Betrayed, But Not Destroyed

Growing up in a middle-class family as the middle child was an experience. I had an older brother in whom I adored dearly and a younger sister. A father that abused alcohol in my eye sight and a loving, passive, and empathetic mother. During the abuse, my father left when I was five years old. My mother married again and to that union, my younger sister was born. Leaving me alone with my brother very often, what vigorous activities I had to encounter, having my innocence from the age of seven to thirteen.

In a room, full of ceramic tile on all four walls bursting colors of yellow and light blue accessories. Long tub to the right of the entrance and across from the toilet bowl on the left is a wood oak finished cabinet with a mirror above it. Full of curiosity and astonished at why am I bent over the tub in my birthday suit. Sometimes on top of the brother I adored so much. Today, tomorrow on my knees and on my back again and again in my birthday suit. To think that I had so much love for my brother. After these traumatic activities, how do I promulgate my feelings after being told you better not utter a word? Rehearsing my feelings over and over again with mixed emotions never uttering a word.

Enduring all the pain externally, internally, emotionally, and physically once again never mentioning a word, but to the little voice inside of me. The persuasive thoughts that try to convince me that it’s all my fault. Why? What did I do to deserve and endure such pain? Never murmuring a word, I couldn’t take it anymore, never told my mother, never told my father, never told anyone until eighteen years after the age of thirteen when it ended. I told my pastor.

Now, here I stand, twenty-seven years later, feeling healed after encountering a traumatic childhood. I say to myself, do I still really consider him my brother? Well, after a horrific unforeseen car accident that brought my brother to his death, I am at peace. Still in my heart having some love for him, but uncertain on the type of love it really is. But, today, I no longer feel dirty and less than. Through therapy, counseling, prayer, and sharing my experience with others, I can go on with my life. At times, the thoughts trickle in my mind, but I just breath, pray and think about how far I have come and the positive and pleasant things I have achieved thus far in my life.