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Been a while, right? Quite a lot has happened since I went on my pandys hiatus, so I'll catch up. Uhmm...I filled out the Courage to Heal workbook, it was good for organizing my thoughts, and it encouraged me to talk about it with a few friends I trust. That went okay, nobody freaked out, life went on, etc. Summer happened, had a sweet job...Oh, and then my brother basically told me about how he wants to rape his girlfriend. Yeah. Wtf. She's super catholic, and abstinent from anything sexual until marriage. He's been dating her for...5 years? So yeah, her not having sex is pretty set in stone. I was picking him up from work, and he just started talking out of nowhere about how he's "so happy karate taught him self control, because he would probably "Do Stuff" with her". So I said, "You mean rape?". He got really nervous, probably because I most likely looked an odd mixture of livid and terrified, and was just like "No, no, not rape. Not rape, just 'Stuff'". Naturally, I flipped out. I basically told him that forcing or coercing anyone to do any sort of "stuff" is rape. Or at very least, sexual assault. And if I EVER heard from her or from him or the mother fucking postman that he'd forced himself on her in ANY way, I would see him put in jail. And if jail wouldn't take him for whatever reason, I'd deal with him myself. And then he said some stuff, but I'm not really sure what because I'd dissociated while driving. I think it was apologetic? I don't know how I didn't crash the car.
But anyway, it probably sunk in because a week, maybe a week in a half later, he tried to kill himself. It was sort of half-assed, but either way, still serious. He stumbled into the kitchen at like 3 in the morning and collapsed right in front of me. He was puking, but didn't have the strength to move his head off the floor, so he kept puking into his own face. Gross. So I hauled him up and cleaned him up. My mother heard, came downstairs and just stood there, looking annoyed while I helped him. That bitch stood in the corner, looking disgusted with her arms crossed. Occasionally she'd contribute with a question or useless, snarky commentary. After maybe 15-20 minutes of watching me fight the dog off the "tasty" puke puddle, and drag my brother's bawling ass into the bathroom, she got bored and went back to bed. I stayed up with him and we talked until the sun came up and I was sure he wasn't going to choke to death on puke or something. He kept apologizing over and over, I’d ask him why he was so sorry, and he just kept saying "things I've done in my past". I should make this clear. My brother and I were always best friends growing up. Since our parents were so useless/destructive, we made it our prerogative to watch out for each other. So the things he did to me, I see them as a really awful way of coping for the similar things our mother did to us. We were just kids, and when someone feels powerless it helps to assert power over someone weaker than you. I'm not making excuses for him, and hell yeah, it hurts that he hurt me. Even so, I don't hate him most of the time. But while I was watching him vomit all over himself and whatever, I felt absolutely nothing. And I remember thinking, "Would it be so bad if he didn't wake up tomorrow?". Which is pretty fucking awful of me. But I still took care of him. I made sure he drank all his Gatorade, picked the puke chunks out of his eyelashes, and was a sympathetic ear. But it's still a little unsettling.
There was some other little stuff, like my father threatened to leave my brother homeless because he lit a tealight candle, and my father’s on-the-side “lady friend” bought me a birthday present, while nobody else in my family did (awkward). I think that pretty much brings me up to the current state of affairs. I moved into an apartment, LOVE it so much. Might be getting a cat soon too, she's a stray a friend no longer has room for. I learned that yes, you can have panic attacks in your sleep AND dissociate while sleeping, because I woke up during both of those things on two separate occasions. And I think I'm starting to get depressed again. My insomnia's mostly went away in favor of constant sleeping. And I'm ashamed to say I've started self harming again. I’m thinking about talking to a counselor on campus, but I’m really really scared and I’m not sure what I’d even say/if they’d even be helpful. So basically, in my time away there’s been good and there’s been bad. Such is life, I guess.