. Welcome to come in ask questions, free to understand how great my God can be. Not see what I thinks the worst side of Him.

But churches today choose to tend to ignore experiences like mine of the many others reading my blog. That maybe my church experience, was different. Ridden with guilt from what my brother was doing to me. And who knows if it had been taught to me from any of my elementary-college life, I might have come clean to someone about what my brother did to me. Instead of hiding away in fear of what happened, might have known how much my family, friends and church would have backed me up. Backed them up instead of probably looking at them with disgust and shame.

But today I want you to know I believe in Jesus and that He has risen indeed.

 

Image

 

GraySkyHippie

Easter, Belief in God after Sexual Abuse


I’ve realized I probably haven’t made it Clear that I believe Bible is Gods written word. I do believe it’s ancient book full of people’s stories. But stories God wanted us to remember now.

I celebrate Easter not for the candy and Easter bunny but because I believe God suffered for us. He was nailed to the cross. It’s a reminder that God went through trials, through condemnation He did not deserve. That He was beaten, He was nailed to the cross. He deserved none of this, so he understands abuse, sexual abuse, incest and molestation. He too knows what it feels like and was un rightfully was killed for what He did not do. But in much higher form, He was perfect, without sin.

He did that for us. For our sins. So we can be forgiven if we just simply accept He carried that burden for us and that He is Lord. Today in church, sitting through Easter sunday church service, He showed me a new perspective, I’m sure from the openness this blog has given me but to feel Jesus’s pain more vividly than ever before. I did not deserve that sexual abuse I received growing up or later in college and Jesus knows my pain and confusion 100 times over because He hadn’t even thought a wrong thing in His life yet he was beaten, abused, killed because of it.

I also am reminded at Easter that Jesus was able to show all those around then, and all who believe now that He un rightfully suffered and was raised from the dead. Something miraculous . To show He wasn’t just man but also God.

That made me think of what amazing things God can have in store for us. Those who silently suffer and have done no wrong, those who are abused, molested. It was such a strong story that his pain didn’t go in vein and neither do ours.

In no way do I think I am or we should compare ourselves to God/Jesus. But I do think hearing the Easter story after writing this blog allowed me too see a whole different side of things.

That I wanted you to understand I fully believe in God. That my issue is more with Church not growing in knowledge of incest, sexual abuse and trauma into its teachings. Especially since often times the abuse can come from their own church leaders or worshipers. They need to have a more open mindset.

That reaching people isn’t one size fits all but Jesus is. And His character was one much different than shown in many churches. He always surrounded Himself with those less fortunate, He didn’t do it once a year. He came to the sinners level and helped explain the God/Father He loved. That was forever many years ago and He didn’t use scare tactics you see in churches today. He used love, compassion, understanding and patiently teaching.

Where has all that gone? He showed through His life, the way He acted that He was the son of God and I believe we as the Christian I want to be, walk around and show what kind of trust and belief we have in Him without giving them the what Roman Road Rules? (Been a while since we had to go out evangelizing.) God doesn’t need us to save people, He has done enough to show His Love by sending His guiltless son to die for us and forgive our sins. I believe He does and can use us to help show others God is grace, mercy, love not wrath and hate as I seem to feel lots of people feel today.

And I feel like church has come more about what you wear or who you know. Jesus didn’t care what you looked liked, how you dressed or who you were. The church today is condemning those very same people that Jesus would have sat to dinner with, shown His love to.

I just don’t want to be part of churches that are gay bashing, or sit outside abortion clinics with pamphlets about how they are going to Hell for aborting their baby, or look strangely at people with tattoos, or piercings. (Trying to think of less harsher examples but going blank, it will come after I post hah I’ll leave it in the comments). And let’s note here there are several churches that I believe strive hard to be open to anyone. But I think a lot are stuck in an ancient book when God is here, present. But….

My God is stronger than that, He is better than that, He would show those people love and mercy. He would be kind. And I think that’s the part of Christianity we should focus on not always the one of the rules. Rule followers or rule breakers.

Then people would feel differently about the church today. People might feel welcome to come. Welcome to come in ask questions, free to understand how great my God can be. Not see what I thinks the worst side of Him.

But churches today choose to tend to ignore experiences like mine of the many others reading my blog. That maybe my church experience, was different. Ridden with guilt from what my brother was doing to me. And who knows if it had been taught to me from any of my elementary-college life, I might have come clean to someone about what my brother did to me. Instead of hiding away in fear of what happened, might have known how much my family, friends and church would have backed me up. Backed them up instead of probably looking at them with disgust and shame.

But today I want you to know I believe in Jesus and that He has risen indeed.

When Memories Make You Vomit


So I have not shared many memories of what would actually happen with my older brother, B. Even when I told my parents, I didn’t mention anything but him molesting me. And I think they thought it was just once. But it was years worth of sexual abuse. Its hard for me to remember specifics even now. I think I block it out. For now, I haven’t shared my blog with them. I don’t know if I ever will but sometimes I wish I was brave enough to say what he put me through. That maybe then I would get the validation and support I need. Maybe then too they wouldn’t do all they could for that slime ball. But I think now, I even know it wouldn’t change. They would still think my obviously mentally ill brother, would be their failure to fix. This all goes from one time in a life, to another. I don’t really remember a particular order to things, just as I wrote this, the memories flooded in and I wrote them down.

They used to call us two peas in a pod. Growing up, I thought that described our “special relationship”. I thought thats why we would do stuff I never saw my other siblings do. It was almost comfort. That I was special and even my parents knew that we were just connected together. Now that makes me want to vomit.

They think now I get car sick from motion sickness, and maybe I do but riding in a car in the back seat floods in memories of 27 hour long family visits to my grandparents home. My brother and I, being two peas in a pod would often share one of the long bench seats in my folks huge van. He would enjoy feeling me up under the covers or even just out in the open. Im sure he got some sick thrill doing it in front of everyone. To me, I remember being scared someone seeing, even when I was little and even then didn’t know it was wrong. Finally when I started realizing more how it was wrong. He would do stuff to me and I would physically vomit. I would manage to almost always get the driver seat then, feeling like my siblings hated me for being to ride upfront but for me, I was just finding safety. Soon and even now, its comfort to sit up front, its that same safety. Safety from those feelings, those memories flooding back.

We always were traveling it felt like. I still hate long car rides, gives me too much time to think. But as a big family growing up we would drive everywhere. Luckily my brother was “troubled” and soon stopped traveling with us, living with us. But he would come back to visit, he would often make time for me and his sexual play.

Being a big family, we divide chores. I remember B and I often being stuck doing dishes together. He would come up behind me and be feeling all over me, groping or touching me, kissing me on my neck or anywhere he pleased. I remember my parents walking in several time. But he was careful. He never really got caught. Or my parents just didn’t expect to be looking for anything then. They just thought we where those two peas in a pod.

He spent summers away at basketball camp, it might have just been one. I remember missing him. I remember thinking why he had left me. I think being that young, dealing with sexual trauma. You are over sexualized, later I began to masturbate at a really young age, that I have now read in wonderful blogs here, one I even shared with you that this is normal for sexual abuse victims. But he would come back to visit. He would explain to me that he loved me, that he was sorry he was gone. I still remember the dinning room table we sat at for this conversation I remember clearly because now it brings up the vomit. I remember him putting his hands up my dress and feeling on me. He would sneak in a kiss but I remember he didn’t do so much this time because our cousin was in town.

Even when he had moved out of our house, he was on and off drugs. Drugs I’m sure my parents and family think caused this behavior from him but it started long before he ever began using. But he moved out of our house several times in fact, but he would visit.

Later he started this military type school to help him get his GED, teach him to be a good citizen. He would come home, often even with friends and he would still find time for me, but I didn’t like it by then. But had become scary to me, I felt like saying no wasn’t an option.

When we were younger, he was often left to babysit me and my little brother. I remember once my little brother, N, asking at the dinner table when we were older “is B going to babysit them like he used to babysit you?” He didn’t know what he was saying then, he doesn’t remember it the way I did. I remember being scared that someone would find out our dirty secret. I remember yelling at N, telling him not to talk about it. I was surprised by then he still remembered the difference between the way B babysat me and him. I still is weird to me, he was so young then, did he have any idea. I knew he didn’t know it was happening, I’m sure he was shocked as much as everyone else.

It makes me wonder why I have these “flashbacks,” and not others in my family. Since they found out, did they put anything together. Did they see signs they missed then. Not in a way of, why didn’t you see? But do you believe me? Do you see now? Or am I the only one that has to live this over and over.

But anyways, I think N must have known it was different because when B was babysitting us. B would take me into my parents room and do stuff to me. He would lock the door. And get what he needed. Then he would give us a special snack. Then he would leave. He would leave me to watch my little brother, maybe 3 then. I think that would have made me 6. I remember having so much anger then. I remember at least once showing my little brother a picture of mom and dad and telling him they’d never coming back. That alone haunts me, how my little brothers life was effected by my sexual abuse.

The way I would take things out on him. I don’t know if it was because he was younger. Or because my parents were always concerned about what their fighting with B would do to effect him. And Im like it effected us all. It left me confused, did I want him to go, did I want him to stay. My swim coach, he is french. He used what we call french words…curse words. Half the time with his thick accent you couldn’t tell. But Id always get into trouble for cutting. Im like cursing, really. Thats what you’re worried. about. I knew they didn’t know but I now realize the anger I had, anger I now am used to acting out on. When I was older, Id be mad, It hit my brother. No reason, just start flaying my arms in his direction. I would say mean things to him, hurtful damaging thing, the abuse I was passing onto him. Later, in first years of dating and still now I find myself falling into the same pattern of hitting my husband. I need to get a punching bag. ANYWAYS…

I remember once, B kissed me so hard he ripped that part under your tongue, that holds it to the underpart (where is my college anatomy at now) . It bleed. my whole mouth bleed. That is one of the first times I remember fearing my brother. The pain he could inflict. I still have a lump from how it healed, It reminds me every time I see it.

After that, I remember he disappeared after that happened. My parents had came home shortly after it happened. My mouth hurt so bad, I told them I had somehow cut it. I didn’t tell them of how, they didn’t ask. But from then on he would bring me something, after every time he did something to me. Like it was making up for what he had done.

He would come into my room when my sister was gone or take me into the bathroom. I don’t think he ever actually put it in me, I don’t remember, I don’t want to remember. But I know he made me suck on him and he would go down on me, rub us together. I hate even wording it as sexual terms I would use today. But I don’t know how else to explain it other than that or as just sick. I remember my sister walking in once, wondering why the door was shut and why I was naked. But B said something and it made her stop asking questions.

I still remember, when my little brother, N and I went with B and a few of his friends down to the gas station right down the street from our house. My brother was playing video games with his friends. I was left to chase after my toddler brother. Which of course didn’t work out well, I was maybe 6 and N was 3. I had no control over N, he was just wild that day. He was up and down aisles and of course my brother B was oblivious.

The woman working finally called the cops, for disturbing the peace or something. I was terrified. Not just that we were talking to the police but they would know what my brother had been doing. The Police got all of our addresses, including asking me at age 6 where I lived, I remember pointing to the house right down the road. We were told to never go into the store again.

My brother came home with us, he knew I was upset, he came into my room and gave me bubble tape, stuff my parents didn’t ever buy for us. But it bothered me because I knew he had to have stolen it from the place. I remember asking him if he paid for it and he got upset with me and said something to the effect of course he paid for it. But I knew he hadn’t. He gave me it to keep my mouth shut and I never told.

After that I was terrified anytime the police would drive by the house, which was frequently in a small town. Even in high school once, my mom asked me to go get change for newspaper. I remember just crying and crying and crying. I assumed my mom just thought I was too shy, she was frustrated with me. She thought I was ridiculous but I remember it was the same women that was working just much older.

A few times in college, I did return to the store and the same now old lady, was working there. I am sure I gave her a awful vibe about the guilt I felt for being in the store when I was kicked out., I was sure she thought I was trying to steal something. But even now, Ill just go to the gas station further down the road. Avoid that memory and the memories that come with it.

B would often bring items, items to keep me quiet about what he was doing, later in middle school I started telling him I didn’t want things. I think it made him more nervous. He started giving me cash. But I didn’t want that either. Sometimes I would take it but mostly not. Sometimes I didn’t want the dirty money, sometimes I wanted to make him pay somehow so I would take it. But I would tell him he needed it more for him, I still was so confused about everything. I loved him, he was my brother but hated him for what he did.

I always knew to cover for him. In middle school B would steal money from where my dad would keep the lunch money. I would sneak back at night and put mine back. I would then not eat lunch or bring stuff but I often got hungry and in elementary school and they’d put lunch on “my tab” but of course then it be time to pay up. My dad would ask what I had done with my lunch money. I would normally just say I lost it, he would write out a check for the money and that be it. Once I had a purse full of coins basically, a few dollars. One of the times my I had taken money from my brother. My dad went to the place he stashed the money for lunches and found a lot missing, of course after a time my brother came to visit. Im sure part of it was in my purse from B. My dad blamed me for it. I remembering being so mad and angry that he thought I would do it. That I would steal from him when all I had done was try to put it back. I still didn’t tell on B. I wanted to protect him but also my family.

After that I never took money from my brother. My brother was always surprised, wanted to know why. Im sure he was wondering if I was going to tell, that was what the money was for. But I never did. At least not till I was far, far, 12 hrs away from and the wrath of my brother.

I have told you about the time where my brother was in bootcamp for the marines. I was more involved with my church then. I wrote him a letter that told him I knew what he had done to me was wrong, but that I forgave him because we are all sinners. He never responded to the letter but I knew he got it. He didn’t try anything for years after that. He would still try to give me money, I would never take it.

He was left in charge when I was 16 now I think back, my parents went on a trip (obviously B was not using at the time or my parents wouldn’t have left him in charge). I only remember us being in the house. He first just sat really close, then he tried to “cuddle” me. Then he turned my head around and kissed me. I remember saying I wanted to go to bed and leaving. He said something about oh you don’t want to do that with your brother and I shook my head no. I just remember going upstairs and putting everything in front of the door so he couldn’t get to me.

I just remember crying, thinking of how I forgave him, I told him it was in the past. And he brought it to the present. Why would you do it again? I stayed in my room except when I knew for sure he was gone, and only to get food to live off of, for at least 5 days I missed school. I remember getting to the infirmary at my dads school, to get a note. By then I was suffering from stomach troubles and always have ear infections from swimming. I remember them being surprised to see me without my dad, but I wanted to have some reason for my absence to give my parents and then the school. Then I couldn’t even imagine telling them the truth. They gave me a note, I think more of because of my father than finding anything wrong. I felt so dirty, and even more angry. My parent kept giving B chances, over and over. I had given him a chance over yet he screwed it up. He is good at screwing things up.

I do know from then on I promised to never put myself where I was alone with my brother. Id cry like crazy if my parents wanted me to go pick him up from somewhere. My sister, J, even told me she didn’t feel comfortable being around him anymore. He radiated evil. My parents, didn’t catch on but why would they. I had never said anything, he never got caught, they didn’t know what to look for and I’m sure thought no reason to look.

Sometime after that, my brother showed up high on who knows what. He had never been to physically abuse when he had done stuff to me but he had never hit me before. He was trying to find money anywhere. and I remember him hitting me. I was terrified. He came back later and apologized over and over so I never told. But I saw the kind of rage he can have, and to this day, I think he would love to pour his rage out on me.

But he frightened me even worse. Thats when he would bring home weapons he would show us in the back of the car. To my brothers, it was awesome. Neat to see but for me it was different, it was more like if you ever tell, you see what I have to hurt you with.

I still don’t like going to my parents house. My middle brother K, the fixer, even before he found out what B had done, did care much for B by then. I would call him frequently in panics when I was at the house, K would tell me keep the phone by me and call the police. That he no doubt would have a warrant out for his arrest, to just tell them he was there and he had a warrant out on him. I felt comfort that he knew he was a bad person, even without knowing the whole truth of just how evil he could be. Not like my parents who always see the good in him, or the guilt for not raising him “right”, I still don’t know which. They would just accept the bad behavior as something they had done wrong, or if he just got clean, he would be a good person.

I remember once going to my youth leader in tears about how my parents take such blame in B, that it wasn’t fair. He left our house so early that they didn’t contribute to half of his raising. That it made me really sad in the way that they blamed themselves for how he was. I didn’t explain it then, but to me it had never been about B drug use, or friends he hung out. My brother had always been evil. He had always been wrong. He didn’t do dirty things to me when he was high, he was sober, he knew what he was doing. Knew it was wrong and he didn’t care.

It breaks my heart to this day that my father has just concluded he was a bad father, I remember going with him to church several years after I told him and some famous christian writer was speaking, telling you how important it was to be a strong christian father. And my father cried. It broke my heart, still breaks my heart that he thinks he was a bad example to us. But he wasn’t.

He didn’t know what signs to look for my abuse, I also hid it well, like I have learned is completely normal for incest victims, even rape victims. I never said anything, protecting my abuser, even after I knew it was wrong. I could have gone to my father much sooner and I believe he would have done something to stop it. But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to speak up then. I was scared of my brothers wrath. Im still scared of my brothers wrath.

My father is an amazing man who has lived a hard life, loosing his father at a young age, funeral the day before he started college. Putting himself through college, masters and doctorate. Most of that time having at least 3 kids.

He was always the sensitive one. The one you could talk to about most things and not feel judged. He would listen. He always treats my mom with caring and compassion. He works his butt off, even after he had a life changing accident. He stayed strong in his faith and has been the most amazing hero to me. I try to tell him, as much as possible. I just wish both my parents wouldn’t feel so much guilt about their black sheep, B. He is grown now, it has been his decisions. He knows better and still makes wrong choices.

But I am frustrated now, that he won’t talk about things with me. That he won’t validate my feelings or express he believes me to my face. I have realized, I have had 23 years to deal with this, and live with this and they’ve had about 7 now. That its harder for them, and my family to understand and grasp it like me and might never. That when I spoke up and told, to me I could not take it back. I couldn’t live the same way as its so easy for them to live. And that hurts me, it hurts me every time I bring it up and am basically told to shut up, or am told how well he is doing. Great for him, but I need you to listen to how not great I am doing.

The more blogs I read, I come to realize it is familiar. For the few I did tell they would say “he must have been abused when he was younger”. But I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it doesn’t give him a right to abuse me.

So basically, these are the memories that flood into my thoughts, they leave vomit in my mouth. I can’t forget them. But it feels better to know I am not alone and to explain to those that know me and reading this, it wasn’t one time. It was an awful lifestyle I lived for many years. One I still cope with. That I am struggling. That I need help, I need people to listen and realize, B is bad.

Thanks for reading,

GraySkyHippie