Post 10

The phrase, "I remember", is a touchy one for me. You see, I DIDN'T remember.
It made me so angry. ALL of those years that I spent with the one person that harmed me so completely. So deeply. A person that I loved and trusted with my life. My best friend, the funniest, smartest man I'd ever known. The man I looked up to and held up as a guide to men I would eventually fall in love with. The man that shared my thoughts, inside jokes, bizarre sense of humor and memories of all things wonderful. My hero. My big brother, my rapist.

I never believed you could repress memories. I thought my memory was perfect. I remember building "Forts" with him. Lots of blankets and heavy books, shielding us from the bad guys. Making cinnamon toast and ovaltine under our fortress. Being Ginger Rogers while he was Fred Astaire. Us dancing through the house singing,"Heaven, I'm in heaven!!"
And, years later, being the first to rush up to him in the airport after he had been in a terrible car accident that killed his friend. Him, crying in my lap all the way home to Alexandria Virginia. Me telling him that we loved him and that there was nothing he could have done to save his friend.

The death of my mother. I took care of her for years. When she died,I took the train to DC. My mothers body was on the train with me. The funeral parlor took her body and I hailed a cab to my brothers house. I was shattered. Broken into a million pieces. He opened the door and I fell into his arms sobbing from grief and exhaustion. He made me a drink. Southern Comfort,tea, lemon, honey. It was seven am. We drank and cried, played my parents old radio shows, laughed, cried some more, drank some more. He tucked me into bed at noon. I awoke at 8pm. Eyes so swollen I could hardly see. He was there, with ice cold wash cloths, aspirin, and a Valium. My big brother. My buddy. My brutal rapist. My caring companion in grief.

It was only after I'd had my baby that little slide shows would appear out of nowhere. Bits and pieces of horror and pain. Brutal, disgusting images would fly through my head. At first, I thought I was just suffering from some sort of postpartum depression. I talked with my doctor. He said it was possible, but, he wanted me to see a counselor. My doctor had an odd, sad, look on his face.

My counselor was a lovely woman. I told her about my strange thoughts, the bits of horror going through my head. but, now the bits were turning into chunks of imagery. Very distinct, clear memories of being bound and gagged, raped with different objects, my brothers face and voice, different. This was not my protective brother, this was a sick and twisted evil person that sounded slightly like my brother. His voice was rough and cruel. His body forcing me to do things that no 8 year old should ever do.

I remember the way he told me that when I got older, he'd make purses out of my breasts. Share me with his friends. Maybe even sell my body to other guys. I remember bleeding, all alone in the bath room. I was young and did not know what to do. I distinctly remember finding an old, brown glass bottle of :Lysol, and pouring it on my genitals. It burned, so I rinsed myself off and went to my room. I lay there, all night, waiting for the monster to come again.

He visited me, through the years, until I was 12. Abruptly stopping what he had started 4 years before. I guess I was too old, not responsive anymore. I had begun puberty and he lost interest. Sociopaths can act like nothing was ever wrong, nothing was ever done. And, I would go blank. Shut down. My mind was no longer with my body. And, THAT is why I did not remember. All the years of being friends, best friends, with this person. He must have known I did not remember. I never slept well at night. Even now as I write this and he is 700 miles away, I still do not sleep at night.

When it all came crashing down, I could not believe it. "It must be my imagination" I'd say. Only, I could not deny the truth. It was real. It did happen. My path to forgiving my brother has been covered in boulders and unimaginable rage and hatred. I REMEMBER NOW. All of it. And, I forgive you Jeff.
Lisa