Anonymous-Angst

Thanks for the suggestion =]

I don’t want to get out of bed > I don’t want to get out of the shower > I don’t wan’t to get dressed > I don’t want to leave my room > I don’t want to socialize with house guests > I don’t want to eat > Is it time for everyone to go home yet?.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

I’m trying to ignore it, but we all know that’s next to impossible.

Sometimes there’s no explanation as to why your mind and body is at it again, but you become accustomed to it as if it were a delayed, but much expected, routine. You don’t know if it’ll be awful like the last relapse, or worse. And that’s the thing. The not knowing that sends you on edge. If you’re lucky, it’ll just stick around for the night. But that’s a big, massively large if.

The thing about having a mental illness is that it can, not only mentally, but physically, beat you to a pulp. It’s not just about isolation from the people and things you love, it’s not just fear from all that surrounds you, it’s not just the bleakness and hopelessness that looms - it’s having to look at yourself in the mirror and see a wave of failure and negative messages through your eyes. It’s using those eyes to see right through the one person you cannot stand. It’s cringing at every physical nauseating feeling inside.

It’s also the having to stare at nothing from under your covers while light from your window finds its way into your room. It’s the very light that casts shadows that remind you that darkness will follow no matter where you go. It’s the tears that won’t come and it’s the tears that do. It’s every minuscule thing you can possibly think of that surrounds you, in your heart and in your mind.

The thought of having to talk to someone from outside your room makes you curl your fists. Your mental illnesses taunt you with very select, certain people in these times. The people who have it all together. The people who can function like it’s the easiest thing to do. The taunting leads to the desire to grab garbage bags to throw away everything you know and own, because everything you know and own is tarnished with your pathetic touch. 

Right now, it seems that everything is turning grim everywhere I look. What I believe scares me the most is that I cannot control it. The images around me or the feeling inside me. It has this command over my body & mind and I can’t even tell it to leave me alone. It won’t listen. 

A film and a song will only distract me for so long. A book would just become a cluster of words. The crisp air will just tease me with false hope. My friends and my family will not understand. Placing myself in the middle of the floor for the whole day won’t even be enough to send this feeling away. 

A syringe filled with numbness would certainly do at a time like this.

Yes, you read that right. Can you believe it? It’s all out in the open now. After all these years, I finally freed myself. 

The situation unfolded a little something like this: (and please excuse me if I forget things along the way, all of this happened in under two hours, it’s all very hard to comprehend everything that was said and went down.)

Around 6pm, I first texted my brother asking which e-mail address of his I should use to send, “an INCREDIBLY important” letter to.” I said specifically that I wanted him to, “read it on the laptop in your hotel room alone (he’s out of town) because it’s very lengthy and serious.” He quickly sent me his e-mail address and I texted back asking when he’d be returning to his hotel room for the evening, to which he replied, “30 minutes.” 

The quick worded responses made me a little worried. I wondered if he knew what the e-mail would be about. But then I assumed that maybe he was just coming back from a big meeting. Whatever the case, I couldn’t think of his needs, I had to send the letter now. 

I waited about thirty minutes and made my way to my room to send the e-mail his way. After it sent, I then quickly distracted myself by going directly back out into the kitchen to whip up supper and have a conversation with my mom. When I walked into the kitchen, my mom hugged me and said she was proud of me. We admitted that both of our hearts were racing. 

Because of the situation, she said she wasn’t hungry, and truth be told, I had to force myself just to eat. My other brother came back home from work and sat down to eat with me, but we didn’t discuss that I had just sent the letter to our older brother. I causally picked at my food and my brother pointed out that I had lots left on my plate and all I said was, “I know.” It was a little awkward between us, we didn’t talk much, so I guess he picked up the vibe in the room that the letter was sent.

Suddenly, my cell phone started ringing. I looked down..and it was him.

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I’ve spent days writing the letter confronting my brother once and for all about the sexual abuse he inflicted on me throughout my childhood. This is my step towards moving forward. I am incredibly nervous, terrified, relieved, antsy…everything. 

I went to my folks separately with the letter to have them proof read and offer input. My dad was the first to overlook it, share some insight, and for a few minutes we discussed when was the best time to send it to my brother. But after going over a million different scenarios, we realized no time would be the right time.  It was just something I had to do now. My dad had me add in things into the letter like, “You’re not allowed to confront me in person one-on-one unless it’s being supervised by our parents.” He’s afraid my brother would physically harm me if we were to be left alone otherwise. 

I gave the very long letter to my mother next and afterwards we sat down and she gave me further pointers of what she thought should be included in the letter. Both of my parents were amazed that I was anything but awful towards him in the letter. They commended me for being so upfront, honest and reasonable. I’m not sure I would have been without analyzing every inch of this situation for years. Anyway, as my mom and I talked and talked and talked, I ended up breaking down. I hadn’t done it since I written the letter, and I kept it together around my father, but by then, I just couldn’t hold it in. I was crying so terribly that my mom grabbed me and hugged me for some time. 

My parents are being much more understanding these days, and I cannot thank them enough. I told my mom how scared I am of sending this e-mail, but she said we’d do it together and if I needed to cry, then that’s just what I’d have to do. We all decided it was best to send it now due to him being on a business trip alone out of state. I figured that if he were by himself, he’d have time to deal with this on his own. I just hope he doesn’t lash out on me or our parents or even worse, harm himself in anyway. We know his personality well, and we know how he is, there’s always a lot of big what if’s with him. We’re pretty much laying money on the table that he’ll first deny all this until he’s safe. That’s just what he does. But we’re hoping just the opposite will happen. I made it clear in the letter that there was no way out of this. It happened. 

I confronted my other brother about this earlier tonight, my mom apparently already told him earlier that I was sending the letter, but he asked me tonight to remove himself from the e-mail. “I don’t want him knowing that I know. He’ll treat me differently,” he said. “I wish I didn’t know. I wish you never told me.” 

“I wish it never happened,” I said back. Anyway, I did what he asked and removed his name from the letter. It’s tough to respect wishes right now when I’ve had to selfishly understand that this really is about me and about moving forward. But I can understand how this is tremendously hard for those around me, too. I just wish they knew what it was like in my shoes. 

I’m pretty scared, truth be told. Please don’t mind me if I run here and start crying and venting and begging for someone to talk to me. You guys have been so supportive thus far and I cannot thank you all enough. I will be seeing my brother (the one I’m writing the letter to,) often after this. The holidays are coming up, obviously. And he’s getting ready to propose to my future sister-in-law. I did a lot of thinking about his needs, but I realized that all this time, he’s been able to function, and that I have not. I’ve had to selfishly think about my needs before his when it came to writing this letter. Because this is serious. Beyond serious, and it needs to be addressed. I can’t keep it inside anymore like I had been since I was a child and pretend (like everyone else) that it never happened. It’s affected me too much to just let this go. This isn’t just something you can let go. 

Wish me luck, guys. 

It’s the only letter I’ve put off for years, and even after writing what I believe I’m willing to send, I’m more terrified than ever. 

Not only is the letter undeniably lengthy, I’m willing to say more. But I’m scared of saying more, or saying the wrong thing, or saying the thing that could possibly set him off. 

I don’t know what he’d do to me, our family or himself. I’m terrified, guys.

I literally stayed up until 10am forcing myself to write the letter. It’s midnight now, and all I’m doing is re-reading the letter over and over and over waiting to decide what’s the next best step.

I’m proud that I’ve gotten this far. But this step seems to be the hardest of them all…

To start writing that letter to my oldest brother and confronting him once and for all about the sexual abuse. 

It’s something I’ve been sitting on for years. Within the last few months, my parents and I agreed this would be the easiest way for me to do it. Not that it’s going to be easy by any means, but I prefer it over having to bring it up face-to-face. I’m terrified at the thought, to tell you the truth. It’s why I haven’t found the courage to even start writing the letter. I’ve thought about writing a practice letter, and maybe that’s what I’ll do, but I’ll have to get around to sending it his way, eventually.

I’m going to make it clear in the letter from the very start that our parents already know, and they have for some time. He’s the kind of person who will lie and deny as far as he can until he’s safe. But I have to word the letter in the way for him to know that there is no way out of this. Because I know. He knows. And they know. And everyone else could know too if he chooses not admit the truth.

I have to let him know that I wasn’t asleep all those times he molested me, that I was only pretending because I was just a child and didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I have to let him know how badly he ruined me. I have to let him know that he’s my big brother and I want to love him that way, but I can’t. I have to let him know how badly I’m still affected by it to this day. 

This isn’t going to be easy. At all. God no. If you guys have any pointers or suggestions about what I can include in the letter, or maybe share your experience on how you confronted your abuser, I would be beyond thankful. 

I don’t want to have to force myself into this, but I have a feeling I’ll never be exactly ready. I’ve wanted to scream this at him FOR YEARS, but I haven’t been able to. Just like the other night when we were left home alone together (though I had told my folks to specifically never let that happen again…) and he told me he was going to Chicago for a business trip by himself and hinted that he wanted me to come along. “Why? So we can share a bed and you can take advantage of me again?” I wanted to ask. Instead, I asked why his girlfriend wasn’t tagging along and all he said was that she had to work. Suddenly, he had this awkward, humiliating look in his eyes and immediately dropped the subject. 

That made me wonder…does he know that I know?

How one minute the world is on your side, and the next, you’re fighting it. 

Tonight was supposed to be an easy going movie night with the family. It went fine until after the credits started to roll. My mom (randomly as ever) brought up a past discussion that involved someone else. How someone joked to me about sexual abuse and how I told them that it wasn’t funny. I shook my head as to suggest to my mom to drop it, but my brother picked up on it and said, “I was there! It was the context of it. He didn’t mean anything by it, it was a joke!”

“That’s not a joke,” I said.

“It was the context and how he worded it! It’s not offensive!”

“It is to me. It wasn’t funny.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up!” my mom apologized. 

“I’d understand if you were raped or something, but you weren’t, so stop being so sensitive,” my brother said.

Tears started filling my eyes, and out of embarrassment, I ran to the bathroom. How could he say such a thing to me? Doesn’t he understand why I’m sensitive by what OUR older brother did to me as a child? Many, many times? No, I wasn’t raped. But that doesn’t make the sexual abuse any less worse. What happened was real, but he doesn’t want to hear it. Not only does he not want to hear it, but he’s in denial. And not only is he in denial, he thinks I made it all up. 

As I’m trying to regain composure in the bathroom, wiping my eyes with tissues, I hear my brother raising his voice defending himself out in the living room. My parents remained silent the entire time while my brother kept repeating the phrase, “It was the context, she’s like one of those annoying people whose so fucking sensitive to everything. It was a joke.”

My parents didn’t speak up once, so I opened the door and said something out of anger like, “Shut the fuck up.” I heard my dad turn up the volume on the television to get us all to stop fighting. That’s how my father handles confrontations - he doesn’t. 

My brother and I have always been very close, best friends even, but these days he’s been very good at wording things an awfully apathetic, triggering way. He’s one person who knows just how to make me cry. Which is what I’m doing in my room this very minute. I came here to escape and cry in privacy. I was having a decent evening, and it turned on me just like that. I don’t like being reminded of my sexual abuse, especially in front of the people I can’t talk to about it because it never happened according to them. I feel like that little girl again, who was too scared to speak up in the first place, to admit what was being done to me. 

To make matters worse, I hopped on one of my blogs only to find people randomly tearing one of my posts apart, and even going as far as to call me, “pathetic.” 

It’s no wonder I want to go into hiding from the world. I don’t want to be a burden anymore.