A letter to … my brother, who abused me

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/sep/06/a-letter-to-my-brother-who-abused-me

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Until two years ago I hadn’t thought about you for absolutely ages. But ever since the Jimmy Savile scandal broke, I’ve considered how much integrity and courage the victims have shown in coming forward after so long, and wondered if I should do the same in an attempt to get justice. 

Yes, G, you sexually abused me when I was eight or nine years old. For several years of my life, I lived and almost died by Nietzsche’s maxim “The thought of suicide is a great source of comfort.” Why? Because I believed that I was gay because of what you had done to me. Trying to accept my sexuality tore me apart like a bird caught in a propeller. 

I recollect what you did back then like a series of fragments and splinters: my mind has acted sort of like a camera shutter to click-out the worst stuff. That’s the only way I’ve been able to deal psychologically with all the shock and heartache. Nonetheless, the musty smell of your bedroom and the huge double bed where you sexually assaulted me in various ways for more than three years – those memories will never fade. At the time, you told me what we were doing was just the same as playing about with my Star Wars figures; just fun and games, you said. You are eight years older than me, so already 16 or 17 when the abuse began. I don’t recall how many times you molested me, but I think you only stopped because you got a girlfriend.  

Well, G, did you stop entirely? Maybe you went on abusing other people’s children, and still are. Just before I ceased contact with you, I know you married and had a child. I have hoped and even prayed that you didn’t subject your child or any other kids to the same sort of sexual depravity you foisted on me, as I could never forgive myself. I would feel so guilty for not speaking up and trying to get you put behind bars where you could do no more harm, despite knowing that a case against you would be extremely hard to prove as this abuse took place more than 30 years ago and it would be my word against yours.

Do you know what it was like for a lad growing up in the mid-80s, unsure of his sexual identity? Aids had just surfaced and the tabloids vilified those deemed to be responsible. Headlines about the “gay plague” screamed out at us almost daily. It’s no surprise that such a prejudicial onslaught conditioned me against homosexuality; I didn’t want to be one of the “freaks” or “perverts” who were spreading such a terrible disease.

By the time I was 26, however (and having only had one meaningful encounter with a woman), it was impossible to keep kidding myself that I wasn’t gay.

Deeply repressed, utterly depressed, I spent days in bed, curtains drawn, ripping the very fabric of my soul to pieces with my best friend – the cider bottle. I think I must have left a small portion of my self-esteem at the bottom of each one. The inevitable suicide attempt followed.

A way out of this turmoil finally became apparent when my GP sent me to hospital for cognitive behavioural therapy. A psychiatrist helped me to understand that most of the negative assumptions and beliefs I held about myself were triggered when I became conscious of your abuse, and by the confusion this caused to my sexuality.

Because I now knew that my low opinion of myself and bouts of depression were the result of a troubled background, I was able to modify the destructive responses and behaviour that had so often blighted my life. I managed to stop drinking and have successfully reignited my career. 

With my confidence rebuilt, I could finally face up to who I was. I realised that it wasn’t you who made me gay: it’s simply the way I was born. 

Anonymous