I have a story.
"My half brother arrived soon after we moved to California. He was 15 years older than me. I didn't grow up with him, he was raised by my aunt in the Philippines, but I was to call him my brother. His name is Marty. He seemed nice. He paid attention to me and my sister. He'd play video games with us, take us to the park and drive us to Blockbuster to rent movies.
I can't remember the first time it happened, but I remember the location - my cousin's house in Concord, CA. It started out as play; we were wrestling and tickling each other on the bed. But then he touched me down there. I was 11 years old.
Every time we went to Concord it would happen again. In his room, he'd have me lay down on the floor with my head against the door, to hold it shut. It would happen in the car while we were driving with my family, underneath my baby blanket, in the front seat of the car. While my father was driving. Then Marty moved in with our family. It would happen each time I came home from school. He would hold me down, tickle me and then touch me.
He used to give me 'presents' whenever I did sexual things with him. I'd always accept them gratefully, as my parents didn't have enough money to buy us toys. One day, he gave me a boom box he had bought in Japan. I took it out to the garage and smashed it to bits. My brother found it and got upset. He took me into his room, pinned me down and started hitting me. My family was on their way out to dinner. My brother explained what I had done while he held me on the floor in front of them. They left me with him and he kept on hitting me. Later, when my parents came home, they told me to apologize to my brother. I did.
We moved twice more, Marty with us each time. I was in junior high by this time, in Santa Clara. There were two bullies that liked calling me a faggot, pushing me, hitting me, tripping me and embarrassing me. Everyone would join in. I was scared to walk down the halls. There was no one I could trust. I began getting horrible migraines and having anxiety attacks at school. Then when I got home, I had my brother to contend with. I was in hell.
We moved again, and Marty had a room down the hall. He started in on my again, but I tried to stop it. I was bigger now. I started to hurt him by kicking him in the balls and hitting him. I'd pretend that we were going to play, and then kick him as hard as I could. He'd try to get me into his room, try overpowering me on the bed, but somehow, since I had grown, I was able to squirm out of his grasp and run to my room.
I tried not to think about it after it stopped. He moved out during my freshman year of high school. He moved to Seattle. He married a woman from the Philippines. They have three children.
About 8 years ago, my brother was accused of something that involved his son and two of his son's friends. He was put on probation and is now on the sex offenders list. A while after I heard that, I travelled to Seattle to confront my brother. I reminded my brother what he had done to me, and how much it had hurt me. I told him that the abuse affects me to this day. I told him that I'm sick of being depressed because of it. I told him that if he ever did it to another kid, I would shoot him in the head (I didn't say that last part, but I really wanted to).
That was a few years ago, and unfortunately I'm still being made to feel guilty about what happened. My family doesn't understand.
But I now have a voice. I have agency. I am proud to bear witness to you. I have healed, and next week I'll share with you all the ways that CVTC helped me do that. I have survived.
Thank you for reading my story. It means the world to me."