Once he was old enough, my parents had him watch me while they worked instead of my grandparents. My brother was always so mean to me. It started out as physical beatings. If I didnt do the dishes for him he would punch my arm or push me. If I didnt clean the house for him he made my friends go home and he would choke me or slam me on the ground. I would hide from him most days. I remember being in my room that day. It was a mess, as always. I was sitting on the floor playing with a doll. He came to my door and told me to come with him, that we were going to play a game. He took me into his room and we sat in front of the door in case our parents came home and tried to come in the door wouldnt open all the way so they couldnt see our secret game. I rememberr the walls were still blue and there was tile in front of the door, but carpet in the rest of the room. It smelled like spices you would get at a store like Nirvana. He told me that the game was supposed to make you feel good. That he wanted me to put my mouth on him and that he would do the same for me and that it would be fun and feel good. I didnt want to. It didnt seem right. Nobody was supposed to see what was under my clothes, right? He started to get angry and I feared he would hit me again. So, I did it. I was terrified. He kept shoving it down my throat and I was feeling sick. When he told me to take my clothes off I refused...but he forced me to lay on my back and riped my pants off and continued to try to shove himself inside of me. I remember trying to scream, cry, anything to get him off me. I will never forget the pain it caused. I cried so hard and begging him to stop but he wouldnt. When he was done he told me if I ever told about it that he would tell my parents that I was pretending to smoke the ciggerettes in the ash tray and that he would beat me. I remember curling in a ball and crying for what felt like hours. For months I tried my hardest to not sleep and if I did, I made sure to push the dresser in front of my door so he couldnt get in. I tried to stay outside or near my parents at all times. I hated myself. Why did I let that happen? I was 9 years old when it happened and never came out about it until I was 12 years old. Nobody believed me anyway. Not my parents, police, and children services said that I obviously wasnt afraid anymore because I had lived with him all these years. I had started cutting myself and attempting suicide. Still to this day I struggle so hard with coming to terms that it happened. I feel I have nobody to talk to when problems arise. I feel so alone in this big world. I just need someone to talk to, who wont judge me....