You could never argue with my dad or Rich without ending up feeling like you were a terrible person and had gotten everything wrong. They have a way of spinning, twirling and reinventing words until you begin doubting yourself about something you had been undeniably certain. Living with them made me doubt every thought or belief that I had. Even my emotions became fabrications that were contrived to fit into their twisted realities. It was difficult to get out of this cycle of doubt, because I had been taught not to believe myself. How could I fight for myself when I didn't even believe my own side of the argument. I had completely lost my voice, and that's exactly how they wanted me, voiceless.
It is still hard for me to accept the person that my brother has become. When I look at him, I see the child that he was when I used to crawl into his bed on nights that my parents' fighting could be heard on all three levels of our house. He has a face that screams innocence. I know that he had taken the brunt of my dad's anger when we were children. Rich took out his frustrations on me, because I had been able to maintain a semblance of happiness throughout our childhood. He would hit me and my dad would come down and hit him. Getting beat up by an older brother was not nearly as scarring as getting hit by your father. I could stomach Rich's treatment because on some level I felt that I should suffer a little for him taking on my dad. Rich always said that he had protected me from truths so ugly that they would have darkened my soul. I believe him. My heart aches thinking about the things he has endured.
I am still unaware of Rich's true life story. There are so many pieces missing between him and I. The worst things were always left unsaid, safely guarded secrets that kept all of us from seeing a terrifying truth. As I kept myself busy and out of harms way doing an exchange year in Switzerland at 16, my brother was in and out of rehab, hospitals, jail and prison. He couldn't face life sober. I still don't know why he was sent to the Canyon City prison. By the time I got home, he had made a plea bargain to do 6 months of rehab instead of completing his full term in prison. I imagine it was drug related. A few hand written letters arrived at my host families house in Switzerland. They carried the voice of a scared and confused boy lost in a world that had beaten him down until there was only a scant trace of the innocent child he had been. Sometimes his anger would seep off the pages as he described how he would murder the people that had hurt him or me and sometimes his words were sweet and loving promising me the chance of a healthy relationship with the healed person he was becoming. None of those promises were ever realized.
Just like my dad Rich would give the false hope of recovery. I would open my heart excited to rebuild a relationship and finally make up for lost time. It would only last a couple of months before his inner demons got the best of him. It would start slowly with a few temper tantrums or skewed perspectives and then it would diminish into him drinking and using. His personality declined as his drug use increased until there was finally nothing left of the brother I had been getting to know. I lost my family over and over throughout my life and somehow never gave up hope when they would make their promises of change. My heart lost a little piece of itself each time. I don't know if I will ever be able to glue the pieces back together.
Despite everything, I still love Rich. I love him for who he once was before life handed him an abusive father and mother that couldn't stick up for herself much less her children. He loves me too in the rare moments that he is able to step back into his reality without mind altering substances or haunting memories. I could no longer cling to these sparse moments of sanity, I had to realize that the person he had become was no longer the loving brother that I saw on the rare occasion. He had become somebody else, he had let his demons win. Saying goodbye to his evil side was a relief, but letting go of that brother that got sweet bliss from taking apart appliances and rebuilding them and jumping off the deck into piles of snow and sledding down our favorite sled hill in our favorite forest canceled out any relief and broke my heart.
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