What is normal? And do I really want it?

I often wonder what is normal. Maybe I have it already, but how do you really know?

I remember when I was very young, laying in my bed. My father, who has worked all his life, coming home after the bars have closed fighting with my mother. I remember one night more than most when in the heat of an argument my father telling my mother he would take me away from her. She screaming and crying for him not to.

I remember wondering why he never mentioned my brother as well. Again I was very young, but I can remember thinking that.

My brother and I have never really been close. We never shared secrets, we never played together, nothing. We just existed in a home together. Granted I had the whole brother worship thing going on. I am 5 years younger than my brother. So I thought he was the coolest. He basically ignored me until he couldn't stand me following him any longer and would chase me off by either verbally abusing my ego or physically, which is another story all together.

It was a strange love hate thing with him. If someone else tried to hurt me, well then he would be there, like it was only his place to do so. Normal? I think so.

There is only the two of us, he being the older brother and me the baby sister. So we really didn't compete much, but all my life my brother for some odd reason was jealous of me.

I wonder now, did he hear my father too? Why not? I heard it. Is this how this whole thing started? I rack my brain to this day wondering what I ever did to make my brother jealous or to act as if he hated me so much,when did it start, I can't remember. Normal? I don't think so.

We are different in some ways and the same in some ways. When it came to our parents I always had easy conversation with them, I am pretty blunt and say what I feel, but not in a vindictive kind of way. I laughed easily and made others laugh. He was more of a brood in silence kind of guy, always out to prove he was a man to my father, who was what you call a man's man. Tough guy. You can tell we are related, we look and have some of the same gestures, and we have the same values on most things. Normal? Sure I will buy that.

But to this day he still is jealous, I swear it. My father, who after so many years of drinking has quit, health problems. So we see him more than ever and he and my mother do everything together. They visit often now which is strange for me, but I enjoy their visits very much. They come to my home like clockwork every other day. Never coming inside they don't want to intrude so they will sit on the porch. I come out with ice tea for my mom and coffee for dad, unless he already has one. Which 9 times out of 10 he does because they make sure they go to my brothers first. I live in a small town you see, my brother lives not to far but he owns a restaurant pretty close to where I live. They always tell me that my brother will say, "I suppose you went over THERE first!" or " You probably seen HER first huh?" Normal? no, I'm thinking.

Since when did I become "HER", like my name coming from his mouth would be poison and saying it would cause something to fall off? I've always been there for my brother whenever he needed me. I've helped my brother whenever I could. That's what family does. But when it's the other way around my brother acts as if I have personally wounded him and I am taking "HIS" parents attention away from him. My mother and father for years have tried to accommodate so to speak his needs. They make sure they give him his equal time and if they do something for me or my children they make sure to inform me, "Don't tell your brother." Or to my children, "Don't tell your Uncle, if he found out he would be upset." I don't understand.

I feel guilty if I go somewhere alone with my parents. Sure enough when my brother finds out he gives me this look of pure hatred. My brother is well into his 40's, with his own family. Sometimes I would love to shout inches away from his face, "Grow up will ya!!" His hatred doesn't stop with me, my husband who used to be one of his best friends growing up, he is barely civil to at family functions. He sits in one room while my husband sits in another. We have been married for 24 years. My parents make sure they sit in the room he is in and if I don't come in that room they ask me what my problem is. It's gotten so bad we don't even have family get togethers any longer. He treats my children the same way. My grown son doesn't even talk to him, pretty much steers clear of him altogether. My daughter is half afraid of him, because he's not very nice to her. Normal? I hope to God not!!

My brother has 4 boys, who I love very much. When they come over they ask me questions about funny stories my brother has told them. Stuff about us growing up. Mostly their stories relate to me doing something bad and he getting blamed for it or me doing something to hurt him. 9 times out of 10 they are lies, and the other one is over exaggerated that it's no where close to how it happened. Do I tell them it's a lie? Do I tell them their father is lying, No I calmly say that's not completely the way it happened or something along those lines. Don't cause trouble.

Not long ago my youngest nephew stayed over. He said he wanted to ask me a question. I took a deep breath, dreading what he would ask. I calmly kept washing dishes in the sink and shook my head saying, "Of course." He is a very smart little boy, not so little he is 12, but as I said very smart. He had been out in the garage with my daughter and one of his brothers, she was showing them old pictures and such. He saw a few large boxes near by that were full of my husbands old trophies. They were all his old bodybuilding and power lifting trophies from his teens and early 20's. My husband at one time was very good, but life happens and he took another path. He looked at these trophies and was confused. He told me that his father had told him that his Uncle and I lie and not to believe anything we say, for instance my husband wasn't a bodybuilder that it was really him, he was the one that had competed for so many years and we were just jealous. But when he saw all the trophies with my husbands name on them he wanted to know if his father was lying, because he thought so. My mouth dropped open, I didn't know what to say. I looked into his eyes, I froze, it seemed like for hours but it was merely seconds. I knew I had to tell the truth. I told him I would never lie to him and yes those were his Uncle's trophies and his father was was not telling him the truth. My nephew in wisdom beyond his 12 years, just shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, "Yeah I kinda figured that, Dad always tries to act like he is the best at everything." with that he walked away to play with the other kids, leaving me to stand there staring at my soapy hands still in the sink. What the hell have I ever done to my brother? It must have been bad, maybe I wronged him another life. When is enough, enough?

I got sick the begining of this year, a rare illness that is curable but takes a long time to get over and has many compications. Almost as if you have the flu all the time and I can't breath that well. I remember being at his restaurant with my parents and telling him about it, nervous because at this time they were doing a biopsy on my throat and down in my chest to find out what it was. He laughed at me, told me I was just trying to get attention and blew it off. I got upset and walked out. I was in surgery for 5 hours, it took me a while to recover from the biopsy because where it was located. My parents checked on my daily. My brother who drives by my home everyday never once called or stopped to ask me how I was. If it were the other way around I would have been at the hospital and calling him all the time, but it wasn't it was me.

Over the time I have been off work and trying to get better, you have a lot of time to think about things. Things normal life usually washes away. I started to get angry, all those years.

As a child the normal, not wanting a younger sibling hanging around. As a teen a little worse, first verbally abusing statements, for instance I thought I was a fat ass all of my life, no matter how thin I got. I was 5'5" 115 pounds. Not fat at all. Then physical, he used to love to choke me. Hold me against the wall and choke me till I was purple. Don't get me wrong I fought back, little good it did. I remember picking up a small potted plant my mother had in the middle of the coffee table and throwing it at his head once, he grabbed me a smashed me into the wall leaving a hole in the wall from my head hitting it. We both got in trouble for that. Another time standing in the kitchen I was about 15 and I must of said something he didn't like and he turned around and punched me in the stomach, all of my breath left me and I fell to the floor. I said something to my mother about that one and she told me I was no angel and probably brought it on myself. Nice. I didn't say much after that I pretty much took it and tried to get in any licks I could.

I remember the last time he ever laid his hands on me, I was 17.

He came home from work, my best friend and I were lounging on the couch eating junk food and watching mtv, like a normal teenager. He was always in pissy moods when he came home from work. He walked in and I never said a word to him, walking across the living room in front of us he glanced at me, for one instant my eyes rose to his, not moving just a glance. He stopped in that instant, like he was waiting for it, needed it, like a junkie looking for a fix. He screamed "What the Fuck are you looking at?" I rolled my eyes and made a "pfff" sound. That's all it took, he had me by the throat on top of me choking me with all his weight on top of me. Grip like stone, I tried pulling his hand away, nothing. My instincts kicked in, I need to survive, his face above me a deep red and spit coming from the corners of his mouth, eyes normally blue were dark and nothing behind them. I knew then he wanted to kill me. I started clawing at his face, my nails digging deep into his flesh over and over. My best friend, who bless her had never interfered before, seeing my face jumped on his back and started hitting him to help me. It was like a dream but I can remember every detail like it was in slow motion. He slowly turned his head and through gritted teeth told her to get off or she would be next. She continued. Maybe a minute passed it seemed like forever to me he broke his grip and stood knocking her to the floor in the process and stomped out the door.

When my parents finally came home from work that evening my mother heard all about it from my best friends mom and then from the bruises on my neck. My brother still was not home.

Later that evening my mom got a call from my grandmother. My brother had gone there and she thought I should be ashamed of myself for doing such a thing to his face. That was the first time that I can remember my mother taking up for me and yelling back what he had done to me. He had told my grandmother I attacked him for no good reason. That was one time I was thankful for an audience and telling my parents what really happened. H didn't touch me after that. I started dating my husband then and he would never touch me again.

Other times I wasn't so thankfull, like when a boy I liked was on the front porch of our house with all my other friends and watched me getting my ass kicked. They yelled through the doors for him to stop. Remember he was bigger and older than any of us. When he did stop I was mortified and ran into the bathroom and refused to come back out. I coudln't look at them for months after that.

Things like this come back to me as I sit here, trying to get better, and I wonder is this normal? Maybe it is and I am overreacting. Maybe all over the world big brothers are beating the living crap out of their little sisters. Maybe this is normal. It happens everywhere right?

Wrong.

I look at my children. My son who is the older brother, and my daughter who is the little sister and I take comfort because they do share secrets, they do act silly together, they do love each other. He is her hero, and she one of his best friends. I take comfort in knowing he would fight till his last breath to keep her safe, he would die or kill for her without thinking and her him. That is normal, that is love and that makes up for so much of the loss of mine.