Anonymous Story: His Life Is Unchanged: Mine Is Ruined

This is a long story, I know, but it’s something I’ve been keeping inside almost my entire life, and I feel like it’s time to share it and try to heal. So here we go.

I was fine, innocent, unknowing of how evil people can truly be, until I was around seven. My brother, of all people, molested me. He was 15 or 16, and I was 7. I was a kid. He made it a game, made it like we were having fun, as he made me choke on his penis. When I told him I wanted to stop, it hurt, I couldn’t breathe, he said “okay, then I won’t touch you anymore.” As if I wanted him to.

I had no idea what any of it meant at ALL. Nothing. I was clueless, and didn’t think for one second that someone so close to me and that was supposed to love me, could even do something so evil. Even after it happened I had absolutely no idea what it meant. I did know during it though, that something was wrong. My stomach hurt and I felt sick and guilty and had no idea why.

My parents at the time were very religious. There was no talk of sex or anything of the sort in our household. They didn’t warn me about people, even ones close to me, touching me and that it was wrong. I had no idea. I remember me and another sibling walking in on him on the computer watching porn at one point (I’m not sure if this was before or after), but I still had no idea what that was.

Years later, at probably age 11 or 12, when I started understanding what sex was and what sex meant, I realized what had happened to me. And at this time, my sister was (unknowingly) married to a serial child molestor. Nothing extremely awful happened to me with him, although he did kiss me and touch my butt at one point. I didn’t tell anyone, but he did get sent to jail for 20 years for all of his other victims.

I remember everyone talking about how awful and disgusting you have to be to do that to a child, and seeing my brother agree and contribute to the conversation as if he hadn’t done it to me. I was disgusted, and felt awful and filthy and humiliated when I really realized what had happened. I was sick every day; throwing up, crying, unable to sleep. I was miserable and self-conscious, as if a twelve year old girl doesn’t have a low self esteem as it is. I hated myself, and still do.

It became unbearable to hold in. I was probably 16 when I finally, finally told a cousin I’ve been close to my whole life. She’s more of a best friend than a relative, really. She comforted me and told me it was not my fault, never my fault, and she did basically every procedure she should do in that situation. It took a huge weight off of my shoulders just to tell anyone. For a while, at least.

A year or so after that, she was still the only one that knew. I didn’t go into detail with her about what happened, and I was glad she didn’t ask because I don’t think I could have said it out loud. She said she thought it would be a good idea to tell my family, but at the time I wasn’t ready, and she understood.

My brother is now happily married to a woman who is MUCH too good for his rotten, alcoholic self. I don’t hate him for just what he did to me, although it is a big contributor; my brother is an awful human. No one seems to see through his fake charm though, and everyone was always annoyed with me for disliking because of how “good” he is. He would always talk about how ugly and fat women were, but SOMEHOW everyone still thought he was good. I have a sense about people for some reason (a gift, I guess?) and even if he hadn’t molested me, I would still know he was evil. He’s just one of those people who ONLY cares about himself, but puts on this huge show to make people believe he’s a good person.

Another awful thing is that he works for my parents, who own a family-run business out of our house. I have had to see him and talk to him all of these years as if it didn’t make me want to throw up every single time. Every time I see him to this day, now at 18, I feel sick.

Now, this year (well, 2016 Christmas), we were all together for Christmas. I was 17 then, 18 now, completely decided that I would never tell. I didn’t want to ruin his life, even though he had ruined mine.

So at Christmas my sisters were talking about him. I don’t know what came over me, but I knew I had to tell. I knew it was the right time, even though I told myself I would NEVER tell. I felt awful and I was crying as I told my sisters, who were in shock and cried with me. I didn’t want to ruin his marriage, and I was embarrassed and guilty.

We ended up telling my other sister, and she said: “Well, tell us at least what happened first.” Which hurt, but then I heard her husband (who is a cheater scumbag) say: “Really? It happened that long ago and she’s still upset?” I felt awful, and already regretted it.

They all decided that telling my parents was best. They didn’t make me talk, my sister did, and they all believed me. All was going well, better than hoped.

So we all sat in a room, and my sister told them what happened. They were silent, shocked, but not crying, not upset. When the Duggar situation came out, my mom cried to my sisters and told us that if anything like that ever happened, to tell her, she would fix it. But now, in this room, she was emotionless, nodding, unfazed.

After all of this, my dad said: “Well, he was a teenage boy.”

As if I wasn’t a little girl, my life and self confidence and happiness stripped away because of it. I still hate my dad for that, even though he is a good person and I know that. It hurt so, so badly, that I can’t even possibly put it into words.

My mom hugged me, but didn’t ask if I was okay. Nothing.

I tried to not think about it, realizing this is hard for them too. They were probably thinking up some plan of what should be done.

A month or so passed, and nothing. They still hadn’t asked if I was okay. I started acting out, lashing out, angry with them. They acted like they didn’t know why. I left the house and drove for a few hours, ignoring my parents calls and texts, asking where I was. When I got home I got a lecture of course, but it was from anger, not worry.

I had no one to talk to, because at this point, my sisters (who I thought were completely on my side, no more talking to him), had now been joking and laughing with him on Facebook, texting him in our group chat like nothing happened. And I mean that: NO one was acting like they cared, and that nothing happened. I was sick every day, and I honestly contemplated suicide. I had nobody.

Then one day after I kept acting out, my mom signaled me outside. She had gone to my brother and told him that she knew about it and she wanted us to talk about it. She left me in the car with him alone. This is the first time she cried, after talking to HIM. I was so hurt, and not ready to talk to him, but she made me.

We didn’t say anything at first, but he was crying his eyes out. He’s a sociopath and I knew it was fake, so I was already annoyed and sick and I knew he had played that card on my mom and somehow got her to feel bad for him. And he tried it with me too, telling my how much he hated himself and that he wishes he had never done it, but none of it meant anything to me. He was grown enough not to do it, that’s not just a mistake. He ruined my life.

It was all a bunch of bullshit, and I knew he was mad at me for telling but he just wanted it all sorted it out and over.

After that, my mom was annoyed with me that I didn’t forgive him after he apologized. Before I told it hurt me a lot to have to see him every single day, and seeing my family talk to him and laugh with him like he didn’t hurt me so, so badly. But now it is SO much worse to know that they know what happened, and still treat him the exact way they did before.

I hate my entire family. I know that sounds awful, I do, but I thought things would be different. If one of my sisters had told me this, it doesn’t matter how close I was to him, I would cut ties IMMEDIATELY. No questions asked. It hurts so much to know that they wouldn’t do the same for me.

I feel so, so selfish, because I know rationally that it’s awful for me to think that after that, none of them will ever talk to him again and he’s banished. But no one is acting like anything happened, and I wish they would hate him like I do. And I do, I genuinely hate him. I feel sick everytime I see him, and he’s made me hate myself so damn much that I don’t even want to look in the mirror, or ever even date anyone because I’m so afraid of any form of intimacy.

I hate the fact that he can just apologize and it’s over for him, when I have to be sick and miserable and live with it the rest of my life.

I’ve been trying to get rid of it and accept it, and I thought that telling would be that for me. But I feel so much worse. Even though they believed me, nothing was done, he’s still the golden child that everyone loves, and I’m all alone still having to see him and think about it every single day.

I really want to know…does anyone have any suggestions for things to do? I’ve been trying so hard to overcome this, but I feel like there’s no way and I’m so discouraged. I don’t know a way to get over this. I don’t want to forgive him. It’s just so hard to see my family act like nothing happened and think that an apology will just fix me, it’s all over. I just have no idea what to do, and that’s why I’m here.

Please, please, give me some ways to help this. Feel free to share your stories too, and thank you for reading.