Protecting Him

He, too,

ought to apologize to me

for the trauma I went through

hearing him scream at and hit J most days

insulting him, kicking him

terrorizing him, to teach him “respect”.

Gosh I was terrified

and so so sad with empathy for my little brother

and it broke my little heart.

Every day I shut my door

got on a phone call

unless it was too loud

I often had to cut phone calls off

because he was so loud

and in cutting them off

to wait until he got his rage out on J

I protected him

from being heard by the outside world

of my friends

on the other end

of the portable land line.

I wonder how things would have been different

if I’d had a smart phone.

Would I have recorded the abuse

and yelling

and played it back later for a witness?

Would I still have those recordings today?

Would I feel less silenced all the time?

Can any amount of generosity from him make up for the lack of witnessing

of my terror?

An apology would make a difference

if it indicated I was seen

if it indicated he had seen his ways,

understood where they had come from

and made the decision to change out of empathy

and connection to those he’s abused.

Will I share this publicly

or will I continue to protect him

and stay quiet forever

like the pre-teenaged girl in her bedroom

being quiet,

being nice,

shutting up (like she told her to)

and keeping the lack of peace

all bottled up in her chest?

And maybe that’s why

the first Prozac pill she ever took

made her feel like she’d ingested paint

like she drank the paint water

like she was a plastic or painted person

because her feelings were being painted over

and plasticized.

If only she could keep her painted face of okayness on,

everything would be “okay”

but what was okay? Baseline.

Not being abused.

Keeping a solid presence for the family.

Someone had to do it.

Someone had to be okay.

Yet being that someone

who was the okay one,

the good one,

the quietly stressed out one

who held things in

destroyed the next 25 years of my life.

I’ve been so scared.

I’ve kept that fear as an emblem.

It’s slowly eaten away at my life,

driven friends and supporters away

it can only continue to ruin me

if I stay quiet

if I don’t post this

to protect him

which I knew I had to do

after all, who else would?

Who else would stay silent after hearing an adult man scream at and smack an 8 year old boy

over and over?

Who else would get good grades and come home with report cards their parents could claim pride over? Who else could bottle up that much fear and sadness without crying? We were protecting him. All of us.

 

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