I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not. This hurts really bad and I feel a bit venerable. But here goes.

* When I was six, my oldest half brother was involved in the satanist church. He said that was the reason he did what he did. One day he took me by the arm, didn't say a word, and lead me up stairs to the window at the top of the staircase. He instructed me to lean over a stool he had placed in front of the window. He removed my underware and began to slowly rape me. When I screamed with pain he covered my mouth and nose with his hand and I couldn't breath. All I remember is it was over quick and he couldn't look at me after. He had a picture of a naked lady on the floor by the stool I was leaning over. I was very scared even though he didn't go very far and it didn't hurt that bad. I lied to mom and told her I fell on my tricycle. The memory of this incident did not come back to me until I was 36 years old. I had to go back to the old house we lived in at the time to see if my memory was just a sick trick of my brain. When I got to the house in Kansas, it was exactly like I remember it being when we lived there. It was for sale so I called the owner and ask if I could go in. As I walked through the old house my whole body began to shake. I thought I was going to pass out. I managed to make my way upstairs and there it was. The window, the corner, chipped paint and faided wall paper. This helped me to realize I wasn't just a freak with a twisted brain. My memory was real. I really loved my big bubby. It was real hard on me because he just dissapeared after that. He reappeared when my family moved to another town in MO. It is so hard for me because the people that hurt me are the people I love. My bubby is in prison now. He stabbed a man to death with a hunting knife. He's been in prison for 14 years now. He's very sick with cancer. I've never went to see him because it hurts so bad to see him a prisoner. I wanted him to have a good life. I normal life with a wife, kids, job, and nice home. He will never have that. He used to carry me to school on his shoulders everyday and when he picked me up, if he had money, he'd stop by the convenience store and buy me candy. He used to tell me to be a good girl and do good in school. He would say that he was proud of me for being such a cute and smart little sister. I'm crying now but I have to keep going. I can't hold this in any more. He used to tell me really funny stories to make me laugh. He called me his little "Eskimo Arab". He once told me that he walked all the way across the African desert carrying his camel on his back. Appearently the cammel had fainted from lack of water. His silly story always made me laugh. He told me if I didn't eat my spinich and peas I would be scrawny and weak and wouldn't be able to carry my camel across the desert.
I have to go now. I'll write more later.