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This is NOT okay.

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I've never been much of a talker. I never really know what to say and if I do I don't know how to say it. I mean REALLY say it. So its a bit hard to say it out loud. So I write it down. Its easier that way. I can think. Which is something I haven't been able to do in a long time. Its not easy for me to talk about emotions especially when I feel like I'm faking them. So for the first time I'm just going to say 'what-the-hell' and let go. It really all started with my brother. He wasn't normal. He was very anti-social as I liked to call it. But my sister called him a sociopath. I think only a few people really understand what that truly means. I was one of those unfortunate few. But I will and still don't regret what happened to me.

The abuse started at age five. It was the first time I have ever been punched in the gut.

"What you ganna cry you big baby!"

I felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. At only age seven my brother was what I could only describe as the spawn of the devil.

"N-o," I gasp as tears of retaliation fell down my face.

"Then I'll have to change that!"

My skull explodes in pain as I clutch it feeling if I didn't it may just split away.

I hear that laugh I've grown to hate so much.

I want nothing more than to be strong and hold my head high but I soon find myself cower in the corner of my room.

"Don't turn your back on me you little s***!"

I feel pain erupt in my ribs. My body spasms and at the unexpected pain. Before I have time to scold myself for letting my guard down I receive another kick to the stomach.

"Sto-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

He accomplishes that with another blow to my stomach. But it only lasts so long.

"Pl...e..ase.." I beg weakly now curled put in the corner, my back to the wall with my arms covering my stomach trying to slow down the dry heaves.

"I said SHUT UP!!!" He screams before punching me in the face.

I don't say anything else while the beating went on and on. I knew he'd get tired at some point and he did.

I was still on the floor bawling when our Dad got home. I knew he was here because I heard the screen door slam shut.

"Here."

I hear something fall to the floor. I look down to see a faded blue towel next to me.

"Wipe your face off and stop crying. If you tell dad I swear I will beat you and tell everyone what a big baby you are!"

Reluctantly I pick it up and start wiping my face.

I still remember that day. And the day before that. And the day before that. It took years before I actually realized. This is not normal. This is NOT okay.



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