My Suicide Letter to My Brother’s Non-Existent Therapist

Hello there,

I know you’ll never read this because I know you’ll never exist, but for tonight, let’s pretend..

To whom it may concern:

I assume if you’re reading this my brother has finally decided to see a therapist. I wonder if my death is what pushed him; or maybe the memories of our childhood.

He’ll take a while to open up, or maybe he doesn’t remember, but I sure do, and I’d be happy to start you off.

There was the day he held me down and forced me to watch porn. Or the day he hid in my closest and caught me masturbating and then shamed me for it. Or the day he walked in on me taking a bath and masturbating, and then not only shamed me for it, but told all of his friends and all of his friends shamed me for it. Or the time he choked me and lifted me off the seat while I was peeing.

I’m sorry, that’s a lot to digest all at once. Let me break it down for you.

Our parents divorced when I was five, brother was nine. That’s about where it started. He would push me around, make me stay away from fights and phone calls. I figured he was protecting me or shielding me. I don’t remember much of this time, but I remember a lot of the remnants. The holes in the doors, walls, and closet ceiling. The broken garage door, the many crashed cars, the sobs of my mother.

From there, my memories are scattered and it’s hard to figure out what happened when, but I’m sure this all happened.

I remember when we got HBO and my brother discovered Cinemax, or Skin-imax as it was nicknamed. The constant stream of porn for free for a kid. I don’t remember how or why this happened, but I remember him sitting on me, or constraining me in some way, forcing me to watch porn. I remember it vividly. It was two couples, on a camping trip, outside under the stars, having sex with their partners.

That speaks for itself. He can pretend it didn’t happen or that it was a joke, but I remember. I didn’t find it funny.

The experiences from then on just drone on. I hope that he can speak to them. I hope that he can see what he’s done wrong. Most of all, I hope you can help him see what he’s repeating with his own children.

Remind his daughters that emotions are normal and valid. Remind his daughters that being hurtful isn’t funny. Remind his daughters that seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness. Remind his daughters that their aunt always loved them.

Signed,

Aunt Michelle