#5.11.22

I'm just riving over the fact that the educators that abused me still work in education.

The problem was, it wasn't black and white abuse. I wasn't hit. I wasn't sexually assaulted.

I was a highly sensitive kid who couldn't grasp social norms.

I was ignored by the teachers when others teased and harassed me—even when I asked for help.

I was yelled at for not fitting expectations or for crying. Or the whole class was yelled at, but I was the one that completely shut down in response.

But at the end of the day, the same teachers who routinely left me in tears were other students' favorites.

So what does that even mean?

It doesn't really mean much. I didn't fit the mold, but that doesn't mean it was my fault. That doesn't mean I deserved it. That doesn't mean I was overreacting. I was a kid (likely on the spectrum) that teachers just didn't know how to help. I deserved to be nurtured and taken care of, and I wasn't. Nobody listened to me when I asked for help. Maybe they thought they were helping.

In the end I got through it.

But sometimes I still mourn for little me, so deep in self blame and twisting logic to make it make sense... Had to... Just had to. And the only way I could wrap my head around it was if it was my fault.

But some things just don't make sense.

My inner child is sad.

And the other thing is my brother.. I wasn't a good sister. I wasn't a bad one, but I wasn't a good one either. I was so deep in my own shit that I was never a playmate or a confidant. I was just there. Angry mostly. And I took it out on him. Not violently, never violently, just through irritation and lack of patience. Never accepted his requests to play. Always took every opportunity to point out when he was wrong (well actualllyyy). But God he still loved me. Still wrote me letters when I went to camp. Still tried to play with me (God I hated when he came in my room).

I miss him. It seems more and more. He never left adolescence, never got to grow into himself. He was only 20, not even out of my parents house yet.

And the more than came out about his experiences, the worst it is. Like me, he had no childhood. And if I'd been patient and caring as a sister maybe I would've noticed his hurt. I always thought he reminded me of myself, emotionally, and it makes so much sense that he was also suffering abuse. But it's utter shit. I talked about my sister like she was some crazy balanced healthy person, but of course she was compared to us.

My poor parents. It really wasn't their fault. Sure they could've done some things better, but they weren't our abusers. And how do they sit with this? I couldn't imagine having two kids so fucked up. I made it out. I did. But gees I was a mess. And he, well, we lost him..... If I could pick between us idk I think I might want him to have the chance.

Despite my irritatability towards him as a kid, he was my favorite sibling(don't tell Lucy I love her).