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,