Violence, Memory, and Survival

When I was a little girl, I consistently fell asleep in the car while my mother would drive me around conducting her daily tasks. When she got home, I would inevitably still be asleep. My mother would then leave me in the parked car, seizing the opportunity to have some quite time away from her attention-demanding daughter. Oftentimes, my older brother Matthew, would sneak into the car, and whisper atrocities in my ear. Two of his favorites were “Meghan, wake up! The car’s on fire”, and “Meghan, wake up! Mom’s dead.” To this day, I am inextricably furious when being woken up by anyone.

When I was about thirteen years old, my family embarked on a winter sojourn to Vermont, Matthew and I were to share a room. On the first night, I was awakened by the feeling of ice-cold hands fondling my body. Confused and still slightly asleep, I rolled over, hoping for the feeling to cease. But the touching only became heavier, and there was no mistaking what it was. I opened my eyes just enough to see what was happening, but I was too embarrassed to admit that I was fully awake. I saw the culprit: one of my older cousin’s. Too disgusted, afraid, and mortified to stop what was happening, I let it continue until I could take no more. I ran to the bathroom and vomited. When I returned, I found my cousin was gone. I whispered to my brother, “Matt are you awake?”. “yes”, he replied, coldly. I didn’t sleep to the rest of the week. Although fully aware of what happened that night, my brother has never offered me any amount of sympathy, consolement, or even aknowledgement that he knew I had been molested.

I was supposed to go over to a friends house to work on a school project on a Sunday afternoon of my Eighteenth year. I gathered all the materials that I would need, and started for the driveway to get in my car. I quickly discovered that Matthew, who had lost his license a year earlier due to a DUI, had taken my car without asking. Furious with his constant appropriation of my belongings, I waited for his return. I confronted him as soon as he returned, something I rarely had the courage to do. Getting out of the car, he was visibly inebriated, and pulled out a golf club that he had apparently taken in the car with him. When I asked him what he need that for, he told me that he had made enemies and that people were trying to kill him, the golf club was for his protection. Still fuming over his blatant disrespect for my property and disregard for my person, I exchanged some angry words with him. He quickly fell into a drunken rage, and began smashing the windows of my vehicle yelling “You stupid bitch, I’ll fucking kill you”. I knew he was out of control, and that if he could get to me, he would make good on his promises. I fled out of the passenger door of the car, and ran into the house to seek refuge in my father. When I had informed my father of what had happened, he warned my brother that he wanted my brother out of our house for good, and that he had called the police.

Incredibly shaken by the days events, I sat on the floor rocking and crying while my father tried to solace me. When the police arrived a few minutes later, they didn’t find my brother in the house, but they did discover half of a bottle of prescription medicine strewn across the kitchen floor. He went to the hospital, had his stomach pumped, and then went straight to a rehabilitation and mental health center. I stayed at my boyfriend’s house, and told my mother I would not come home until I was sure that Matthew would not be there. She assured me he was very apologetic about what had happened, and would not be home for at least a month. The next evening, however, when I went home, there he was. My mother had felt bad for him and had taken him out of rehab. Not only did I never get an apology, but no one in my family ever spoke about it again.

My brother has been a constant source of frustration, terror, and abuse in my life. Although I was consistently assured by my parents that because of his emotional conditions, he doesn’t always have complete soverirngty over his actions. But nonetheless, he has never once validated or aknowledged the pain I have incurred as a result of his actions.

Since graduating highschool, my brother has completely turned his life around. He Became an alcoholic early on, and was kicked out of four schools in his senior year. No one in our family was sure what the future held for him, or if he would even live to see it. He is graduating from University this year, will teach in China next year, and hopes to pursue a PhD in anthropology.

I do not talk to my brother; we do not have a relationship. However, I constantly hear about his progress from my grandmothers, and my parents. “Do you talk to your brother? Why don’t you call him? Aren’t you so proud of your brother?” They always say. Yes, I am proud of him, I am glad he has made such a drastic change in his lifestyle. But, I also feel an entire spectrum of emotions. I feel anger, that my entire family completely ignores the fact that I endured the brunt of his anger, his rage, and his jealousy, and refuses to even recognize his impact on my life.

Overwhelmingly, though, I feel sadness and guilt. As is often the case with victims of abuse, I can’t help but feel like there must’ve been something that I’ve done wrong to him, there must’ve been something that I did to deserve it. This is a very prominent and extremely complicated internal conflict of mine. How can I begin to reconcile the image I have of myself as being a strong, proud, and independent woman, with what I consider to be inherent weakness of harboring guilt and pity for perpetrators of abuse in my life?

It would be revisionist of me to end this essay with a blithe and hopeful conclusion. The truth is, I don’t know if I will ever have a relationship with my brother, or if I will ever even want that. Emotional, sexual, and physical abuse are aspects of my life that I will have to revisit constantly in my life. Although at times, I may feel culpabable or warranting of abuse, I must remind myself that I do not owe my violators anything.

In this particular situation, the only responsibilities I have to anyone are to myself and to other women. Insuring that my emotional and physical needs are met, as well as encouraging and supporting my friends who have incurred abuse, is my primary objective. And, if at some point those goals coincide with me trying to formulate healthy relationship with my brother, then that will have to be a bridge I cross at that time.