Blurred memories

Forcing myself to go over the memories in my head, and strain to put together some of the blurry ones has not been an easy task. I didn't think it would be, mind you, but I wanted to get it out there that my brain hurts. :P


Ryan was working at one of the hot shot restaurants where we lived, and often came home smelling like booze. I cannot count how many nights I have different pieces of memories of him coming into my room.. the smell of alcohol taking over all my senses, 'till he would start touching me.

I remember vividly the first time he kissed me, because it had literally shocked me, up before then - the things I do remember never involved kisses. I don't know why, but after everything he'd done so far, this just seemed.. So much worse to me. I actually was so shocked that I spoke his name, in that questioning kind of way. I remember him putting his mouth on mine again after I did, then telling me it was okay - he loved me, and I loved him. It's not wrong because he loves me. I don't think that he had ever spoken either, a lot of times when he came into my room, I didn't move I pretended I was asleep, which I know we both knew better. He'd told me he never meant to hurt me, that it was wrong, that he loved me. I didn't say anything else that I recall of, because then it started again - I'd feel him ease my legs apart, some nights he was gentle, other nights more rough like in a hurry. After awhile it didn't burn anymore, it just was. It wasn't pleasure, it wasn't pain anymore. It just was. It'd be done, he'd leave my room and I'd be safe again, until the next time.

After awhile, it became normal. Or I became more numb to it? After awhile I looked for the attention from him. Somebody at least loved me, right?

I found some comfort in drugs after some time, my brother was into pot, but he didn't do much else. Me, I liked smoking, but other things I was finding kept me feeling numb inside. To this day I feel guilty, because when I reached that point, I waited for him at night, if he didn't come in, I wondered what I did wrong. Did he not love me anymore? How many therapists have I seen that I couldn't talk too, told me it's not my fault. Now tell me how many I believed?

Meanwhile, as I'm turning to drinking, drugs and whatever else worked, my dads temper was spinning out of control. If I got into trouble, it meant serious issues in the house. He'd hit, with his belt, or his hand when he'd fly of the handle. Often leaving welts or marks on me. Then he'd feel so bad, and we'd talk, and it'd be okay again. Like I mentioned before, my dads moods were never in between. And I know it sounds crazy, but I knew he loved me. I knew two dads, because really, he was like two people.

Heh, I remember one night, we decided to sneak into my dads booze, well, my dad rarely drank - so he didn't have much. He did have a bottle of Bourbon Jack I think it was. Our plan, drink some, water it down.. it was never done. Well, the whole bottle ended up drank, so I got this plan to say I was in the cabinets searching for something, and I dropped it, it broke.

Well, if you've ever drank Bourbon Jack, you'll know the bottles are so not breakable. Sonny, a friend of mine decided to find a new way to break it.. by beating it on the counter. The counter broke, the bottle didn't. There went my plan, and boy did I get beat for that one. Along with all my stuff ending up in trash bags, and told I was being sent to a foster home. I didn't get sent when things cooled down, but I did have an ugly welt on my neck. In which, a friend at school told the school nurse about. Who in turned called Social Services. I denied what happened, my dad got called in, and he got out of it however he did. All I knew is that I got beat yet again, for making him out to be a child abuser. He so wouldn't believe me that I didn't tell anyone.

Sorry, I seem to be jumping around with the memories here.

Another memory that gets cut off, that disturbs me so fucking greatly:
Ryan has me and my brother in a room, and he makes me sit with him. Now please keep in mind that I have no recollection of anything other than this happening between my brother and I, and how close him and I were. He was all I could trust growing up, we went through everything together.

I remember Ryan making me get undressed. And he wanted me to touch my brother, and use his penis as a gear shift. My brother was crying and yelling at Ryan... and if I remember right, something disturbed what was happening. The door, I think? I got locked into the closet, and not let out 'till dark. This isn't the only time the closet and I got stuck together. :P See, always been a closet case? heh.. sorry. Where was I? As we grew up, my brother would try to talk to me about things that happened. To this day, with his death, I still don't know what all Ryan did to him, but I know that things happened. For years my brother carried guilt around thinking it was his fault. Something about things starting when I was too little to remember anything and it involved a babysitter we had. I don't know - I don't know if I ever will. And people wonder why i can't get over my brothers death.