I do hate him, though.

My mother thinks we should all just get along. She wants me to start talking with my brother "safely" through the computer. She thinks he deserves a chance. He's my brother for gosh's sake.

My brother raped me, repeatedly, when we were both supposed to be children. He is ten years older than I am, so when it started I was five- he was fifteen. He should have been dating, but he was wooing and grooming my friends, my siblings, and me instead.

I tried to press criminal charges when I turned eighteen, no longer under my parents' supervision, but years after the abuse had ended. The city I live in just kept shuffling me around. I went to my local precinct, they told me I needed to go to the precinct where the "incidents" occurred. I went to the precinct closest to where I grew up. They sat me in a room for an hour before sending in two male officers to tell me that I would have to go to the Special Victims Unit. I went to the SVU, but I was told I had waited too long. The statute of limitation had expired. How messed up is that? They offered me counseling, but the therapist was more upset about what had happened than I was. She used more Kleenex than I did. I stopped going after only a few sessions.

The thing that bothers me most about the situation is that no one acknowledges that he is a disgusting, joy devastating, manipulative monster. People pity him. When I was twenty I met a woman who was friendly with my brother. She had no romantic interest in him, but he was "really" nice to her son. I felt she had a right to know what my brother is capable of, and made the very difficult decision to tell her. She became angry with me!

I found out the other day that he is doing well. A "well-meaning" family member sent me a link to his Myspace page. He is breathing, and this information makes me want to cry. Why should I be in the middle of a devastating divorce- unhappy, miserable even, when he is captain of the ship? Okay, he is not exactly captain- but in a picture, he does wear a captain's hat as he lounges in the long chairs intended to provide comfort to the ship's passengers. He also calls himself "Sponge bob", and decorates his page with the prepubescent cartoon propaganda. That's real mature. A grown man, now thirty-seven years old, celebrates cartoons.

I really hate him. I hate everything he stands for. Luckily enough, I hated spongebob before seeing it on his page.

I don't think this hate is a bad thing. Trying to convince myself there is some small kernel inside of my brother that is someday going to be useful to some person, that would make me crazy and a liar. There is not any good thing about him! Any person who can justify raping a child deserves nothing less than hate. I don't care what events in his past leads him to believe children are the people to satisfy his twisted, miserly sexual urges. Plenty of people have gone through horrible situations without reverting to molesting children.

My hate for him will not interrupt my life. I don't need to forgive him, call him "brother". While blood may be thicker than water, my head is not so thick as to think that similar DNA warrants love.