I am the oldest of three and the only girl. My youngest brother, who is four years younger than me, was my abuser. It didn’t start out that way, obviously, but at some point in time my parents told me and our other brother that we were older and weren’t allowed to hit him or otherwise retaliate when he did things to us. We were supposed to tell our parent and they would take care of it. Half of that never happened.
Patrick was quite spoiled. He was named after our father and I suspect my parents knew they wouldn’t have any more. He was charming, even as a youngster, and now I would say he is quite charismatic. I don’t remember when the abuse started; though I remember a few details about the circumstances of his behavior. He went from being the kid who would wet his bed and then climb into bed with me (he and Fred had twin beds and I had a double) so he didn’t have to wake our parents or sleep in wet sheets to eventually beating me so badly that Fred ran to the neighbors to call the police.
He has done the following:
- threw a cat on my legs which left scars that I can still see 30 years later
- beat me with various objects (multiple times), including coat hangers, pool cues, and bed slats
- set me on fire (multiple times) using lighter fluid while I was on the phone
- hit me with a closed fist (one time the night before my senior portraits and another as our paths crossed in the living room for no apparent reason)
- he was sexually aggressive toward me, once holding a banana in front of his crotch and pushing it into my face to simulate oral sex and other times just simulating other sexual acts as I tried to get away from him
My mother was told of these things multiple times. I wasn’t allowed to tell my father. I was told that she would talk to him and not to say anything. She apparently never did. So while I’m being abused by my brother, to the point that she once heard me scream and didn’t check on me because she assumed my brother had hit me and that wasn’t a big deal, nothing is being done. In that particular instance, I had a laceration on my eyelid and had blood dripping in my face and had to go to school with one of the worst black eyes I ever had and it wasn’t even because of him.
I assumed that no one was going to protect me, no one cared. So not only was I being abused by my sibling, I was being neglected by my mother and seemingly (because I didn’t know he wasn’t aware) by my father as well.
When my brother punched me as we passed each other in the living room, my father actually asked me what I had done to him.
He had been in the kitchen on one side of the house and I was in my bedroom on the other side of the house. I hadn’t been anywhere near him to have done anything to deserve being punched. Nothing was done about it. I was actually told once that it was obvious I didn’t want to be a part of my family simply because I spent all my time in my bedroom. Um… I was being beaten up and set to fire; so what should I do beside hide in my bedroom? No one was saving me and I had nowhere else to go. I’m not even going to go into all the things he stole from me (which was my fault for having something he wanted)
Funny thing is, because both Patrick and I are quite pale, we bruise easily and often don’t know where the bruises even came from. Around my senior year, I remember coming back from a water park (and I was covered in bruises) to find a social worker waiting to question us. My grandmother and Patrick had called social services because he told her we were abusing him. I knew I wasn’t allowed to say anything about what was being done to me, so I didn’t, but here I was being interviewed because apparently I was supposed to have been beating him.
The day Fred called the police was a little before my graduation. He was especially abusive in my senior year because I was getting too much attention he thought should be his. I was dating so I was going out every weekend, which made him jealous. My parents bought me a senior ring, which made him jealous. My parents took me to have portraits done, which made him jealous (and he beat me for it the day before to the point that Mom locked him out of the house, but still didn’t bother to tell Dad). And I finished school weeks before he did. And I was getting all these gifts from various friends and family members (some of which he stole when he checked the mail). So by the time graduation happened, he was nice and angry. He grabbed a bed slat from under his bed and started beating me with it. Actually got on top of me (I think I was laying on the floor doing something) and started hitting me with this board. As Mom was trying to get him off me, Fred realized enough was enough and ran to the neighbors to call the police (we were going through bankruptcy and didn’t have a phone). Patrick was arrested and sent to juvenile detention. He never hit me again. Didn’t stop him from stealing from me, which didn’t stop until I moved out of my parents’ home, but he stopped physically abusing me.