It happened between the ages of four to seven, 1969 to 1972. It was not my father; it was my older brother. My parents had no idea, but my siblings did. I didn't realize what I had experienced was sexual assault until I was in my early thirties and married with two young children.
I'd been dealing with this, the effects, my entire life. It all began, coming to a head in 2017, at the age of fifty-two. I don't hate my brother. I hate what he did. He was a tortured soul, but he had a good heart. I don't believe he knew how his actions would impact me. In fact, I know the thought never crossed his mind. He spent his lifetime trying to find happiness, or God knows what, through sex, alcohol, and drugs. He died at the age of fifty-seven in 2018.
And that's when my nightmare really began.
My name is Lauren, and this is my story.
