It’s strange how in the space of four years a lot can happen, but a lot still stays the same. Those of you following along at home will remember that I decided to eliminate the family I grew up with from my life.
“So, I think your brother got married today,” my husband said as he looked at photos on Facebook.
Pumping my hand – the international symbol for ‘give me’ – I snatched up the phone eager to see for myself. There they all were with their fake, faded smiles. Four years on and my sister has a failed marriage and is a single mother to three children. My other sister’s daughter is now a teenager! The brother that got married has a baby, but I shake my head in disbelief at how healthy my father looks. I can tell he hasn’t changed his ways though. I thought alcohol abuse would’ve been showing its destruction more. Just goes to show that evil bastards always live the longest.
This year my grandfather and aunty passed away – all of this I know through my husband’s Facebook account. I didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral because the way I found out was through a family photo they took and uploaded from the wake. It was too late.
At the time my husband was shocked that they never tried to contact him to get the message to me. I wasn’t.
The thing that hurts the most about all of it though is that they never fought. For centuries they have written songs about how people fight for the ones they love. I wanted to hurt them by slamming the door in their faces. I wanted them to fight for me and to apologise for all the years of various abuse.
It backfired though and here I am with them having proven that I was right: they never really loved or cared about me. I’ve spent my whole life wondering what made me so unloveable.
I’ve never met my brothers now wife, but I can tell that they like her considerably more than they ever liked me. She has really embraced that spot I warmed for her.
They can never change though, and they can never apologise because they don’t think they did anything wrong. To them, I am ungrateful. They gave me a roof over my head, and yes, they did, but they never protected me. I grew up amongst violence, was robbed of a childhood and they think they did the best they could. They made my life a misery that I wanted out of.
I’ve lost the first person who ever loved me — my baby brother, Sam. I wish I could scoop him up in my arms and take him away but I can’t. It’s more complicated than that. He has a severe disability. I know I’ve let him down and I hope that one day he can forgive me.
I wish I didn’t know what they were up to. I’d tell my husband to ditch them on Facebook but I can’t risk not knowing if something happens to Sam. They wouldn’t tell me if something did. I miss him so much. God, I wish I had him here with me where I could look after him and protect him.
bunny149 