Venting.
This may be a boring topic, but I'll try to summarize it.
A few years ago I started to accept that we can choose to continue or not to exist. A series of situations happened, some I could have avoided, others there was nothing I could do.
When happiness disappeared for a long time, I started to evaluate the available alternatives. I also started to review my life, and the result surprised me.
I'm about 40 years old, 10 years ago I had a very different life, independent, comfortable. Family problems ended up bringing my mother to me. Someone I had run away from (literally at 9 years old). And I didn't even remember why.
My parents separated, at 9 I went to live with my father, and there I built my life, working from a very young age and even having my own business very early. I grew up far from my mother who always had psychiatric problems.
It's funny how we try to erase memories to move on. At some point they come to mind. Even after 40 years.
I grew up with my brother, who is 1 year older than me.
Although it is normal for younger siblings to fight with each other, it is possible that I became a little more aggressive with him after I was 5 years old. I didn't understand why, after all, he was always the most important person to me. My role model since I was born.
Despite this, I thought we had overcome this problem. But just as some memories came back to me years later, it seems that they did to him too. For several years he has been causing me more harm than good, and what if I had an enemy? It is surreal the things he does just to hurt me.
But I am writing here to report what I discovered, which I believe is what made me change my behavior with him back then. I only realized this when, in the last year, I was taking care of my mother and recognizing his behavior, memories came back clearly.
When I was around 5 or 6 years old, let's say I was led to play games that today I think are very similar to what they call tantric massage. I have memories of emotional blackmail from the tipi, "oh, mom is so tired that she only feels good if she gets a massage with cream", and a child like I was would never see anything bad in that. I prefer not to talk about the visual memories. This happened a few times and I don't know if I'll remember anything else. I hope not.
That said, my change in behavior with my brother started to make a lot of sense, although he was also a child at the time, he didn't know anything and never found out. I started to remember a feeling, a kind of betrayal. A kind of not having protected me, from our own mother. And maybe I'll never have the opportunity to talk to him about it.
I'm writing to vent because I've never told anyone about this.
The memories I have don't bring me happiness, but it's also not something I've remembered for most of my life, it's a strange feeling. And today I understand the importance of this in my life, in the difficulty of trusting people and having romantic relationships. I think I grew up a bit broken, I ended up fighting more than usual with my brother and that also marked his life.
It's a domino effect, and today I only think about not letting anything like this happen again because knowing about things can help stop the domino from continuing.
I didn't get married, I didn't have children, and now that I'm old, taking care of the same mother, I had to live with her trying to do similar things again, and I can't tell anyone, they would never believe me, and it wouldn't change anything that happened.
Sorry for the tone, but I needed to get it out, after all it's part of what brought me here.
This may be a boring topic, but I'll try to summarize it.
A few years ago I started to accept that we can choose to continue or not to exist. A series of situations happened, some I could have avoided, others there was nothing I could do.
When happiness disappeared for a long time, I started to evaluate the available alternatives. I also started to review my life, and the result surprised me.
I'm about 40 years old, 10 years ago I had a very different life, independent, comfortable. Family problems ended up bringing my mother to me. Someone I had run away from (literally at 9 years old). And I didn't even remember why.
My parents separated, at 9 I went to live with my father, and there I built my life, working from a very young age and even having my own business very early. I grew up far from my mother who always had psychiatric problems.
It's funny how we try to erase memories to move on. At some point they come to mind. Even after 40 years.
I grew up with my brother, who is 1 year older than me.
Although it is normal for younger siblings to fight with each other, it is possible that I became a little more aggressive with him after I was 5 years old. I didn't understand why, after all, he was always the most important person to me. My role model since I was born.
Despite this, I thought we had overcome this problem. But just as some memories came back to me years later, it seems that they did to him too. For several years he has been causing me more harm than good, and what if I had an enemy? It is surreal the things he does just to hurt me.
But I am writing here to report what I discovered, which I believe is what made me change my behavior with him back then. I only realized this when, in the last year, I was taking care of my mother and recognizing his behavior, memories came back clearly.
When I was around 5 or 6 years old, let's say I was led to play games that today I think are very similar to what they call tantric massage. I have memories of emotional blackmail from the tipi, "oh, mom is so tired that she only feels good if she gets a massage with cream", and a child like I was would never see anything bad in that. I prefer not to talk about the visual memories. This happened a few times and I don't know if I'll remember anything else. I hope not.
That said, my change in behavior with my brother started to make a lot of sense, although he was also a child at the time, he didn't know anything and never found out. I started to remember a feeling, a kind of betrayal. A kind of not having protected me, from our own mother. And maybe I'll never have the opportunity to talk to him about it.
I'm writing to vent because I've never told anyone about this.
The memories I have don't bring me happiness, but it's also not something I've remembered for most of my life, it's a strange feeling. And today I understand the importance of this in my life, in the difficulty of trusting people and having romantic relationships. I think I grew up a bit broken, I ended up fighting more than usual with my brother and that also marked his life.
It's a domino effect, and today I only think about not letting anything like this happen again because knowing about things can help stop the domino from continuing.
I didn't get married, I didn't have children, and now that I'm old, taking care of the same mother, I had to live with her trying to do similar things again, and I can't tell anyone, they would never believe me, and it wouldn't change anything that happened.
Sorry for the tone, but I needed to get it out, after all it's part of what brought me here.
