I promises myself to write a blog once a week about my childhood. Part of me wants to skip it this week because I have has a exhausting weekend and woukd love yo get an early night. But I know if I get lazy about this I will easilly close that little box up and not deal with it. However, I know it would not be good for me. So I am going to press on, but keeping on the easier side of this stuff.
So with that said, I have questions for my brother that will never be answered because he passed away a few years ago. Most likely he wouldn't have ever answered them anyway because I doubt he was capable of a real conversation.
This wasn't always the case. When he was in middle school he had a pasion for writing, his imagination was pretty impressive. He had an oportunity to attend a private boarding school for young authors, but maybe we couldn't afford it, I suspect it is more that my mother was not about to let her son leave home. He never really did leave home. He was also fairly artistic.
But mixed in with the talent was a very disturbed part of my brother. From the time I was starting to develope until he got married ( when I was 16) my brother spent his time doing things like drilling holes i the wall between our bedrooms so he could spy on me when I dressed. I discovered that he had been taking my dirty panties out of the laundry or cutting the crotch out of my panties. Seriously who does that?
He seemed to be obsesed with the idea of making me have sex withhis friends. Luckily for me none of his friends were willing to force me into sex. That is not to mean that him and his friends didn't find it fun to spy on me, "accidentally" come in on me while I was dressing or bathing. I had burses on my rear end and my tiny breast from them always pinching me.
Yes these were mintor issues compared to the big picture, but things that made my life hard and made me grow up to not like being touched.