Jan 14 '22
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When my older brother was 18 and I was 16, he pushed me.
It was not unusual, he was always quick to anger, our mother was very absent having to support 4 children by herself since the divorce.
He often would take out his anger on me, mostly verbally but sometimes physically as well, mostly pushing me or some times pulling my hair, some slapping and choking, and in one rather terrifying occasion he held a pillow over my face.
I defend myself best I could as a small girl, and often told my mom, as I had visible marks.
She always told me he was just “roughhousing” and not to piss him off.
I grew up being very careful not to anger him, but somehow he still had his anger, which he direct only at me, so I believed what I was told, that I was the cause— he was a good student and very friendly and nice with everyone. A nice boy.
The day I wanted to tell you about OP, was the last day he hit me.
It was just like any other day, I don’t know what the argument was about, I must have said or done something, of course, but I can’t for the life of me think what.
Our mom was in the hallway and that was really the only difference this time, because she saw him push me, and she saw me falling violently back—
I hit the back of my head on the metal beam of the top of my younger siblings bunk bed.
I stayed down.
I don’t remember it hurting funnily enough, but I remember my mother over me, and I remember her face clearly, it was the expression in her face that clued me in that something was seriously wrong this time.
But it was her words that made the greatest impression on me.
She said, “you are alright, you can get up now. I don’t know why you two keep fighting.”
He was still by the door, where he had pushed me, but he just walked away as she helped me sat up.
I looked at her hand, there was blood there, from the back of my head, and then at her face, and I opened my mouth,
I don’t know what I was going to say, but she interrupted me: “I will talk to him. You need to stay away from him, there can’t be anything wrong with you right now, because I can’t take to the hospital.”
I just looked at her hand and the blood, I was dizzy, I said “I’m dizzy mom”.
She raised her voice, she seemed angry at me: “I said I would talk with him, what else do you want? Do you want to ruin his life?”
I didn’t understand what she meant, or why she didn’t take me to the hospital, or why my brother went to stay at my fathers house for 2weeks after that.
It was because she was scared the hospital would call the police and they would arrest him, he was 18 now, and I was not. He would have been charged.
It took me a while to realize he could have killed me, that day.
It took longer still, to understand he could have killed me long before that.
It wasn’t a mistake, he never cared how much force he exerted or what happened to me.
He was not a nice boy.
I was a nice girl, tough— an almost dead nice girl, who thought it was my fault and would have probably lied to the police and the hospital and told them I had fallen or something, because I didn’t want to ruin his life, because he was my brother and I loved him and yes because I thought he was a nice boy, people kept telling me he was.
But it doesn’t matter because I never got the chance to lie for him, my mom didn’t take the risk, she didn’t think I was worth the risk, I suppose.
After that day I made sure to never be in the house when he was there and shortly after I moved out to a foreign country on a scholarship.
I was a good student and I was lucky.
You are lucky too OP, don’t waste this opportunity to survive, you might not get another.