CHILDHOOD TRAUMA/FAMILY
The Brother No One Here Knows About.
And why it’s easier to say I have no siblings.
I haven’t seen my brother since I was 11 years old. He was adopted by another family so he could have a better life. I knew in my heart it was for the best, but a part of me died when I realized we wouldn’t grow up together. He was the bright spot in my young life for a short time.
He was born on August 6th 1984, and when I heard I was a big sister, I was overjoyed. It didn’t matter, that his father, (my stepfather) was a callous jerk, who could barely tolerate my existence.
All that mattered was he was my baby brother, and I got to help take care of him. He had the brightest smile with twinkly chocolate brown eyes. He was the glue holding us together.
Until the shit hit the fan in the summer of 1985. Only this time, the stakes were far higher. Over the next few months, we would enter a hell like no other. Our lives at risk because of my mother’s choice of men.
From the very moment upon meeting one certain man; I knew without a doubt, he was the epitome of evil. I was scared and my stomach turned. My gut instinct told me he was a sick man. I was only ten.
