Flashbacks

Sometimes I get flashbacks. Flashbacks of all sorts of things. Like when I nearly thought I had to break up with my boyfriend a year ago. So glad that didn't happen. The issue I thought was an issue, was something that was able to be dealt with. It wasn't a deal breaker like I had thought it might be. And we've been so happy. It scares me sometimes how close I came to ending it all. Commitment is very useful.

But I get flashbacks other than that one, that are worse. Like when I came home from school in year 11 and had to call the ambulance because my brother had tried committing suicide. So many times I wished he had been successful.

I get flashbacks of all the times my brother has hurt my Mum.

Of how my entire childhood was made up of these constant abusive fights between my brother and my family.

Of all the times my brother did all he could to break me so that I would agree to give him my only money for drugs. There are so many holes in walls and doors, broken lights and dishes and photo frames.

There were so many nights of not being able to sleep because they were still fighting well into the night. I remember the time we had to take mum to hospital to get stitches in her hand because my brother had cut her.

I remember calling the police on my brother numerous times when he was trying to get into house when he'd been kicked out.

I remember all the horrible things he said when he had gone psychotic again. I remember feeling so sorry for him in his paranoia. I remember him shining the torch right into my face and watching me attempt to sleep in the middle of the night because he wanted to make sure the invisible villians in his mind hadn't gotten us. I remember so many trips to the mental ward, visiting him all the numerous times he fallen ill again. He'd still manage to get drugs in there.

I remember when he was well, and he spat on me and threw the dog water onto my fresh outfit because I lost my shit at him for him absolutely abusing Mum for the millionth time.

I remember when we were just little kids, how he'd tease and taunt me, and the numerous bruises I'd get from him, before he started drugs. They're just being kids, Mum thought. Look at him now.

I remember when my brother finally got kicked out for good. Something in me not having to be in survival mode all the time finally allowed me to break down from all the abuse it had taken. All at once I my hands would be numb, I would be hyperventilating and sobbing, have hot flashes, be really naucious and get diarea, and the overriding feeling would be major anxiety. I don't get that anymore, but just the thought of those feelings upsets me.

My life is so much better now. But these memories still follow me, and I don't know what to do with them.