So it wasn't my sister's fault?

So, there I was in therapy today. I'd explained how I'd felt and the last week to the therapist. He asked me how I felt. I said I really didn't want to go there as it was too horrible and difficult. But somehow or other we got talking about, surprise surprise, my dad.

I recounted the fact that my dad used to slap my next youngest sister (18 months younger than I) across the face on a what seemed fairly regular frequency. Any show of anger, resentment, back biting, basically anything that was at all saying she didn't want to conform, and SLAP. It used to leave the hand mark.

Now when I was, say, eight, and my sister six, I thought it was her fault. No - you must honour your parents. You must do as they say. You musn't be angry, be resentful, get bitter. Don't call them pigs behind their backs. Don't try and run away. I always blamed her for dad's attacks on her.

So, my therapist asked me how I felt about it now, thinking about the fact that my dad used to slap her. I smiled. He asked me was it funny. No.. it wasn't funny. And as I thought about it, I felt upset. I felt upset for my sister. I felt upset that I used to blame her for what was actually an abusive father. I would do all I could to be passive, and not to give any reason for him to slap me - but my sister couldn't do that. So time and time and time and time again she would get slapped, smacked, shouted at - generally abused by my father. And I made it worse by being sanctimonious, blaming her for her attitude.

AS IF!

If someone slapped one of my girls at any age across the face for any reason, I would have them. Literally. I'd rip their bollocks off. It is so demeaning. So degrading. It's abuse. Pure and simple. And my sister endured it time and time and time and time and time and time and time again. Repeatedly. Through her entire growing up life. And then she had her big brother judging her. The fact that her big brother may have only been eight at the time wouldn't have mattered to her. I knew no different - as my therapist pointed out - I was doing what any normal boy would have done who feared his father so.

Poor sis. The rejection she endured. It was vocal. It was deliberate. It was constant. It was concerted. It was uncalled for. It should not have happened. I will have watched from an early age before I was old enough to realise anything - and seen her attracting my dad's rage. What impact did that have on me? The impact on my sis was devastating. She had to wear awful shoes to school. The kids called her Madussa - presumably because her hair was unfashionable (mum used to cut it). She cut a loner figure, object of derision (much like I must have been). She couldn't talk about it at home because that what the cause of the problems.

Poor girl. I feel somehow responsible. Yet how can I be? An eight year old (second or third year at junior school) - more concerned with army soldiers, toy cars, a make believe world - how can an eight year old be responsible for his sister eighteen months younger. And yet I did. She was my shadow. She followed me everywhere. I was her hero. This is the same girl who at the approximate age of 35 told me, my wife and another of my sister's that she still had a Mark shaped whole in her life that no one else could fill. Her husband was sat beside her too..

Damn. It was so painful growing up. We couldn't escape. In Belgium (we lived there till I was eight) we had no friends. Literally. So the two of us hung round together. There was no escape. No friend's houses. No sleepovers. I think my sis was invited to a party once and I was so jealous. I don't think I was ever invited to a party. I can't find the words to describe what it was like.. other than living in a japanese prisoner of war camp in the second world war. The camp commander was our dad. And he could summarily execute anyone for any reason - without fear of retribution, judgement or come back. His control was total, ruthless and absolute - and woe betide anyone who even hinted at a challenge.

I can't remember having tantrums (does anyone) - but it strikes me that we probably weren't allowed to have tantrums - at least not with dad around. We would have had a beating (bare bottoms, smacked red). Sometimes we were beaten with sticks. Slippers and shoes were common.

ARRGGGHHH. I feel sorry for my sister. She had such a hard time, and has struggled with rejection, weight and money (spendaholic) her adult life. I've cut myself off from her, like I have really from my entire family since I left home. The pain is too much for me to handle. I just can't handle it. I become physically wasted, IBS flares up, I feel rotten - whenever I need to spend time with my sisters because I feel so responsible.

In part I was that figure in their lives that made life at home more bearable. So they looked up to me (though that didn't stop the fights!). So it hurt even more when I left home, and cut. I had nothing more to do with them. My next youngest sis even more so. I can't talk to her, be in the same room as her. Her rejection grates on my nerves. It punches my buttons. I can't handle it. So I don't meet her, talk to her or anything. I've seen her at most once a year if I go to my parents and they happen to me there.

Yet it is not her fault. She did nothing wrong. She had an abusive father with little parenting skills. And an older brother who didn't understand, and in adult life cut her off..

Dad. You bugger. You really hurt us, deeply, cut to our inner most beings. Ensured we were picked on and bullied. The target of ridicule because we didn't know how to stand up for ourselves. You smacked us, raged, became violent, when we were just being kids. Grace was a word you could preach on, but never live. You were the camp commander. Your ruled with a rod of iron. No one could question - and your response if someone did was immediate and total. We lived in fear. And it was horrible.

And it affects us today..