In my 20's, I told my sister that our brother (the golden child, of course) molested me when I was very young. She was horrified. We didn’t talk about it again. Years later I commented about it... She “forgot” what I’d told her. Great. What trust was there evaporated. Years later, in a discussion about why I simply…

I grew up knowing my family didn’t give a single shit about me and they still don’t. In my 50's now, and it still hurts.