When I was a kid I remember my mom always told me to scream and fight if a stranger ever tried to touch me.
She told me that my family would always protect me and make sure no one hurt me.
So you can imagine my shock when I turned thirteen and my brother molested me.
You know I was convinced that I would be brave enough to do something if someone every tried to hurt me but when it actually happened I froze.
I froze because I use to trust that person with my life.
I was taught a stranger could hurt me, someone I barely knew, not my own family. So yes I froze.
I didn’t scream, I didn’t yell, I didn’t tell‚Ķ for years after I blamed myself.
Why didn’t I do anything? To this day I still struggle to not blame myself for what he did to me.
At the time he was still in highschool which meant he lived with my parents and me.
I started distancing myself from him.
I couldn’t even be In the same room as him let alone look at him or even say his name.
I wore a jacket all the time, stopped taking care of myself, and never allowed anyone into my room again.
Typing all this out makes me realize how many signs there were.
I wanted to tell my parents but I didn’t know how they would react.
This wasn’t a stranger, this was there first child, they’re only son.
For awhile I genuinely thought about telling them, but then came the comments.
It became a common occurrence for him to tell my parents how “badly” I treated him which would lead to them telling me “how disappointed they are in me, they didn’t raise me like this, he was family, he only ever cared about me, how could I treat him like that”‚Ķ.
The comments never stopped. I wish they stopped….
You know there’s only so many times you can hear your parents unknowingly defend someone who hurt you before you just shutdown.
Thinking back this was probably what he wanted.
Make my parents think I was a horrible person so if I ever told‚Ķthey wouldn’t believe me.
But I still wonder how they didn’t notice? The signs were all there. How could they not notice?
For fucks sake!
I wore a fucking jacket and jeans every fucking day in the summer because I was scared of showing skin!
I was scared of being in the same room as him!
How could you not tell when I would shutdown when you bring him up?
Or when I cover up if he’s ever around?
Or how about when I choke back tears as you tell me how disappointed you are in me because I refuse to talk to him?
I was screaming for you to notice, for anyone to notice!
Its been seven years now and you still haven’t noticed but the comments haven’t stopped.
Sometimes I wonder if you have noticed but you just don’t care.
I’ll never find out because I’ll never tell you.
If I hear you tell me you don’t believe me or you don’t care after finding out, I’ll have nothing left.
Even after all the comments they made, I still love them with all my heart.
I wish I didn’t.
Maybe then I could push this weight off me and finally live.
No‚Ķno I don’t think I’ll ever truly have the weight lifted.
