Almost everything I write deserves a trigger warning, it's that kind of blog. But today this blog really needs a warning because it triggers me. I have been dreading writing this installment of my memoir the most. Somehow this hurt hurts deeper than all the others. This hurt has altered my life in so many different ways. This is the hurt of my brother molesting me for years.
At about the age of seven it started as innocently as him teaching me how to kiss. That is gross on its own but we were young and dumb and didn't know (keep in mind that he was two years older and knew things I didn't). I figured that it was just a game or a thing to be practiced. No immediate red flags came up. But then by the time I was nine things changed and his requests became more grand.
Know that at this point I'm trying to guide my breathing because these memories bring up big feelings for me. He started asking to rub his penis on my vagina. Immediate red flag because I had been molested before and knew that it was not comfortable with me. I remember telling him no and his threatening to have a friend call the house and ask for me to get me in trouble. My mother was a tyrant and a stickler for making sure I had no boyfriend or crushes or anything of the sort. She very literally beat me near death when I had asked my male neighbor for a dollar (reason you would never catch me asking a man for money). Anyway, point is I was in between a rock and a hard place. Do I let my brother have his way with me or face my mother on charges I didn't commit. I was more afraid of my mother. I let him have his way.
By the time I was about 11 this had continued and I decided to get something out of it. I would tell him that he had to do my chores to get me to cooperate. This makes me feel guilt like nothing else in my life. I know that in my 11 year old head I was making the best of a bad situation but as an adult I see me pimping myself out to my own brother. Disgust overwhelms me in so many ways. He would do those chose but then he wanted more. He decided he wanted to go in the hole. Luckily I was adamant about him not doing that. Why? Because my mother would check me and say that she could tell whether or not I was a virgin. Since I didn't want to be actually killed, I told him going in was forbidden.
By age 12 I gained the courage to say I would tell on him. One night as I was going in the kitchen he reached down and tickled my private area and I was horrified! I felt like it was never ending. That it happened in the bedroom and now in any part of the house with anyone around and I couldn't escape it. I was never safe. I was afraid and I was tired and I was tired of being afraid. I told him softly that if he touched me again I would tell mum. He backed off and said sorry. I realized then that my mother scared me to death but she also scared him. The same thing that got me into this was going to be what got me out. I hardened my chest and said none of the other stuff either, I'm done. He really tried to get his friend to call the house. He even went to telling my mother I had a crush on his friend. Did I get in trouble, yes, but he was still scared of her and wouldn't touch me because he knew he no longer had power over me.
I finally used my voice to say something to stop the curse. I never told my parents what happened until I was 18 and of course they did nothing to him. He was always my mother's favorite and my dad was always afraid to go to hard on him since it wasn't exactly his child. So I knew then that he would never have gotten in trouble. My brother was immune to it all because he was the beloved one. And to this day it's the same.
I have no real point in writing this than to finally say it out loud. But I urge anyone going through it to use your voice as faint as it may be.
Heartbrokenly yours,
Dat Bahamian Borderline
IG: bahamian_borderline
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