Hello everyone!

If you're seeing this, I'll get this out of the way, this isn't an update or a story or anything. I'll update the current story I'm working on in a few days, I just needed to get this off my chest and it was too lengthy to post this on my page, so here I am.

I didn't know exactly where to post this— but I wanted to open up due to recent events that have unraveled.

While reading this, please keep in mind that I know it's not right. But I'm not looking for sympathy or advice. What's been done has been done. I'm just here to tell my story.

I'm going to stop beating around the bush with the pronoun game, but let me first state that this might be triggering to some people because of the subject matter. I don't care about the debate over whether trigger warnings are good or bad because honestly, I don't care and that's not the point of my story. I just wanted to put that there so you know that this isn't going to be a light topic.

I'm telling this now after all these years because I don't want to die one day knowing that because of my silence, he got to live a good life. I'm bitter and since my childhood was robbed from me, so too will I make sure his future is not easy. I don't want to feel like a victim anymore, by sharing my story I feel that I am liberating myself from remaining silent any further.

Unfortunately because of how traumatic some parts of this all was to me and that it happened so long ago, the dates aren't in my memory. I just know the general years it all happened.

Right then. Let's rip off the band-aid then.

I was molested by my older brother when I was younger.

I have not spoken to it for about seven years and I have not looked at it's face for seven years. I do not consider it a human because no human could do that to their own blood and still contain any ounce of humanity within them. Therefore, as I continue this explanation, I will not refer to this person as a "him" or "human" because in my eyes that's been long gone.

For reference, this all happened when I was in either 2nd or 3rd grade. I don't know its actual age because I don't know its birthday, but I know it was born in 1993 and I was born in 1999. So I think it's 6 years older than me.

I remember how I got the courage to tell my parents — it was because of those videos they show us about good touch/bad touch in elementary school. More specifically, this video had an uncle and a child and he took her to the pet store to get a *quiet* pet. A fish.

She looks at the fishes and one explains to her that she should speak up and be loud enough to be heard. So, once the uncle comes back he asks her which fish she wants and she says "a pig because they're loud" Or something.

I didn't really understand the message at the time, but I understood it well enough to know I was in the same situation as that girl. I had heard he "be quiet about this" so much, I was told by it that if I said anything *I* was going to be the one in trouble, not *it.*

So, I told my parents while we were ALL on a car ride to the store one late night.

Unlike the movie, they did not call the police. Instead, they just changed the locks on my door and I slept in their bed with them for a week. They didn't do more than that.

Skipping foreword, it wasn't until my high school years that I reached very suicidal points where I was just drowning in anxiety and depression. I honestly felt like I had no one who I could express myself to because everything was so morphed to look terrible because I could not think straight.

I got to a point where I was certain I was going to kill myself. I won't go into details because it's still haunting to think I ever wanted to end my life so badly.

In my 10th-11th year, it had gotten much worse, I remember that because it hurt too much to cut, I would scratch myself twice as much to feel something. Again, I won't go into further details, but thankfully now I've been one year clean!

Anyways, I remember this one day I ended up crying in the bathroom so hard, my home room teacher got concerned and contacted the counselor, who after seeing me, immediately sent me home early and to a therapist in town.

I had to go to her two different times. I can't remember why I stopped going the first time, but the second time I went back (all within the same year) I ended up telling her about my brother and what it would do to me.

She told my dad she was going to contact some people to get that information on its record or something — I don't know if anything actually came out of it however as after this visit, I never went back again.

I never went back because my dad told my mom and they both yelled at me for a little over an hour about how shameful it was I told her that. I remember they asked me if the therapist had brought it up/ why I told her that/ etc.

But how could I not tell her that?

I remember recording everything on my phone because I wanted to listen to it later or have it as proof or something, but I was such a mess I ended up deleting it or losing it.

While they were yelling at me, I distinctly remember my mom yelling at me to just forgive him. FORGIVE IT. Haha.

I don't have anything to say about that and he rest of their shouting has blurred away, but I will never forget that.

They told me so many times they were kicking it out of the house, but they never really did. Its dropped out of college three times (I know of). It's a heavy drinker. It sometimes has a job, but it never has money. It doesn't even pay rent or anything. It eats the food in the house. Washes laundry in our house. I don't understand why it has no savings...

I can't remember when my parents built a tree house in our backyard, but it had a bunk bed, old mini fridge, and dollhouse and it was meant for my sister and I.

However, they let it come back and sleep there because it was either there or homelessness for it...

So. This one night, my mom had gone up there to yell at him to get a job because it always sits up there on a computer just playing games. It honestly doesn't do anything but eat and play and sleep.

Anyways, my mom went up and saw a bunch of liquor and drinks and yelled at it as she threw everything away and it threw one of its infamous fits, breaking the windows in the tree house. Punching holes. In the tree house. That was built for my sister and I to play dolls.

It then threw a shattered piece of glass at my parents. Still, they didn't call the police. They had the chance and didn't.

Because I was so afraid of it hurting them, I'd hide in my room with the lights off and crouched up by the window cracked open ever so slightly to hear it shouting and raging.

I feel guilty for not calling the police, but I was paralyzed with fear and crying every time. I was scared about getting yelled at by my parents for calling the police on my own brother. I was a child.

Let's skip over a ton of things it has done following this "incident." Let's skip ahead to what I know now.

My aunts and cousins were visiting us for a long needed family reunion. Perhaps to avoid the shame, my mom and dad said he's going to California for work for two weeks. That's what they said, that's what I believed.

But they didn't tell me this to my face. I found out only after it sent my mom a text telling her he missed its fucking plane.

Whatever.

My cousins and family don't know a thing about what had happened. My cousin asked me if I'm jealous it was going to an anime convention in California for two weeks and I wasn't.

I was confused. My parents said it's going to work, but in truth, they lied.

My dad drove to the airport (2 hour drive) to pick it up from the airport. My cousin continues, saying that he was headed to an anime convention in California. Not work. It even told him itself.

My cousin said my parents even paid for that plane ticket.

After everything. They still treat it like a child. There were never any repercussions. There was never any punishment for it. Only punishment for me when I told anyone what happened (including my own older sister who was left out of the loop since she had moved out at the time).

Every time I state my upmost hatred for it to relatives or in public, my parents always defend it, trying to make the situation less than what it really is. They continue to enable it after all these years and I think that's why he's the way it is.

I'm not exactly sure how to feel.

I whispered a summary of what happened to two of my cousins and as I told them, I just felt jittery like I was doing something wrong. Haha. As if telling them the truth about what he had done to me was something I should feel scared of sharing.

What happened to me was wrong and shouldn't have been the way it was. At all. I can't Not would I ever defend the actions my parents took either, but I will however, end on one final note here.

My parents are not bad people. I love them and they love me. They're caring, loving, kind. But they're also very misguided and chose wrong every time. Whether their behavior has had any impact on me or not, I personally don't know. I'd like to think I'm mentally past all of this and that I'm stronger, but sometimes it's still chilling to remember the details of those days.

I don't really have any closing thoughts. This all began well thought out and organised but ended a lot messier than I had wanted it to. Even so, one thing I have learnt as I listened to my parents and aunts all talk and gossip amongst themselves is that I will not make the same mistakes as they did.

Moving foreword, I will not let these memories haunt me any longer the way they have. My past will not define me.

One year ago, I would not have dared come forth with this story online, but now that I've come to terms with everything, I understand it is not a crime to speak out against the abusers. Even so, I will not yet come out with this story on many of my personal social media accounts due to other personal reasons which I cannot explain here. I'm taking baby steps with my story, and here you have half of it.

Thank you for reading. It honestly means a lot. Be brave, always.