[Note: Up until this point I have been listing all previous, but associated, Blog posts, if there are any, in the newer posts that are about these same subjects, to be able to cross-reference them more easily. This is my 33rd Blog post, so far, this year. Many of them are quite lengthy, and all of them are really detailed, so my trying to go back now, to list which of these other posts tie in to a particular post, such as this one I most recently wrote, has become much more difficult for me to do, simply because of the sheer volume that I have written so far, in this Blog; with more coming. Therefore, I am no longer doing that here. After all, every post is a part of my life story so they all, ultimately, tie together, and all converge into this one story, of the life that I'm living, on this Earth. You are welcome to use the Blog Archive though, which should be a good guide, if you seek further background on certain chapters of my life story. You can also contact me by the email link, which is located on my Blog's Profile Page, with any questions, as well as leave your comments, for me, and any questions you have, at the end of any Blog post. Thank you.]
There are all kinds of studies done on birth order among siblings, and how much it affects who we become. Various studies debate this impact, on our personality, our intelligence, as well as many other factors, regarding our personal identity; and even whether birth order really affects us that much at all. While there seems to be no clear scientific agreement on this, I can testify firsthand that each, and every, one of my siblings affected who I became, as a person. I could physically see the interactions, that I had, with my three siblings, which I was directly involved in, with them, and also mentally detect, or discover, their indirect influences, going on, behind the scenes; especially from the sister that was the tattler. It definitely needs to be included, in this, as well, the ways that my father, and mother, also had a strong influence in how the four children formed these sibling relationships with one another, since the two adults created the familial framework, that led to all of the dysfunction. For better or for worse, my siblings most definitely helped shape who I am as a person. While birth order was not the only factor, it did contribute to my experience of, and with, my 3 siblings. I also felt the emotional impact, of all that, some of which left lasting emotional trauma, chronic trust issues, and deep resentments in me. I was the second child born of 4 children. The first born, and only son, was my brother, Mike, and I had 2 sisters, (apparently a half-sister) Pat, three years younger than I, and Pam, who was 6 years younger than I. So, I was the oldest girl, of the three; with one older brother.
From what I was told, apparently sibling rivalry was the very first experience that I had, when my parents had just brought me home from the hospital, as a newborn. There is an article on the subject of Birth Order which I recommend you read as an overview of this, which you can access from the link: https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/medicine-and-dentistry/birth-order. It describes the family dynamics involved in birth order and sibling rivalry, including this quote from the article:"Because firstborns are physically bigger than their younger siblings, they are more likely to employ physical aggression and intimidation, dealing with rivals. Firstborns are the ‘alpha males’ of their sibling group, and they generally boss and dominate their younger brothers and sisters." This was true of my older brother with me, although he mellowed some with age. He also seemed to need to establish a better relationship with me later in life for his own reasons. Sadly, by that time, however, I was living a busy life, far away, in another state, missing those subtle signals, from him, entirely, until it was too late. Not "too late", because I wasn't open to it, because I was; and I would have welcomed it, as a nice change in what our relationship with one another had been like; but because he was dead. He killed himself. But that describes the end, with my only brother, so I need to go back now, to the very beginning.
I was told that when my parents brought me into the home and had placed me in the bassinet that my brother immediately tried to push me out in it saying he didn't want me here! I already had the physical stigma of being born with port wine stains, on my hand and hip, so I wasn't a 'perfect' baby girl. Now, at mere days old, my older brother adamantly rejected me outright, at first sight, and it seemed to stay that way for much of our childhood, except for the occasional times that he needed me for something. Then he would be more civil for as long as that need of his was being met by me. Otherwise I was basically invisible to him. I have some very early memories, of my interactions, with my brother. As a very little girl, I had looked up to him, and trusted him, to know more than I did and, from that, to help me to learn, as I tried to figure out the world around me, and all these things, that I was experiencing for the first time. One day I had my brand new coloring book and my crayons, at the kitchen table, beside Mike, who was playing with his small, plastic, toy soldiers, there, as well. The first page showed a dog, with a bone, and I had no idea what color a bone was; so, I asked Mike. He then instructed me, very matter of factly, to color it, with first one crayon, and then, over this, another crayon, and then, over those, a different color, until the bone was some murky mess, on that, otherwise, pristine page. When it could not look any worse than it did, he simply started laughing, saying that my pretty, new, coloring book was now ruined because bones didn't look like that at all! Even as a 3-year-old girl, such a 'Life Lesson' stuck, in my heart, and mind. Some of those things remain with us consciously and some do subconsciously. But they are there, all our lives, somewhere inside of us. They become part of us. How we think, and how we feel, about ourselves, others, and this world we live in. They form the unspoken beliefs about, and the rules of engagement for, our relationships, not only with these specific people, but with others as well. So, even this seemingly small incident with my brother that I am describing here left its (crayon) mark on me.
I learned alot that day that I didn't want to learn, but there it was, impacting me, with the shock and dismay, that I had felt, at that young age, which I could not possibly have articulated, then, to my brother or even myself. If it hadn't been him teaching me a lesson for no good reason, it would have inevitably been someone else, showing me such things, about what life was going to be like for me on this fallen planet Earth. I didn't learn what color a dog bone was from Mike. Instead he taught me what being disappointed, and disrespected, felt like, for me, and I began to learn how to be distrustful, suspicious, and resentful from that. If you believe that is an over-exaggeration about such a childhood memory, as that, the very fact that, now, at age 63, I can still see that moment in time, with my brother, so clearly in my mind, from 60 years ago, and, I still feel it, in my heart, demonstrates what an impact that had, on me, as a completely trusting little girl that had looked up to her older brother, with an admiration that he didn't warrant, from me. He scorned me, for trusting him! It is hard to tell ourselves in those moments that the fault is not in us, but in the other person. There is an old saying, credited to Randall Terry, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." The shame for this was my brother's; but especially because he laughed at me, over it, I internalized his belief that the problem was my being stupid enough to trust him. Adults often underestimate the impact of the things that kids experience, especially at a very young age, during what is known as the formative years. But, these are the very years that we learn the things, through this very type of social conditioning, that we'll carry with us throughout our entire lifetime! Robert Fulghum wrote a book titled "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten", about this very thing, I am describing, here. This link is to an excerpt from his book: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/56955/all-i-really-need-to-know-i-learned-in-kindergarten-by-robert-fulghum/9780345466396/excerpt .
When I was around this same age, I once innocently picked up Mike's little stuffed animal, from where he had just left it lying on the livingroom floor, beside the door. Like a ferocious parent to this toy tiger might behave, Mike pounced on me, before I even saw him coming, slamming my head, hard, against the door, as he grabbed this thing out of my hand. It felt vicious, angry, and terrifying, to me! He was very territorial, and no matter what I did, or didn't, do, after I came into this family, he made it very clear to me that I was an intruder, an interloper; and he was always quite indignant, toward me, about that. Since all of this was my first experience, and education, with what a family behaved like, it was what I came to know as normal family life. I had no way of knowing, for awhile anyway, until my limited world began to enlarge, and to include knowing others, outside of my immediate family, that there were actually other families which were truly welcoming, loving, and supportive, to their members, which in my experience ours was not, for the most part. All that I knew, about the concept of 'family', was what was going on around me, in this house I lived in with these people, leaving its legacy within me. What I was learning was our family patterns of behavior. Alot of those things have been discussed, in my previous Blog posts, about my parents. Some of it is also being shared in this post. More will be expounded on in my future posts that I need to write about my two sisters and my relationships with them.
For a variety of reasons, I came to realize over the course of my childhood that I did not have one single secure relationship, within my family, of origin, with the definition of "secure" being "feeling safe, stable, and free from fear or anxiety". The articles at the following links help me to describe here why this was so, in my own life, since one of the most frustrating aspects, of this, which adds insult to injury is that these perpetrators, and their enablers, within the family pretend that this wasn't actually the way it was, for their own reasons. They, at least in effect, call me a liar, for saying otherwise about it, and treat me like I am just some troublemaker for unfounded reasons. They try their best through 'guilt trips', shaming, and other manipulations to simply shut me up about it, since I, or rather the truth, is a threat to them, or actually to the status quo, in the family dynamic. My choosing to speak the truth is one of the main reasons that I have been treated like the family Black Sheep, and discredited in several different, and damaging, ways, demonstrating that, to these people, being honest about it, even if just with ourselves or one another, is generally something that they want no part of. Largely to protect themselves from admitting their part, in it, or having to openly acknowledge the truth about it, for their own reasons, they are more than willing to try to negate the reality of what I have, in fact, experienced in that house and in that family, with these people, leaving me feeling from that as if I am living in some weird, 'Alice In Wonderland'-like, alternate reality, in which they try to tell me that the truth is topsy-turvy, rather than all of their lies about it. Reference these links: https://www.kgrierson.com/uncategorized/family-origin-snapshot-history-matters/ by Karen Grierson, who is a Registered Psychotherapist, and this article, from Corrina Horne:
https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/family/defining-your-family-of-origin-how-it-impacts-you/ .
As kids we would play games like Monopoly together, and go sledding when it snowed, but I just felt that Mike only needed me, to interact with, at those times because of needing others involved in these activities, for him to do, or really enjoy, them. He and I never really had any deeply meaningful conversations, with one another, though we talked together sometimes. I don't fault either of us for that because I believe that this was our natural reaction to, and the way that each of us was dealing with, this environment we were living in. This familial format which our parents had created for their own reasons to be the acceptable atmosphere in this home, was being experienced, every day, by each of us and all of us, as what our 'home life' was obviously supposed to be, which we children learned, because we could observe it and feel it. We kids adapted to that, in whatever way we each did, because we were dependents. There was no choice, for us. The tenor of this home definitely did not facilitate interaction, or communication, of any real substance, or depth, between our family members. I learned this pattern of behavior from Dad, Mom, and Mike, who were part of this before I ever was, and I behaved this same way, then, with them, and with my sisters; but it did not originate with me.
Dad, being Mike's only male role model, in our home, spent the majority of his time in front of the TV. It was not only an easy distraction, for him, from the real life goings-on all around him in our home, and family, but an actual disappearance, of him, from a relational standpoint, as far as interacting with the rest of us. That left me feeling fatherless, throughout my childhood, and beyond, even though Dad was, physically, present in the home. He rarely spoke with, or spent time with, us, shutting us out, as he watched TV, probably 99% of the time that he was home. He would usually speak to us to sternly admonish us for interrupting his incessant TV viewing by trying to start a conversation, either with him, or someone else, in the room. God help us, if, when he seemed to have finally fallen asleep, on the couch, in front of the TV, we tried to change the channel or turn the TV off, because he immediately woke up and actually interacted with us, then, only for the purpose of demanding that we leave it, just as he had it, saying the TV still had his full attention, even while he slept! The clear message was that his relationship with the TV was much more important to him than a relationship with us children. That was what he chose day in and day out, year in and year out, demonstrating it was what he found to be preferable and gratifying to invest himself in emotionally over anything that he could have developed, or nurtured, with the four children living in this house. This behavioral choice, by him, trickled down from him, as head of the home, and permeated the interactions of all of us, with one another, as he led by example, demonstrating that cultivating real, direct, interpersonal, relationships, within this family, was not considered to be necessary, important, or even preferable, to living disengaged, from one another; each distracting ourselves, with a non-relational pastime, shunning any cohesiveness, each going our own way. Dad even gave each of us our own portable TV, for our rooms, one Christmas; likely so he could watch his in the den mostly uninterrupted by us, from then on. That did not create closeness, between us.
Why does this matter when I'm describing my relationship with my brother? Because Mike also was addicted to watching TV. He shared that focus, and priority, with our father. When we were home, Mike sat himself right in front of the television set, just like Dad did, and he stayed there. One day, I was also trying to see something on a show that was on, only I really couldn't see it at all, because my brother was sitting so close to the TV set that he was blocking the screen. I asked him, several times, to move over, some, so that I could see it, as well, but he completely ignored my requests. He did not simply refuse, to move over, some, out of the way, for me. He did not even respond to me, at all, although he heard me plainly, disregarding my request, and me, totally. So, out of frustration, I went to touch his arm, to get his attention, off the TV, to ask again that he move over a little so I could see the TV screen too, and he immediately flew into a rage, chasing me through the house, hitting me on the head, using the hard heel of his shoe that he had grabbed as he came after me; literally attacking me, because of my small request of him. I was screaming, both in fright and pain, as he kept hitting me hard with the heel of his loafer. I was cowering in a corner, just outside my parents' bedroom, where I had run, to try to get some help, and protection, from our mother. She came out of the room to see what all this commotion was about, but when she saw this she did nothing to Mike, about this abusiveness toward me on his part, but I was admonished by her, for 'starting it' with him. It was scary, and bewildering to me, that she did that! My head had a knot on it from his shoe, but he simply got away with doing that to me. I was indoctrinated to be abused by males while I was growing up.
My brother climbed in through the bathroom window one summer night while my sisters and I were all bathing together like three little naked nymphs in the tub on a Saturday night, getting clean for Sunday school and church service, the next day. We girls all screamed, but that did not deter Mike from doing that, to scare us (and perhaps, take a peek at us). Our mother had us girls take our bath that way often, when we were all smaller, as it likely made that process easier for her, by getting all 3 of us clean, at one time, and as quickly as possible. Although it was just a boyish prank, by our brother, then, Mike never seemed to get in trouble, for things he did. Not even those occasional ones which were considered more serious, except for one time, which I witnessed watching from my room, hurting for my brother, after he had stolen a piece of candy from the grocery store and Mom told Dad about it. He hit Mike so many times with the fly swatter for that incident, and so hard with it, that he actually finally broke it in two! Mike was running around the room trying to escape the stinging blows, crying out in pain, but Dad relentlessly chased after him, and wouldn't stop punishing him until the fly swatter finally broke. It was the only time, that I ever saw, my brother being punished, like that, for anything. There was, unspoken, parental, 'letting him off the hook', for most of his behavioral decisions including those that negatively impacted my life at times. Part of that is the 'boys will be boys' get-a-free-pass syndrome, which seems to be some invisible shield that protects males from being responsible, and accountable, for their own, bad, behaviors, or lack of character, in the circumstances that this is applied, on their behalf. Most of it, though, seemed to be due to his being the first born, male, and heir of the family name, since the rest of us children were girls.
Mike did get focused attention from, and social outings with, our father during their father-and-son activities, which just the two of them did, together; even after my brother was grown. Dad was the one that took Mike out, into the backyard, as a boy, for a father-and-son session, and taught him how to shoot guns. I seriously doubt that was something that my brother had really wanted to learn or sought to experience, if the decision had been left up to him. At least at the time. But as children we often go along to get along especially in such situations, because we are a dependent, being told this is what we're going to do now, and because the approval and affirmation of the parent is so needed by the child. Besides being the only son, Mike was even named after Dad, although he went by his own middle name. He was trying, as most boys do, to learn to be a man, from our father, who was, for better or worse, his primary role model. So, when your dad says "I'm going to teach you to shoot a gun today" you just go do it. There isn't the choice, or chance, to say no. I wondered, later, when Dad was viewing his dead son in his casket, and sitting at his funeral, and burying him in the ground, after Mike had used a gun, to kill himself, if he thought about how he taught my brother that very skill, which he used to take his own life. When any of us make choices in life, even the ones that seem straightforward, to us, it is really impossible to see what the consequences of those will be, as time goes by. I am certain our father could have never foreseen this outcome, from teaching my brother to shoot.
One Christmas, Mike got a race car track, and he and Dad set it up, and began to play with it. I was probably around 7 or so then. That year, while I did not know how to articulate this very well, what I wanted most for Christmas was to have a family! These people lived in the house where I did, but they did not feel like a family to me, in the way that, by then, I had seen other families being together, such as on many TV shows of the 1960s, and when I was visiting the homes of my friends, and relatives. I couldn't exactly explain what was missing, with us, but I knew that something, surely, was! So although I saw, and really appreciated, my Barbie dolls and other gifts, that day, what I longed for was to bond, with my family. I went over beside my dad, and brother, because that seemed like a good place to start, since the two of them were already spending time together, versus the rest of us who were each interacting with our new presents, separate and apart from one another. I sat down on the floor next to them, to watch them race the little cars around the track. They did not really pay me much attention, but they did not send me away, so I was enjoying being able to share the celebration of the season in this way, by seeing them having such a good time, with this toy, together. Mom came and got me, though, and asked me if I did not like my toys, because I had left them, across the room, where 'Santa' had left those for me, to (try to) spend time with my family members; hoping to feel a bond, between us, that way. I answered that I did like all of my toys, but I could not tell my mother, then, what I really wanted and needed, much more than the toys, that Christmas, because at that young age I did not even know how to put into words, yet, what I clearly can, now, about this family, and how I felt about being in the midst of it. So, I returned to my dolls, dressing them in their new outfits, but I looked wistfully back across the room, at other family members, all enjoying their Christmas gifts, together-but-apart from one another (which was the hallmark of this family, in nearly every way), instead of us all interacting with one another.
One day, Mike had a friend over, and they were out in the yard, throwing a disk back and forth to one another, that used to be the metal wheel of a wagon, as they each attempted to portray athletic prowess. I went outside, to watch them, and was standing, behind his friend, when my brother hit me in the ribs, sharp and hard, with that heavy disk. I fell to the ground, and unable to draw a breath, wondered, to myself, in a panic, if I were dying, in that moment. Mother said, afterward, that I had just had the air knocked out of me, by Mike; but I had never been unable to breathe at all, like that, before, so it was really scary to me! However the worst part, of that, was that I always wondered, whether Mike had hit me with that thing on purpose, because if I ever did anything he really didn't like, from the time I was very small, he would not hesitate to put me in my place, as he saw it, by becoming physically aggressive and even violent toward me, if he thought he could get away with it. I was not quite a year-and-a-half younger than he was. Since I was close to his age, and size, he sometimes recruited me, to play football, with him in the yard, since he didn't have a brother. I wanted my brother to recognize that I had at least some value, to him, since he treated me as if I were nonexistent, most of the time. So, I truly did my best to be a good playmate to him, those times that he wanted me to, or allowed me to. I felt myself very consciously making alot of effort to compensate for the actual lack of closeness in our relationship during each of those times, but that ultimately did not change it. To Mike, his relationship with me was merely utilitarian; just as so many males treat females.
[I wouldn't understand until much later that a main difference between males and females, in general, as far as their view of others, especially those of the other gender, seems to be that males view females, primarily, in ways that are utilitarian in function, valuing us when we are being serviceable to them in some way, while females are more interested in experiencing a reciprocal relationship which is mutually beneficial, enjoyable, and balanced in the relational bonds that we form with others with an emphasis not only on allowing that but by promoting that with each other. This is not limited to sexual relationships between these two genders. I believe it is a pervasive problem affecting any, and many, social interactions between males and females. While this is a generalization of the two genders, I believe that these divergent viewpoints account for how men seem much more able to be unfaithful, in what they vowed would be a committed monogamous union and fail to comprehend, or care about, what that does to devastate their female partner who views this as being an egregious violation of the covenant between them. To the man, sticking his cock in another female simply because he saw opportunity, and had motive, was simply further expressing his general view and belief, that the females are mostly, if not even merely, serviceable objects to them rather than their relational partner. I believe that this same predominantly male mindset also greatly explains why the huge majority of criminal acts committed against others, including but not limited to rape, are by males. That fact, also, seems to support this view that men make many of their behavioral choices, based, very subjectively, on what they perceived to be their own needs, with little, if any, thought to the impact, of their actions, on the ones whom they are violating, some way or other, through their assertion that, within this relationship, their own needs are their only consideration or concern; regardless of the impact, this has, on that other person. I've experienced this distressing dilemma, in my attempts to have a relationship with males, including with my brother whom this post is about. I don't want to be just a means to an end. This link provides a further explanation of what I'm trying to say about that, here in this post: http://www.bbc.co.uk/ethics/introduction/endinitself.shtml. The bottom line, with my brother, was that we never had a close relationship, with one another, and my only value to him was my being a means to some end for him at times which, even so, were few and far between.]
Mike came home from an extended hiking and camping trip with his Boy Scout troop along the Appalachian Trail, and not having bathed, for quite a while, and sleeping outside, he reeked of a very unpleasant, gamy, smell! However even with all that, he did not head to the bathroom to clean up but, immediately, sat down, in front of the TV, the minute that he came into the house. That room, and then the whole house, began to fill with this creeping, unpleasant, stench from him, so I asked him to please go bathe! Just as I have described before about him, toward me, he didn't even acknowledge that I was bothered, by this situation, or had said anything, to him, about it. Nothing. I was invisible to him; nonexistent; not even worth responding to, by him. He was the first born; the male child; and, he was going to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased. He also knew, just as I did, by then, that for the most part both Mom and Dad let him. I began to ask Mom to make him take a shower, since he ignored me, but she let him sit there. By contrast, when I suddenly hit puberty and unaware of this change in my body came into the kitchen, to talk to my mother, after being outside playing in the summer heat and humidity, she wrinkled her nose, at me, told me sharply to get away from her, and with a look of disdain, and disgust, told me I stank and sent me to shower right away, causing me to feel both rejected by her and judged, especially by this double standard which never seemed to be in my favor. The subliminal messages that I was being taught by my family through these experiences as I was growing up, in this house, including through my interactions with, and due to the behaviors of, my siblings, especially how they behaved toward me, were so often so negative that, in effect, they had little to no positive influence on me, in my life, at all. They were not very good for me.
While we were still living in Mebane, North Carolina, before moving to Hickory, we had large gardens, that we planted, and harvested. When we would have to shuck the corn to prepare that for Mom to freeze it, for later on, Mike would flick the caterpillars onto me, that he came across underneath the husks as he ripped those off the ears. I hated having to do that chore with him, because of that! We had one short season of raising our own livestock there, also, and I felt devastated when this sweet cow whom we had, and knew personally, named Star, was suddenly taken away, one day, only to return, later, in multiple pieces, wrapped in white butcher paper! My brother, knowing it deeply distressed me, began calling every hamburger that we had, from that meat, 'Star Burgers', and every steak, from it, which was now piled in our freezer, 'Star Steaks'. He would say that during these meals, for many months, until that meat was finally all gone. As a result, I gagged, on nearly every bite, and developed such a phobia about it that I was traumatized to the point that I simply could not eat any beef, at all, after that, for quite a while. If I tried, because it was served as our supper, on many nights, I simply couldn't swallow it, and had to just spit it out into my napkin, because it would not go down my tightened throat. Even Mom's admonishing me, for this, could not cause me to be able to eat 'Star', anymore, after my brother had created such a disgust, in me, toward that. Mike also fostered my fear of dogs, I had growing up, that, also, took me many years to get over. He had compassion on the dogs but not on me, his sister. Mom told me that Mike had chosen a collie, Prince, that he picked out at the pound, after he saw someone that worked there turn the hose, with its cold water, full force, in this dog's face. So, through that story, I learned that Mike was capable of being caring and compassionate; only he wasn't with me. Again, though, I blame the family dynamic, this family's dysfunction, for that poor quality, of interpersonal relationships, that developed and existed from then on between its members. Especially since things were not discussed and resolved, resentments built up in members, and relationships either did not develop, or thrive, in many cases. Our parents set that tone.
My brother was extremely intelligent. One summer while school was out, just for something to do, he spent it reading all the volumes of the encyclopedia! He was in National Honor Society, and Mensa. I felt sorry for him in some things, though, that he wasn't nearly as proficient in as he was with his academic accomplishments. Mike felt the pressure of being the only male heir to the family name, since daughters, when they marry, take on their husband's name. He was both interested in and aware of the family genealogy. Sadly, though, from the time he was still quite young, and asked his very first crush to go steady, with him, and she rejected him, Mike never had any success, at all, with women. It is my belief that he died, at age 40, still a virgin. Just as I have seen so many men do he always tried to 'punch above his weight' romantically, shunning the perfectly nice but perhaps a bit plain girls and then women, that still would have been a good catch for him since he grew up from a cute little boy to a somewhat odd-looking, fairly unattractive man. His early balding, and thick eyeglasses, didn't help that any. He came close to being homely as a grown man although he had a nice smile which he rarely used. He was for the most part a very serious person, and I suspect, given our upbringing, and his own unrequited aspirations, a fairly depressed one as well. While he could not be blamed for what he was personally dealt genetically, he continually chased, and tried to charm, females that he was drawn to because they had social status, or looks, while being abrupt, and cold, to any of the regular women, any of which could have probably given him the love and nice married life that he so deeply wanted to find and experience. He never gave any of the average women a chance, but to literally his last breath, he chased women which I believe he knew, in his heart, were always out of his reach. His self-esteem issues deepened; not just from that, and due to his appearance, but the deficits in our upbringing, all of which he tried to over-compensate for.
He was prone to take out his unhappiness and stress, for his life not going exactly the way he wanted it to, on others, but always women, who were not to blame, for this situation. While he was probably just acting out of extreme frustration, and probably alot of anger, over all this, it came across, from him, at least to me, as his being very egocentric, hostile, and misogynistic, none of which caused me to personally admire him at all. When Mom went back to (graduate) school, I did the majority of household chores, made lunch for us 4 children, and basically kept the house going, during that time, while Mike sat in front of the TV all day, was never any help, to me, with any of this, and only, grudgingly, went to mow the lawn (on a riding lawn mower, at that!) because Dad had told him to do that, and he likely did not want to risk another spanking. I was there, for Mike, as much as he allowed me to be, but I did it very circumspectly because he just barely welcomed that from me. When we were both attending high school I'd often buy an extra candy bar, from whichever student organization was selling those, for their fundraiser, and would hand each extra one off to my brother, as he stood outside his classroom and I was headed down the hall, to mine. In playing football, with him, I would let him tackle me, hard, to help develop his male confidence, more, since he did not have any brother to do that with him.
Our parents had moved the family to Hickory, when Mike and I were both in high school. I was a 9th grader but had to go back to middle school, after we moved, because the 9th grade was not in high school, there, although I had already started my freshman year in high school back in Mebane. Because of that, and the school year had already well started, it made things quite difficult for me, as far as feeling comfortable and fitting in. But for Mike, who was in 11th grade, with only a year left, in high school, this family move came at a truly horrible time, for his life. It threatened to take him away from all of his close friends that he had grown up with, something he really resented and adamantly resisted; so much so that our parents allowed and arranged for him to stay behind in Mebane, for the rest of that school year. He stayed with Grandmother, there, after the rest of the family moved to Hickory because Mike was not ready to let go of the support system he felt he had there. He rejoined the family again, after that school year ended, and attended Hickory High for his senior year before heading off to the university and studying to become a pharmacist. However, while he was living as a long-term guest, in Grandmother's house, with her going out of her way, for Mike, and disrupting her regular life, to accommodate him, so that he could attend all of the 11th grade in Mebane, he'd still rather rudely demanded things be on his terms, even with her, which had caused something of a strain with her having him there, although she still always tried to be gracious, and understanding, toward him, then.
When he was grown, our parents convinced him to purchase a house, although he was single, without any romantic prospects, at all, that could lead to a marriage, for him. It may have been advice, from them, based more on making the financial investment in it, but he did not need to do that, then, and he could have really enjoyed other options, such as travel, or moving out of that small city much sooner than he finally did, to seek a happier, more fulfilling life for himself in some other place. Mike was not happy, at all, being anchored to that house, he now owned. Probably from knowing that he was lonely, there, also, Mom and Dad suggested I go see him, and his 'new' house, so I did, to be supportive of him. It was not much of a place, but I tried to be as upbeat and enthusiastic about it as possible to be encouraging since he was stuck with it, now; at least, for awhile. It seemed to me he had taken some bad advice, from our parents. Perhaps, they had even thought that Mike's owning his home might help him attract a woman, which he never had any luck with, by demonstrating that he could be a provider for them. But the women, that he was always interested in, were a cut above the average woman and after seeing that small, plain, house I think that even average women, which he had spurned when they liked him, would not have really wanted to live there. He eventually moved away; once to Utah, to follow a Mormon family out there whom he knew, just because he had a crush on the daughter who only considered him a friend and nothing more. Then he returned back to North Carolina; and moved to Greensboro. It was a much bigger city with alot more to offer than the sleepy-seeming town of Hickory. He had been living in Greensboro for years though, when he committed suicide. People asked me why he did that, like I could read his mind or really know, when ours was never a family of communicators, including Mike with me. I always just answer with the obvious observation of "He wasn't happy." It looked to me like he'd chased everything, that he thought life could offer to him, that he wanted, and he had just never obtained any of it. That would finally make a person lose hope, and people deal with that in alot of different ways.
When I was 34 years old I was living back in Hickory, North Carolina, during one of the several Christmases that I suffered being among these family members of mine, yet again, in my futile attempts to, somehow, by a miracle, I could only hope, and pray, for, have a better relationship with these people, as an adult. Mike was 36, then. When all the presents had been passed, to the people to whom they were each for, one still sat under the tree all by itself, conspicuous in its solitary state. At first I thought it was unclaimed, but I began to realize that it was unwanted, instead! It was still wrapped, so the rejection of that gift had nothing to do with the contents. It happened to be a very popular candy, which was sure to please the one for whom it had been bought. This gift was what I had gotten, for my brother, that year! For no real reason, at all, he simply chose to, purposefully, shun it, which in effect was him showing his rejection of me, yet again. This situation, of such family member's behaviors, likely causes some of you, who had happier, more rational, and more loving families, than I have ever experienced, to think that--- surely!--- I must be leaving something out in this recollection of the events as they unfolded. I assure you, it is as curious, pathetic, and hurtful as what it seems like in my account of it here.
This being a family that continually 'walked around the elephants in the room' rather than really communicate deeply and meaningfully, with one another, there weren't alot of real discussions, or arguments, because either one of those things would take true communication, which rarely occurred in this house. So, there had been no clashes, nor clamoring, going on, between Mike and I. As far as I could tell, based on the fact that I often, uneasily, had to second guess these situations, or read between the lines in my efforts to sense where I stood with the other person in each, and all, of these family relationships, there was no real problem, of any kind, between my brother and I. So, based on that, I even tried to hand him that gift, from me, to him, directly, myself, but he absolutely wouldn't take it from me! So, it was simply left, sitting, under the tree. This exasperated me, because there was no reason, for him to be acting, like that, toward me, especially on Christmas. So, I went to Dad, who had left the living room, immediately after the opening of all the, other, presents, except for mine to my brother, and was already back in the den, watching TV again. Since he had the closest relationship to Mike, although it still was not deeply close, even so, I told him that there was simply something going on with Mike that was really wrong, and that he needed to talk with Mike, about whatever it was, and get it dealt with. I knew that there had to be some really unhealthy, irrational, and, even angry, emotions, in my brother, in general, for him to behave in this way, because I had done nothing, to deserve this treatment from him. Even though I was now a grown adult, not a dependent child, Dad simply shrugged off my concerns, and refused to talk to Mike, about why he was acting out, that way.
Because of my very real concern for my brother, which Dad ignored, I wondered whether that had anything to do with the fact that none of my immediate relatives, from my family of origin, called me, where I had returned, to live, back in Nebraska, to tell me, themselves, when Mike killed himself. They had my brother-in-law, Steve, call me, whom I barely even knew since I'd lived away, from all these people, for most of my adult years, even before my sister Pam met, dated, or married him. My family's calling me, about anything, was rare, and Steve had never even called me before; and from the awful knowing in my gut, that the family dysfunction was so toxic that at some point it simply had to cause or allow for something really bad to happen to someone, of us, I said to Steve, almost as soon as I had answered the phone, "It's Dad, or Mike. Which one?" Steve replied "It's Mike", then he told me about my brother taking his own life, with a single shot to the heart. I thought about Dad's downplaying my very real concerns, over Mike's mental state, that Christmas, only a few years earlier. Had that come to his mind, now that this had happened? Because, there were some relatives offering to buy me a plane ticket back to North Carolina, for my brother's funeral, but my parents told them not to bother doing that . . . because they didn't want me there! I sat all alone, that day, in my apartment in Omaha as they all, except for me, gathered in North Carolina as a family, to bury my brother. Afterward, my mother did send me one, small, color photo, of Mike, lying dead, in his casket. How 'thoughtful' of her to even do that for me. I remain so angry about all that, to this day! In fact, during a phone call years later with my dad, I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be attending his funeral upon his death; or my mother's. Why would I want to be there as some symbol, for these people, of something that is not true? It is not true that I have a close and loving family that I would miss if they were no longer on Earth. It is not true that there's a depth of relationship, for me, with even one of them. That's simply not ever really been there.
Mike had never reached out to me and actively cultivated a real relationship between the two of us, so it shocked me when I got a letter from him, when I was grown, living in Omaha, and working, by then, as a Go Go Dancer in a nightclub. He was not too explicit in the words that he wrote, but, reading between the lines (a skill that I'd had to develop in this family because open and direct communication was almost never allowed or accepted, by this family, due to the behavioral patterns that my parents had put in place, for us to adhere to and accept as a 'normal' family pattern), my brother did not sound happy at all with his life, where he was. He seemed to be reaching out to me, about that! While I was distracted by the sheer shock, of it, after a lifetime of his basically having little to no use for me, I sensed that he truly needed my help and I felt quite moved to provide that for him, only I wasn't at all sure what that help was exactly, that he needed. Since I was making the best money I had ever made, working as an exotic dancer, then, I apparently sent him money, to help alleviate some of his stress, that he seemed to be describing in the letter to me. I actually love to give, and to help others, when I am able to do so and, equally importantly, am motivated to do so; and I do not have a showy style, about doing that. To me, it is simple, straightforward, and solely from the heart. I can. I want to. If, and when, I do it. I say "apparently", though, because, even though his letter was certainly a STAND OUT event, in my relationship, with him, so my responding generously in any way, including financially, should have probably been something I really remembered, it wasn't. I just did it, with an open heart, hoped that it helped, and that it was what he needed from me, and went on, with my own life. After all, his relational pattern with me had from the beginning been such that he had always only reached out to me to acknowledge that I even actually existed when he needed something from me. I was really glad, that he felt he could come to me and that I would be there for him, despite the family's dysfunction. As far as my sending him money, then, though, I personally did not recall my doing it. After his death, our mother was reading his journals and she told me that he had written about my doing that for him and how much that had meant to him. I just wish I had known what he truly needed from me, when he reached out to me, in that letter, which was the only letter he ever wrote to me.
I missed the signal, that his letter, reaching out to me, was sending me, though, and all these years, since, I have so wished that I had understood that he was in more trouble than I could ever know, from my having to read between the lines to try to discern any of it at all, and that he needed me, more than I had any idea about, then. Before God, I tell you, if I'd only known that he was sinking into the despair that he was, and really needed a refuge and a refocus to try to gain a foothold in his life, I would have done much more for him than I did by writing the check to him. (Doing that was actually another familial pattern though. My mother, especially, would, usually, just hand me her charge card and send me shopping, when I tried to express emotional needs, to her, because those real needs I had, which were not getting met, by this family, were something that she also could not or would not deal with. Giving money was the response, of choice, instead, which, while not all bad, never addressed, or met, my very real needs that I had for closeness, affection and affirmation. My check to my brother, Mike, likely had the same effect. Unintentionally.) That was all that I knew to do then. Later on, I realized that he was sending out a Distress Signal, to me, by writing me that letter, and while I am not sure what he saw as being the ideal response, from me, to that, I feel certain, now, the check was not what he really needed, from me. I wish I could go back, in time, and give Mike more! At that time, in my life, I made enough money that I could have invited him to simply come to Omaha and stay with me, with no pressure, while he figured out what he might like to pursue to be happier, in his life. I could, and would, have gladly given him that time and space, then.
Mike had been a pharmacist. You could say that, on paper, he had all he needed, for a happy and successful life, but his life was really never either of those things, and unable to deal with the deep disappointment of that, any longer, he committed suicide. Not by taking pills, though he knew all about toxicology from his years working as a pharmacist, but by taking his loaded gun and shooting himself--- quite tellingly, and poignantly--- in the heart. That choice of a gun still revealed who he was, though, at his core, because it reflected Mike's anger, and violence, that I had seen, in him, and experienced, from him, especially when we were both very young. Those things were always there, in him, throughout his life, usually, barely, below the surface, with his intense desire, born of those things, to annihilate someone (which was himself, in the end). When he did that, he was still demonstrating that same selfish streak that was strong in him ever since he was very little that demanded that the world meet him on his terms and if it didn't, when it didn't, he lashed out aggressively in some way. Suicide is certainly a selfish act although I think that this is not always apparent to the person that's decided to kill themselves when they are in such emotional or mental pain, in that moment. However, I maintain that this was selfish on Mike's part because he was on the phone when he did it, with a young woman, that he worked with. She was apparently his current crush in a very long series of the crushes that he had throughout his life, that had never materialized into one single real relationship for him. She was, actually, even in the process of trying to work things out, with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, which she had told my brother about. With an extensive history of absolutely no luck with women, Mike was nevertheless interjecting himself into that situation by trying to woo and win her, so he likely would have never succeeded with this woman, anyway, even if her heart wasn't currently caught up in her feelings for this other man whom she had actually had a relationship with. While on a call with her, Mike shot himself. She had to call the police.
In case you are wondering how I know these things, when Mike killed himself, and I was kept out of the loop and away from his funeral by my parents, for no good reason, and shut out by the family as far as much information since, of course, no one wanted to actually talk about it, I contacted the police and spoke with the detective that had to investigate his death, who was very forthcoming with me about all that he had discovered about it all. He appreciated my call because he had been curious about some things regarding my brother, and what had led him to do this. After we exchanged information between us, that we each needed, and wanted, to know, about this, he thanked me for filling in some of the details about Mike's life, that helped him to more comfortably close the case as fully investigated after indicating to me my parents were not very communicative, about these things. That was typical, for our parents, of course, since communication, while it is the very lifeblood of any relationship, between people, wasn't something that was practiced or allowed in this family in any real form or fashion. The woman had patiently reiterated to my brother that she did not see him romantically, and her heart was somewhere else, besides, but being unable to accept that answer from her, and being unable to handle any more rejection, he called her back, to express his pain, and then left her on the line, to listen to him pull the trigger to take his life. The Mike that I knew, from the time I was a newborn, insisted on his life being laid out for him exactly as he wanted it, and he did not deal well, at all, with it when it was not, which, in truth, was far more often than not; turning quickly angry and aggressive to express his displeasure and likely his despondency, over this turn of events. His suicide was just part of this pattern. He wasn't usually violent, and I don't mean to portray him that way. He, as I did, ultimately kept to himself, much of the time, as we grew up in that uncomfortable household, where mutually supportive relationships were not well made with one another. I'm acknowledging the latent hostility, that was in him, especially toward the females in his world who were not cooperating with how he wanted, even demanded, it to be. That fury was always there, in my brother, at the deepest level, and in the end, it took his life.
