Reblogging this for purely cathartic reasons A few days ago I found myself saying to the *one person* who should know not to ever speak for me or analyze my relationships, what is included here. He finally stopped when I said: “He is the rapist. I am the victim. My childhood ended on the living room floor when I was ten years old. I don’t give a FUCK about his feelings.”
In my book, I make no secret of the fact my adoptive brother “Keith” was (and is) a depraved individual. For those who haven’t read The Tangled Red Thread, here are some highlights. In fact, I’ll throw in a few things I didn’t mention before:
- He enjoyed abusing animals and would do so whenever he could get away with it.
- He held a clothesline to our mother’s throat and told her how it easy it would be to kill her.
- He destroyed things by treating everything like it was junk, then complained it was broken.
- He hit me with his fist, numerous times, once in the face.
- He threw a dead animal at me.
- He nearly killed an acquaintance by slamming his head in a car door, over and over.
- He routinely stole our parents’ things to sell them, or break them, or just keep them.
- He lied continuously, or…
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