Brother to My Rescue

I talked with Mom today about reporting the guys. She couldn't really talk and express her thoughts because Dad was home and he still doesn't know what happened. In fact, he's still mad at me about exfiance.

It breaks my heart that I cannot go to my dad for support with this stuff because he would have a heart attack or stroke, probably both. He would call his brothers, and all of them and all of the buddies he calls would end up in jail with either murder charges or charges for severely beating exboyfriend's and exfiance's asses.

While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, all I want is for him to hug me and tell me he's sorry that it happened to me. I want him to tell me he is there for me and wants to support me. I want to know that he still sees me as his little girl even though I've been dragged through the mud and the muck and am defiled in the worst ways possible. I want him to tell me he believes me and that we will get this whole mess sorted out legally and nobody but the guys that can't keep their dicks to themselves will be ending up in jail and probably, eventually, prison.

That's what I want. But that's not how life works.

So, I told my Mom that I have been seriously considering reporting these guys today. That took a lot of guts on my end and I was hoping she would be supportive. She couldn't even say what was on her mind but she told me it is a bad idea because it will get back around to the uncles, their families, Mema, and then Dad. Therefore, she said, it is better for me to not report it so that Dad and the family don't find out and don't have backlash.

Excuse me for believing that reporting these assholes was going to better the world somehow. Forgive me for finally being able to see beyond not wanting to hurt them in their lives even though my life is completely ruined, I have worse psych problems than before, and I'm hanging on by a fucking thread! Apparently trying to lock these fuckers away so that they don't do this to any other girls is the wrong thing to do an I should deal with this bullshit on my own for the rest of my life, because I'm going to die alone caring for everyone else but me. Pardon me, it was my bad. Social justice cannot be served in the way that would prevent this from happening to others. Legal justice cannot be served to prosecute them at all.

Maybe my life should just fade away so that my family and friends won't have to suffer through the psychological problems of having people doubt my PTSD symptoms, my stories, the bruises he gave me that I used to hide, the cuts that have turned to scars that I continue to hide, and the fact that I don't want to wake up anymore. No, I won't kill myself, but maybe if I moved to another state and changed my name, then nobody there would have to know. I wouldn't be traceable. Then, maybe for the people I leave in this state, their life will be easier and they'll be none the wiser. I'll be a runaway but nobody will bat an eye because life will be about a billion times easier.


With my mind reeling from the phone call with Mom, I called Brother. She mentioned that I should because we had a football game on today (the Super Bowl...) and she suggested that he come over to my place to watch it since he's having problems with his roommate. Heading her advice for this, I called him up, but I figured he was probably at work. Turns out he was. We exchanged the customary small talk but I brought up reporting the guys. He asked if I had been thinking about it, and I told him I have been for a few months now. Really, I've been thinking about reporting them since the them was only a him after the first one. But I've been more seriously considering it in the last few months. He told me I should do it and that he'll support me if that's what I feel like I need to do, or he said he'd continue to support me if I feel like it's okay that they don't get reported.

I broke down and started telling him about the conversation with Mom. For the most part, I try really hard to not cry around him because he doesn't need that kind of stress.

I am an ugly crier. Like uglier that ugly. There is snot, blubbering, and eye leakage EVERYWHERE! Even on the phone, the listening party gets snot and tears on their shirts. I don't know how, but it's a gift I have.

In the process of me telling him that she told me not to report the guys because of dad and the family, he told me that he understands that. I do too. We have spent most of our lives sharing the good with Dad and avoiding the bad because he doesn't take it well. However, he suggested calling Mom, telling her to act like she doesn't know anything, and then me sitting both parents down and telling them together. I feel bad lying, but it seems like the best way. I told him I'm scared Dad is going to blow up the way he did when I wrecked my car and how he blew up when exfiance went up to ask for Dad's blessing. Brother told me that if Dad says anything negative or hurtful or how what happened to me is ruining his life (as he usually argues everything that I do ruins his life) then I just leave. I get in my car and I head to Brother's house. However, that way Dad would be finding out when Mom is finding out (supposedly) and so maybe he will take it better. I still think he's going to have a CVA and an MI (CVA-cardiovascular accident, aka stroke; and MI-myocardial infarction, aka heart attack). He may also call up his brothers and go through the previously mentioned story that lands him and a bunch of guys in jail before the guys that actually hurt me can end up in jail or prison.

I love my dad. Truly I do. I am a daddy's girl to the bone and love spending time with him. I absolutely love my Dad. He has a laundry list of mental illnesses and that makes life difficult. And, for selfish reasons, I absolutely hate that I cannot tell him the things that are going on in my life. I want so desperately to tell him everything. I want to explain why I call exboyfriend and exfiance dicks when I tell stories about them. Dad defends them every time, saying that he "likes the kid" and it's like a fucking knife to the heart. He doesn't know what he doesn't know, but if your daughter calls someone a dick and she does not do that on a regular basis and she is typically very happy and forgiving, maybe there is a problem there.

I hate that I cannot do what I need to do because I have to worry about dad reacting poorly. Oftentimes, his reaction is worse than whatever situation I am going through. For instance, my wrecking my car. I was shaken up, but I survived with no injuries. I was stressed majorly, but able to compose myself to do what I needed to do and call a tow truck, my mom, and get my car fixed. When he answered the phone for my mom, my heart sank. When I got home from my mom picking me up, he yelled at me for a solid 20 minutes because I was ruining his plans and his life. I was being an inconvenience and he made it sound like I got in a wreck on purpose just to fuck with his life. I guarantee you, I did no such thing. It's an accident. Accidents happen. I'm almost certain he's been in a few wrecks himself. I backsassed him and told him to not worry about it because I was going to fix it. I didn't get in the wreck to be an inconvenience and I am an adult and can fix my own mistakes.

He proceeded to ignore me for a few days until I brought up a conversation with him.

When exfiance went up to ask for his blessing, he told exfiance yes. Then called me and told me it was a huge mistake. He yelled at me, over the phone, for a solid 45 minutes on the day of the big date I had planned for exfiance and didn't let me talk at all. He kept talking about how I wasn't mature enough and that he regretted his first marriage from when he was 25 to some crazy lady in town. Whatever, that's not my fault. I wanted to yell back at him but there is no reasoning with him. He told me the same things over and over and over again until he had to go back to work. The essence of which was: I am not mature, I'm an idiot, I'm too young, he hates his life, he regrets his first marriage, he regrets his second marriage, and he regrets having kids.

I ended up saying yes when exfiance asked at the restaurant and I had the ring on my hand for a couple days. I ended up going home a day or two after the date and he refused to look or talk to me because he heard through my mom that I had said yes. I broke up with exfiance a couple days after that and Dad still didn't talk to me for weeks until I started talking to him.

Do you see the pattern? Do you understand why we don't tell him anything? Yes, we should tell him stuff, but we can't because he loses his shit every fucking time. It makes our situation 20x more miserable than if we just suffer through it alone. Then he wonders why we don't tell him anything...

Brother asked if telling them together and leaving if there was a problem sounded do-able. I told him I think it was a better idea than just flat out telling Dad, but I told Brother I don't think I can do it. Planning for it and actually carrying out the plan are two completely different things. I'm having panic attacks just thinking about telling Dad and they get worse as time goes on. However, I get so much more nervous when I am about to do it. I almost crapped my pants just asking my dad if I could go to prom. Telling him I've been ruined? I think I'd pass out from shame and nervousness. Brother ended the conversation by saying that he would go with me to take care of Dad and be my support. He told me before he offered to come with, to ignore Dad and let him (Brother) take care of Dad if he flew off the handle, like he normally does. Brother is the one who got Dad to start talking to me after exfiance asked for Dad's blessing. Brother told him to stop taking it out on me and to trust in the way Dad and Mom raised me. After that, and several weeks of reflection, Dad told me that that helped him "forgive me". *Just remember, everything that happens is my indirect way of making sure that I completely fuck up his life (that was complete and total sarcasm).* So, Brother is going with me, if I ever get the balls to go up and talk to them about everything.

And, where he comes from, domestic violence and rape are not called by those names. The country is old-school and they believe football players can do whatever they want as long at they take their team to state. Husbands can hit their wives because their wife must have done something to piss him off. Children can be physically punished to the point of bruises, broken bones, and other serious problems because they must have fucked up badly enough that they needed that kind of punishment.

Granted, not every person that lives in the country believes this way, but I've heard the mean things they say about a high school girl that reported her boyfriend for raping her a few years ago. They say that she was just mad that he broke up with her. She's just trying to get attention. He didn't do anything wrong, she made up stories to get him put away. And others. There are so many others.

When you hear about domestic violence, child abuse, and rape stories, how many of these occur in the country or in the woods? A lot. It's because not a whole lot of people are around, it's easier to do your own thing without anyone ever figuring anything out. Plus, their mindset is usually very different.

That makes me feel a bit crazy. Am I being over dramatic and making stuff up? How will this effect my uncles, aunts, and cousins? Will I be able to ever go back there? What if I run into a family member or friend of one of the guys? How much worse can my name be drug through the mud? THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE TO ACTUALLY SEE HOW MUCH WORSE IT CAN GET!!! These are just the wonderings in my brain. This stuff keeps me up at night. I wake up in cold sweats.

I keep waffling between knowing that they need to get locked up to wondering if people will believe me to being terrified of what will happen with my Dad and extended family.

I talk to my counselor about all of this on Tuesday. I can make it until then, I think.