The Woodlands Biotch

let me just start this whole thing with a disclaimer: if my mother ever figures out that i am me, i will most likely be disowned.

tragic.

now: years ago, eaons and ages ago, i endured what no girl should. for a long time. for years, actually. and not just at the hands of my half brother, but by those of a family friend as well. i’m not ashamed. oh, i was. for years i struggled with shame, with embarassment, with guilt, anger, sadness, hurt. it messed me up, messed with my head. and although i’ve grown quite a lot since them, i admit it still has some residual effects on me. i’m working on it.

as one can imagine, having these horrors visited upon them by a sibling can have some devastating effects on the family. how we’ve all dealt with the rifts and scars these past decades has evolved. as a child, mom was my hero, for discovering (finally) what was going on and ending it. for listening to my painful and brutal stories and telling me it wasn’t my fault. when i got older though, i started to think that actually, i had caused the family a lot of pain by bringing to light what was going on; it was all my fault that my big brother didn’t grow up at home. my fault that my kid brother never really knew my big brother. and it was because of this destruction of the family i shouldered all the blame for i did not until years later reveal the name of the other abuser. i didn’t want to feel responisble for the destruction of two families. then as time went on and i grew to adulthood, my older brother made one, painful, drunken, asinine attempt to reach out to me under the guise of an apology. in fact though, all he did was ramble on about all the terrible things that he had endured, thanks to me, for all the years he had not been welcome at home. still later, my kid brother jumped on the bandwagon of blame the sister when i refused to speak to my older brother. and in most recent history, i’ve had to tell my mother again and again that no, it’s too late, there’s nothing he can do or say that will make me want to have a relationship with him, and i fear for the safety of his daughter who lives with him. this of course, “breaks her heart” that her kids can’t let bygones be bygones and move on.

this has started to come to a head this week. because his dad died. not my dad – mom’s first huband fathered my brother. and he’s apparently grieving uncontrollably. and mom actually suggested that perhaps it would be nice if he got a sympathy card from his little sister. never mind the fact that when my dad died a few years ago, she didn’t dream of asking the same of him. which she probably didn’t do because after all, he always blamed my father for getting rid of him in the first place.

she said: “he told me once that he suffered great remorse, yet he felt that you too should have taken some of the responsibility for what happened being as it went on for so long and you were old enough to say no or tattle. … I know that was an extremely traumatic experience for both of you, but it was a long time ago and you were both just kids. Nonetheless, I will always understand your feelings, but I’m still his mom and I just had to forgive him, or at least try and put it out of my mind.” [emphasis added to show how insane it all sounds to me.]

i haven’t yet formulated how i’m going to respond to this latest onslaught of guilt. the woman missed her calling. she should have been a travel agent; cause boy can she book a deep water cruise for a guilt trip. what she apparently can’t book, is her own travel. which is sad, really, seeing as how now she’s actually going to fly halfway across the country to go comfort her grieving son. a luxury she couldn’t afford me at either of my most desperate times in the past decade, when it would have meant a mere hour’s drive. no, i had to go to her for comfort then.

sort of like when i was a kid.