I’ve been working on a narrative, with my therapist, of the times of sexual abuse by my brother that I remember. I don’t really remember much but, what I do remember is too much.
“The last time my brother abused me I was seven or eight,I guess, I don’t ever remember how it started but I do remember the specific acts. Thinking back I believe that I was feeling, scared, trapped, confused but trusting because he was my brother and I loved him and if he said that’s what we are supposed to do….. I also felt confused and guilty, having a feeling that this wasn’t right. I was maybe ashamed or embarrassed, but I am not sure. And later, looking back I feel disgusted.
I remember he was laying on the bed. Probably I was thinking “oh no, I don’t want to do this again”. I guess I thought that was what I was supposed to do. It’s like sometimes your parents want you to do something and you really don’t want to, but you are supposed to do it so you do it.
I know I felt kind of scared or nervous, I felt powerless, he was twice big as me and 10 years older than me. I felt hesitant or resistant because I didn’t want to do it, and I was probably afraid I would be in trouble if I didn’t. I also felt confused, the confusion of not wanting to, not liking it, feeling like I was supposed to do it. At that age you know somethings are right and wrong, but you don’t really know about that. You don’t think that an adult is going to tell you to do something you’re not supposed to do, because you trust them.
My parents would leave, and my brother was the babysitter, and I thought that my parents have left him to take care of me so that must be right. So I thought they trusted him to take care of me and not to hurt me. When other people are around he was always good to me and he would take me for rides to see his girlfriend and he would buy me candy and stuff. He was never physically or verbally abusive to me so I thought he loved me, and he probably did, but I think he might’ve resented me a little because I was adopted and he may have resented me getting a lot of attention.
He was 11 or 12 one they got me and he told me later when I was 21 that I shouldn’t have gotten anything from my parents dying. He kept the stuff I was supposed to get. I feel like he took advantage of me, again. I managed to keep a couple of the paintings that my mom had painted. I kept one, but I did give one to my niece, and that felt good to give it to her and it made her happy to have something of her grandmothers.
Again I remember he was lying on the bed and I remembered he was pulling his pants down and he was making me put my mouth on his penis. I remember he was telling me to be careful with my teeth. I think I probably felt inadequate like you’re supposed to know what to do, I probably felt like I always feel, like I can’t do anything right. I felt like that, like I couldn’t do anything right whenever I would get into trouble and I still feel that way. I was thinking that I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like the look of it, his genital area, his penis, his hair, it looked ugly, disgusting, like something that wasn’t supposed to go in my mouth. I didn’t like the feel of it, sort of soft but clammy, it was hard, or the taste of it, like something that has been in your underwear too long, salty.
After that it was his turn to do something to me. He told me to take my pants off into the lay on the bed, and then he performed oral sex on me. I felt uncomfortable, gross, probably afraid, not knowing what to expect or what it was supposed to feel like. I just didn’t like the feel of his mouth on me, it felt icky. I thought probably, that I just wanted it to be over. I feel that way to this day about oral sex, I don’t like it, I don’t want it, all it makes me think about is HIM and that feeling from him abusing me. I remember that when it was his turn to do something to me, that at least one time I know I had to go to the bathroom and he told me to “wipe good”, and I said “I know”. So the “I know” makes me pretty sure that this happened more than once, a few times. And I also remember that he gave me silver dollars afterwords, “don’t tell anybody I’ll give you this Silver dollar”. So the fact that I had several also makes me pretty sure that this happened more than once, a few times.
That was the last time, he must not of locked the door or he didn’t expect my parents to be home, I’m pretty sure he did not do that while they were in the house. I saw my mother open the door, I think maybe I felt like we were in trouble. I felt confused, afraid, guilty; deep down inside you feel like it’s not all right, but these people make you feel like it’s OK, my brother must have done that. I don’t remember ever crying, being scared, feeling wrong, yet they put you at ease so much you don’t go tell your mommy about this terrible thing that happened. When he saw my mother he flipped me on the floor on the opposite side of the door so she couldn’t see me. Remember landing on the floor, I was surprised and scared. I remember being scared I was going to get into trouble. I think I was too worried about what was happening, getting my pants on andb hoping I wouldn’t get into trouble to feel how much it hurt. He was talking to her as I was trying to pull my pants on and then I don’t remember anything more, I don’t remember anything anybody said, nothing. I don’t remember leaving the room or if my mom talked me at all. I don’t think she did because I don’t remember. I do remember he went to grandma and grandpa’s for the summer by the lake. I remember thinking that was not any kind of punishment, you got a nice vacation to the lake. I wished I could’ve gone to the lake they have boats, and my grandpa taught me how to fish. It is fun and games when you go to grandmas. I don’t remember that summer for me.
Now I feel I needed to be talked to by my mother, and being held also would’ve been nice, and explained to me what had happened, and what he did was wrong and that it was not my fault. Your parents should tell you how not to let people touch you even if they are family. Nobody had told me that but they should have. I feel it would’ve been nice if my mom had told me that she love me. I don’t remember if she did that, but I know she showed me she loved me. She used to hold me and sing to me before I went to sleep. She sang me “Swing low Sweet chariot”. She used to play games with me because she was at home, didn’t work. Those things would’ve been great at that time. Now I think my brother should’ve gone to therapy, we both needed therapy. Neither of us got it, maybe if he had gotten it he wouldn’t have turned out to be the ugly been human being he is today, e.g., he raped his daughter when she was 17. She (my niece) told me that he cheated on his wife and hired hookers when he was out of town on business and very sexually promiscuous with men and women. Besides being wrong because he was married, it was dangerous for his wife. She also said he took them to the park and did fun stuff, but he was physically abusive with her brothers. A creep!
It was not given any sort of punishment or to know that it was wrong. As for me, not getting therapy back then it fucked up my whole life, just the way I feel about things like myself, low self-esteem, can’t do anything right, feel like I don’t have any value. Now I know that it is not true that I can’t do anything right, but it comes out of that experience. My mom should have gone right that little girl and hugged her, and told the boy to get out of there, I felt then I didn’t have any value, but that is not true, what happened was not my fault and I was left alone to deal with that. I felt like I was loved, but nobody seemed to talk about things, about important things in life. They were sort of “children should be seen and not heard”, maybe they thought it wasn’t right to discuss things. For example, when my dad died my mom didn’t talk with me about it, even when she was dying I didn’t know she was dying. They (aunts, uncles,grandparents) didn’t tell me she was going to pass, it was a surprise when they called and said she died. I went to stay at my brothers when my mom went to the hospital. My aunt called the next morning, my sister-in-law answered the phone, my aunt told her our mother had died, and I remember crying and being upset, and I drove home at 16 and maybe somebody should’ve driven me home. I was crying, feeling hysterical, and also in disbelief in and shock, not knowing what was going to happen. Somebody, like an adult, at my age I should not of been driving home by myself in that condition. It would’ve been hard for anybody, let alone a little kid. My brother was more of an adult 26, but probably not that grown-up, and obviously a jerk. I know they had a church service, the only part I really remember is standing in the entrance at the church with my aunt and uncle, people coming in, I don’t remember the service or anything.
I remember when my dad died, he had a church service. I started crying in the parking lot when I got out of the car, I did not want to go in and my mom said quit making a scene, I was 14. What I needed was a hug, some comfort. I got into trouble for being upset and sad and scared, I didn’t know what was going to happen.
As hard as this is to look back on, some of the things I can do now to help myself with the feelings that come up from this journey are to let myself cry, it makes me feel sad and angry and makes me want to cry but I feel like I shouldn’t cry about it anymore, like I’m too old and I should be over it, but it also makes me mad.