Today I rang my step brother MH to find out where the box of photos and memories from my foster parents were that they had left for me. He rang around and found out they have been left in a wrecked car at the back of his block and ruined. He was so angry, MH just wanted to kill someone, that being my other step brother M, who has AIDS, bashes his kids and lives on a swampy bush block with no electricity in a caravan. Smoking, drugs kind of life style. Me being the type of person that blocks feelings out and could not be upset for something I never had.
My life with that step brother, M, was not the best, he was the one who sexually abused me but hey, that’s something I’d would like to forget. This was, at the time, something that felt right because it felt like some one cared for me in a different way, but well what was I to think or say without causing trouble or bringing up shit feelings. As for MH he and I are the only ones who keep in contact since my foster parents died.
The power we feel when we are alone
