My brother

Like I said, I don't remember much of my childhood, my earliest memory is being back in Canada in my grandmothers living room and my brother stabbing me in the head with a pen. I remember feeling it go in, I remember Antonios face, and I remember my mom laughing - I was one and a half.

When we got back to Canada, I have bits  and pieces of memories - all of the memories consist of Antonio hurting me and my mother ignoring or saying “It’s just how he is”

Back story on my brother: He has ADHD and could not self-regulate by any means, He was taking Ritalin when we were in elementary school but mother got worried he was becoming like a zombie - He also has a lot of built up anger from Mike and the feeling of being unwanted or not good enough, I was just an easy target unfortunately.

 I was living in hell, I remember walking past the stairs just to go to the bathroom and he pushed me, I fell down two flights of metal stairs and he never got in trouble! My brother made me swore when I was young that I couldn't tell anyone the torture he would endure or else our mom would die suddenly, I was three and believed him - he called it the Oath and would mouth the words to me when I would cry and our mother would ask what was wrong

It's honestly still annoying now thinking back to how much he tortured me and how much the grown ups in my life let him get away with it.

I can remember one instance where I was completely fed up with him and said I didn't care about the Oath, I hit him back - I punched him with all of my might right to his Rt eye and it felt so good! He ended up crying and I got grounded lol

It’s so crazy, My brother ended up moving up north (for various reasons that I'll get into later) half way through his ninth grade year, That time apart was what we needed because we ended up becoming extremely close. 

Antonio was like a cat in his later years, it seemed like he had nine lives, I ended up moving up north after highschool to help my brother and his little family, he shattered his Rt hip and pelvis when he got thrown from a truck - it was a drunk driver and he “didn’t know” he was bed ridden for three months post surgery, I was his nanny. 

My brother and I developed a bond that I always wished for when we were younger, I fully integrated into his friend group and his little family - we weren't perfect by any means, we were using every day for two years but we never got “out of hand” we would tell each other, it seems so stupid now. 

Where it all started-

*WARNING* 

I’m not going to worry about articulating my thoughts, I want this to stay as fluid as possible, I'm not going to care about grammar nor spelling.

****

I guess I should start at the beginning? Where I started to get fucked up basically?? 

I’m in my late 20′s now, I can't remember most of my childhood, especially the “good” times. I used to be envious of my brother, him and I were born a year and a half apart - he remembered everything! I just thought I was stupid and had a poor memory, I later found out that is because I disassociated and blocked majority of it out. 

When my brother and I were born, we were born right into abuse - my “father” (who I will refer to as Mike from now on) abused my mother regardless if she was pregnant or not.  My grandparents; her parents were not there for her, they're the type to tell you “Oh it’s just how it is, this is life, endure, endure, endure” She had no supports and stayed in that awful environment. Naturally, we were in that environment to - My brother, Antonio; would tell me stories from when we lived in Tucson, he remembers Mike slapping me when I was a baby because I was crying, he remembers Mike giving him multiple black eyes from punches and slaps, he remembers Mike throwing our mom around, I believe him because there’s also pictures to prove it. 

I distinctly remember a time when my mother took us to a woman's shelter and she called Mike for help, she was using the communal phone and I was playing with a toy under the desk, I could hear everything they said to each other. All my mother did was ask him for help and he refused. This “man” did not even try to form a relationship, he didn’t call, he didn’t send letters, and he sure as hell didn't help provide for my brother and I. I remember at the end of that phone call, my mother was in tears, completely defeated - I vowed never to miss him or cry over him ever again. 

I used to cry every night for Mike, I would ask everyone “why doesn’t he love me? why doesn’t he call me?” I always thought from as early as I can remember  “why am I not good enough to love?” - that is a reoccuring thought, even to this day. 

Well, this is odd

I decided to start this only for myself, I'm not well mentally therefore I thought having something of a journal or some type of way to just word vomit might help?