@sweetewa - Tumblr Blog

hxrdt

#kelela

it’s getting warm again

#the moon

I miss my college counsellor sooooo bad. She was calm. Calm and serene and completely without judgement. I have not had a relationship with a therapist/mental health specialist that has created such a safe space for me. I’m going to write her a letter to thank her for the help she provided during university.

sweetewa

The fact is my brother snuffed out my devotion for him and made way for the seedlings of resentment of my own blood when he strangled me as a child with such anger and hatred that I thought he would kill me. I knew I didn’t have a a protector in my own house. That trust between kin means nothing. And he probably doesn’t even remember it.

sweetewa

TW: CSA

This period as a child, I can’t quite place the ages I believe from 7-10. I was utterly alone. A vibrant, intelligent child with loving friends, adoring teachers and a glee for everything, from writing, to drawing, to playing, to learning. But I’d go home, and be utterly alone. My foster brother sexually abused me but if he wasn’t molesting me, he was tormenting me, locking me in boxes and punching me, goading me into a reaction and when I did I was the one that got punished. As a foster child, my mum had to keep him happy to ensure her own job and he was very well aware of it. So my hurt, my pain was just collateral. My shame was my shame entirely. And then to fear my own older brother, who was supposed to protect me but in his appeasement of my foster brother, I had to be bruised and battered. My room which I loved so much, a pink princess room with all my dolls and dainty furniture became a frightening, terrible place. My bed was sodden with shame and sweat. My mirror harboured the darkness of what it witnessed.

I wish I could go back and hug this child, to be her protector.

#diary of mimi #tw abuse #tw csa

sweetewa

I think a coldness for my brother entered my body when I was a child, tucked in sweetly, sleeping in my beautifully pink, princess room and he came in, quietly and softly and strangled me. He was mad that I didn’t want pancakes and mum sided with me and decided to not to make them for him and my foster brother. So, squeezing my throat, mad as the devil, he told me, frankly I don’t remember what he told me, but he was livid. I didn’t know if he was going to stop. I thought I might die. By the hand of my elder brother.

I think from then on, I knew I was obligated to love him, but love him affectionately and care for pains and sufferings, not so much. Empathy and warmth left that love.

sweetewa

I said it better here. How can I let this go? So often I look at his face and see violence and meanness and nothing more.

The fact is my brother snuffed out my devotion for him and made way for the seedlings of resentment of my own blood when he strangled me as a child with such anger and hatred that I thought he would kill me. I knew I didn’t have a a protector in my own house. That trust between kin means nothing. And he probably doesn’t even remember it.