When I was 15 years old I was engaged in a heated argument with my family, this happened frequently at family gatherings but this time I had reached a level of despair so heavy that I blurted out the real reason for my anger. I screamed to all that could hear that my brother had raped me for several years, my brother and his wife immediately denied my allegations and my mother slapped me. I was called a liar, I was called insane, I was called a stupid crazy bitch and so on…
I fell into a deep depression that I could not see any way out of. I could not sleep, I was not able to think of anything else, I wanted to end my life. I found some pills in my mothers bathroom, turns out they were valium, I took a handful (about 20 or so) and went into my room with a glass of water. I stared at the pills for a long while, holding them in my hand, bringing them to my mouth several times but taking them back down to look at them over and over again. I was sobbing, I was telling myself that I don’t matter, that nobody loves me or cares what happens to me. I told myself to just take the pills, go to sleep and never wake up and maybe then they would all be sorry. I wanted to stop my pain but most of all I wanted to hurt them. I took the pills. I laid down in my bed but I did not fall asleep right away, I got up to get more water to take more pills, I felt weird. My other brother, the one that didn’t hurt me, could see that something was wrong with me, he knew what a high looked like. I felt very tired. I went back to bed.
I woke up in a hospital with something in my throat and someone yelling at me. I fell asleep. I woke up and was given some black stuff to drink, I threw up. I was admitted to a psychiatric facility for 30 days. After my time was up I went home convinced that I must never speak of this again, convinced that I am crazy.
Years go by and I am forced to accept my brother as my savior, my mother told me and everyone over and over that he was always there for me, that he took care of me when I was little and he loved me so much. I played along, what good would it do me to fight it. I still had bouts of anger and temper tantrums at family functions and other times. I lashed out at anyone that threatened me or my personal space in any way so I became tough to a point of being “crazy.” I quickly learned that people that “love” you will hurt you and I had to live with that. Anytime someone called me crazy it set me off. I pushed people away, I can’t love or be loved because love hurts too much. I associated sex with love and pain was love. I developed issues with trust and insecurities about myself, why would anyone want to be with me. I believe myself to be disgusting.
My brother had children, I thought it was fine. I thought nobody would do that to their own children and his wife knew so she would not let anything happen to them. In my mind, I thought it was just me that he hurt and he would not hurt others except deep down I knew at the very least that he had hurt one other but I did not see it so maybe I could be wrong. The kids seemed ok. I let it go.
After many years and failed relationships with men, family, friends, etc. I met someone, someone that I really cared about and felt connected to in a way I had never felt before. I craved the love of this man because it felt like he was meant to be for me. I wanted to be a better person because he was worth it. I sought help for my anger, insecurities and anxiety. I finally told a therapist my story, I felt good but I had to tell my husband. Something miraculous happened…he believed me and he offered his love and support. I did not know what to think, this was not what I expected. I expected him to leave and tell me that he can’t even look at me least of all touch me ever again. This gave me strength, so much strength that I decided to say something to my mother again. We got into a volatile argument in which she lied to me and offered me nothing but denial and excuses. So I let it go, AGAIN…but the denial and lack of acknowledgement of my feelings continued to plague me. I cut all ties to my brother finally. I was able to reign in my anger for short periods of time but it would build up and I would blow at least once a year.
I started noticing signs of abuse in another family member, I saw in them the same anger, fear and insecurities and it was like looking in a mirror. This was enough to bring the memories back to full blown Technicolor. I called my mother, desperate for her help to stop this to check on them. She agreed and promised she would do that. When my mother called me to tell me that she confronted my brother about the abuse and she said he did not deny it I thought I had finally made progress. She told me she made sure that he had not harmed anyone else and I was relieved that in fact it was just me. I forgave my mother for her earlier denial and tried to repair our relationship. She continued in her fantasy world of the perfect family, telling me stories of him, praising him in my presence and telling me about the kids he had living with him and what a great person he is for helping these people in need. Telling anyone who would listen that “Tracy just doesn’t get along with her brother” not that Tracy does not want to spend time with or hear about the man that raped and tortured her for years.
All of her promises it turns out…were a LIE. She never confronted anyone, she never checked on anyone and to top it off she was still in denial. Of course he is helping people that need a place to stay, they have what he needs…more children. She went so far as to invite another family with small children to vacation in his home. She can NOT be this oblivious. I felt sick! So sick that my anxiety went into overdrive and I started having anger episodes again, pushing away anyone that I could. It was time to make a choice and do something, I began therapy again and was diagnosed with PTSD. What? I thought that was a war vet sickness. Nope, turns out the key word is Trauma. I had to work on recovery and the first step is telling my story, getting it out, not hiding from it. I completely cut my mother out of my life, she made her choice and she will now have to live with that. She chose a pedophile over me, she protected him and punished me.
I began to write this blog for my own healing, not sharing it just writing but it was not enough. I had to tell others, I needed justice even if that only means he will be shamed. I began to hear from others he had molested and I started losing all capacity to heal, I became more angry and the guilt I felt overshadowed everything. It was my fault that he hurt so many others. I should have done something earlier, I should have made sure the others were protected myself. My shame is that I left it up to others and I am so sorry for that. I can not live with that feeling and it plagues me every day.
He did not feel any shame, in fact he called it all lies and called all of them to get them on his side. I don’t want sides, I just want what’s right, I just want justice and not just for me. I can’t move on until I have justice of some kind. It’s ruining my life because I can’t get over this. I try so many different things to overcome my anxiety and depression but they are all just brief moments of happiness that fade quickly. I’ve tried every hobby I could, tried overworking myself to keep busy, buying news things for me and for others to hide in that moment and never allowing myself a moment of free thought. I’m going to lose the rest of my family, my husband and my life because I can’t overcome this. I want him to pay for what he’s done to my life and so many others. I want to start over, I want to have a happy marriage, a happy family and success for me and all of them. Maybe that’s not going to happen for someone like me, maybe I’m unworthy.