Content Warning: No joke, this time. This is some of the Stuff That's Hard to Write. Or read. We'll be talking about incest and battery and stalking and harassment going on for decades. Because the vampires never give up hoping they'll be able to sink their teeth back into you one more time.
If you need help dealing with past or present rape, abuse or incest, RAINN (the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network) is one of the best places to start. They were an incredible help to me in the days when no one else was even talking about sibling violence and sexual assault. In addition, Helping Survivors can help with assault that has occurred under a wide variety of circumstance as well as in obtaining legal assistance.
I'm torn between dumping too many details and keeping this as short and generic as possible. There is no etiquette for talking about crimes you've survived. But, hey, it's something to do while waiting for the cops to call back. It's bad, OK? Feel free to not read on. In large part, I'm posting this because I suspect the pervert vampire is reading my blog and I so rarely have had a chance to hold up a mirror to his sick, pathetic pervert face.
Both my parents were continually drinking, violent alcoholics. I was the youngest child of two youngest children. I had older brothers I barely knew who moved out before I was old enough to remember them doing so. One older brother was a drugged con man who died a few years ago. The oldest brother, who I swear I've been in the same room with fewer than ten times in my life, isn't overtly physically or sexually abusive (to me, anyway), but he is a liar and a manipulator who, along with the more overt abusers, has refused to respect my privacy. He can go fuck himself.
I also had one brother three years older than me. He's the vampire.
My parents were born in the 1920s to Irish-American Catholic families. The status of women in those circumstances parallels a lot of what we see in the Middle East with (some) Muslims. Women and girls exist only to be used sexually, to be beaten, ordered around, to provide free manual labor. The usual. All women belong to whomever is the dominant male in the house. My father just came home and drank himself to sleep on the couch. That meant my older brother thought of himself as the alpha male. So, he figured he got to beat me, to force his fingers into my body while pretending to "wrestle" and laughing when I sobbed and screamed for him to stop, to do worse things to me, to mess me up sexually forever, especially that one time when all that reading about incest in the Penthouse magazines he left around the house wasn't enough to satisfy him. He also sexually violated one of my sisters-in-law, groping her while she slept. All the women in the family belonged to him, in his mind. He stole not just my innocence, but also my ability to associate the sight of a man's genitals with anything other than hatred and selfishness. It's never gotten easier. And, I'm not a lesbian, so I have been left a straight woman continually at war with myself, my fears always at war with my dreams.
My other primary abuser was my mother. Drugs, the best uppers and downers the 60s and 70s had to offer, provided like clockwork from a local doctor who should have been in prison. All mixed with alcohol. Lots of it. Almost daily, from the time I was six until my mid-teens when I sought help from the County. I can't count the times I saw her head down at the kitchen table, passed out in a pool of vomit. Regular death threats. Waving knives around. Calling me obscenities I was too young to even know the meaning of. Beatings beatings beatings... She told me when I was in kindergarten that parents are allowed to kill their children. I won't tell you the other things she said. Some words deserve to die.
The County left me there after I sought help because I was 14 and I would have aged out of foster care at 16 anyway. Still not sure why that mattered. It was an excuse to not do all that paperwork, I suppose. Yeah, ask me why I didn't tell anyone. I did, and nothing happened. Going public was enough to make them stop beating me, at least.
Sometimes they would gang up on me. Sometimes they fought with each other. The brother who beat and violated me got obsessed with guns when I was 14 and started keeping a loaded deer rifle within easy reach of the kitchen table. This was one of the things I told the County about. They left me there anyway. It was the 1970s.
My mother is dead, thank God. The brother is not, but I keep hoping. After a decade of trying to get my parents and him to stop drinking and screaming and breaking up walls and each other, I finally gave up and went No Contact in 1990. I also changed my name, both to celebrate my survival and my escape, and also in an attempt to hide from them. It worked for a couple of years and then the internet exploded and nobody was anonymous anymore. We didn't call it "going No Contact" then. We didn't yet have much nomenclature for dealing with abusers.
Since then, they've tried every few years to get back in touch with me, sometimes with death threats and weird packages and sometimes with perverse chatty messages where they pretend everything is fine. It's not just gaslighting; it's madness. My response has always been to have a lawyer send a Cease & Desist letter, with the intention of getting a Restraining Order if they don't back off. I don't have their specific address anymore, but I'm pretty sure what city they're living in. Their local police told me tonight if I do need to get a restraining order, they can help me get an address for them. The vampire brother has run-ins every year or so with the police for domestic violence, so it shouldn't be too hard to find records on them if needed.
I'm mainly writing this because the vampire is trying to harvest off of me yet again. The last time they tried to get back in contact with me was about nine or so years ago. No, that's wrong. The last time was this morning, February 18, 2025. The bastard who beat me and beat me and beat me and violated my body and told me horrible lies about myself and did everything he could to destroy me sent me a "friend request" on Facebook. Because that's what vampires do. Because he needs to feed and is insane enough to think I'm still available as prey.
Try it if you're ready to die, you son of a bitch.
For my notes, the number of one of the police reports is MC25026893. Still waiting to hear from the rest of the cops. Still hoping he'll die, soon soon soon...
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