He's dead now, so maybe it won't scare me so much to tell his story. I still feel loyal to him, as I was taught to in my dysfunctional first family. Telling the story still seems punishable, even though I've completed therapy long ago. I've been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder now and I'm putting my life in a personal order. That means finishing my paintings and writing my stories, and other things (genealoy completion, etc.). I'm not sure how many I can tell before I stop. But let me tell you abt my oldest brother of three. He died, assumed in his sleep, on a Christmas night, at the same young age my father was when he died. This was a strong goal of this brother, maybe I'll tell you that story later. He was found three days later. Alcoholic, addict, functioning through several mental illnesses that dominated the entire life of the rest of us siblings, becuz mom was also mentally ill and used him to feel comfortable and to control our world . This meant we other 3 (2 more brothers and myself) wld not understand our invisibility and lack of status for many decades. The event itself, though not the only thing tht happened between us, occurred when I was abt 6-8 years old. He wld have been 12ish. We lived on base housing. Upstairs took you to a small open area between three bedroom doors, a storage closet door and a bathroom door. When all closed, the area wld be about 8 ft by 10 ft. I walked through this space to go to my room, as I always did. But on this day, he was standing in his room with the door open and seeing me triggered him to walk straight out the room and to me, with his hands outstretched and a bizarre look on his face. I would see the look in his eyes up close very soon as his hands clasped around my very thin throat and began squeezing. He looked distant, he looked detached, he looked dark, evil and overpowering. Anger and hatred were in his eyes though his face was staunch, and even as I was being choked it took quite a while for me to accept that this was really happening, that he was killing me, and he meant to. I remember thinking that it made no sense but also that he was not reachable, he was not there. I couldn't breath, I felt panick. Slapping out at him with my fragile hands did nothing. Something inside me allowed me to find a primitive desire to live and I raked my fingernails over and over across his upper chest and neck area. He began to bleed. The shock of it made him snap out of his trance, the look on his face was of surprise, why on earth wld his sister scratch him like that. I would forever more have long fingernails. He let go of my neck to inspect his wounds as he turned and walked back into his bedroom, seeming perturbed by the whole thing. I had been trained to accept hardships without seeking someone to tell. So telling my parents never occured to me. This brother grew to have sexual attraction to me and my youngest brother. He did many lewd things that I remember. When kind, he was a wonderful person. But he mostly creeped me out. Shortly before dying he had some kind of mental break on the phone with me (I knew not call him at night, as he wld be drunk) and told me all sorts of horrible ugly feelings he had toward me and that he never liked me and that I ruined his life. I cried for hours afterwards. My youngest son (an adult by then) heard the commotion and was kind enough to sit with me after the conversation and let me cry it out. I had often had this daydream during my adult life that he wld visit all of my first family in our separate homes and kill us all, leaving me to last. If my husband was working at night I had a terrible fear of him coming to my door, that I wld open the door to my brother becuz I wld not be able to tell him that I wld not let him in. When he died at 56 of heart issues caused by an addict's lifestyle , that fear ended. I remember during therapy, prior to his death, I dreamed one night of divorcing my brothers, one at a time. This brother had married me to provide and protect me, or at least in his mind had, and when I went to divorce him in the dream he fought it. He once told me he drank every night so he could sleep and not dream and not hear the horrible things his mind would think of. He knew what he was capable of.
During his memorial service, the youngest brother made every effort to make it known the disrespect of Christianity the older brother had and this meant the younger wld not stay for the Christian part of the service. As I tried to express a common ground to him he barked at me, as the brothers do... Becuz my being Christian means certain things to them. They reject me. They don't even know me at this point, but I have God so I don't have them. I cld say they love me... But at least those two hate anything to do with God. It was very sad. The older brother's ashes are burried with my parents.
During his memorial service, the youngest brother made every effort to make it known the disrespect of Christianity the older brother had and this meant the younger wld not stay for the Christian part of the service. As I tried to express a common ground to him he barked at me, as the brothers do... Becuz my being Christian means certain things to them. They reject me. They don't even know me at this point, but I have God so I don't have them. I cld say they love me... But at least those two hate anything to do with God. It was very sad. The older brother's ashes are burried with my parents.