Originally, most of it anyway, posted on Feb. 13, 2014
Somewhere along the way in my adult life, I wrote letters to my 5 uninvolved siblings, educating them about my experience with Paul. I wanted them to know what happened. I wanted them to know that he wasn’t quite the “Golden Boy” that everyone thought he was. Of course this didn’t change anything. I was looked on skeptically and he went on being as Golden as ever. Great at sports and academics in school. A great architect after college, great friend and brother and son, no one ever had a complaint with him. Must be Anne. She has had some problems in her life. Mental health isn’t so good. (Gee I wonder why?) Even my husband didn’t seem to appreciate the gravity of these experiences and memories. Thanks a lot. More depressed than ever.
My sister Gail, the one that was abused by our oldest brother James, egged me on to just forgive Paul, like it would make everything better. She had forgiven James and had relied on her religious faith to allow her to heal I guess. Around 2017, I was at a family gathering and when we were leaving, I pulled Paul aside and told him I forgave him. He didn’t say anything, nothing that could have helped me. So much for that. I can’t say that I always really believe that I forgave him, didn’t make a difference in how I felt.
I’ve worked a lot on it, coming and going, like the seasons in the year. Good for a while then feeling rotten about it. I should’s all over the place. What do I mean? Didn’t I have any gut instincts that could have kicked in and gotten me out of there? He was twice my age! Twice as strong if I protested. Twice as smart if I needed some persuasion, I did my best did I not? What was it like for my sister I wonder? She has never told me any details and I doubt she would if I asked. Did her perpetrator penetrate her or “just rub on her” until orgasm was achieved? Did he threaten her or bribe her? Pay her with coins? It begs the question of whether James gave Paul the idea and not the boy’s locker room.
I was so angry at one point that I wrote Paul a letter and asked him if he continued to be a perpetrator. He had two sons. Was he disappointed or did he not let that stop him from carrying on? Does his wife know? She should, I said. He was angry. I didn’t regret writing it.
I avoid family gatherings, made easier by our move from Minnesota to Colorado 2007. Couldn’t quite avoid it when my mother was dying from breast cancer. Then there was her funeral and then my dad’s several years later. Our family is such a sham. We all look so normal. But we all have problems. What family doesn’t right? But you put on this mask to the relatives and the world to see at public evens like funerals and weddings. Gotta make sure the aunts and uncles and cousins think we have it more together than they do. AND we have to protect the nieces and nephews who are just getting started with their own families and the
realities of this big bad world. Shit! I’m so sick of it!
Have I forgiven my brother? Sometimes I convince myself I have and other times I think, hell no, it was the beginning of a shitty childhood, a mediocre young and middle adulthood and a VERY shitty later adulthood. I was 51 when I wrote this originally and alone. Divorces, alienated from my 4 once loving, adoring, trusting children. I’ve lived with an abusive, alcoholic husband, been hospitalized for depression, bipolar I and suicidal ideation 9 times in the past 2 1/2 years. I was almost successful with a suicide attempt 2 years ago and went through a long series of ECT which royally messed with my memory, even still today.
What has messed up my life? These things that have happened to me (and more, to be explored elsewhere). My genetic makeup. My brain chemistry. My choices. These messes have overshadowed the good that has gone on. Makes it hard to member the good events that took place in my childhood, school and college days, marriage, childrearing years.
I don’t know who I am. I was a mother, an active, stay at home mother (or full time mom as I more recently like to call it). Now I don’t know. I don’t have custody because of my mental health problems; I am an “unfit mother”. They adore their dad, sober I guess now. I am just someone that the two minor ones are court ordered to visit for a couple hours twice a week. Now I have a puppy I am training to be an emotional service dog for myself. It’s a draw, specially for the 11 year old. Makes me feel worse almost. She doesn’t care about me, just wants to come and see the dog! She gives me somewhat of a hug now because I have a dog. She’s always wanted one, they all did, and this is the closest she is going to get. So I have a new companion, cuter than anything you’ve ever seen, and I’m more depressed. (Part of that is because he was peeing and pooping all over!) Overwhelmed. Under appreciated. Unloved except for a 5 pound puppy.
