I had a pretty unusual upbringing. I discuss it with my therapist three times weekly, and she says that what I experienced was a form of abuse, though I have a very hard time accepting that.

I barely remember my dad, and for as long as I can remember my mom drastically favored me over my older brother. He is not even a year older, and I figured out that my mom must have been so disappointed having a son that she tried again almost immediately. He was a very sweet kid, and very pretty, in fact he still is, but mom just didn't love him.

She would show this in so many ways. She was always way warmer and way more loving and encouraging to me. She was always ready to hug me, but would turn away coldly back when he tried to hug her. She approved of everything I did or said, nothing he ever did was ever good enough, when measured to my standard. She sent me to a very expensive private school, he went to public. I always got way more and way nicer presents on my birthday and Christmas than he did, sometimes he got none. I didn't have to do chores, he had lots, including straightening my room, making my bed and washing my sheets. Punishment for me was always quiet talking, for him it was yelling and even getting slapped. When it came time to go to college, she wouldn't send him, because she was saving for me. I got to go wherever I wanted, even though I got a full scholarship to a very good local school. He isn't gifted academically, so no scholarship, and she wouldn't send him anywhere.

I wish I could say I was a good sister. But I was not, I was a bully. I absolutely loved my high status in the household, and it made me so angry when he would stand up to me or make me feel like he threatened that status, even a little. I would make sure he would get punished for it, whenever there was a conflict between us mom would always come down on him hard.

I haven't been able to really discuss this with my therapist, except vaguely, it is so hard to talk about face to face, and I will probably never forgive myself.

There was sexual abuse starting when I was 12, which was basically me pulling down my panties, pinning him down and rubbing myself on his face and squeezing my breasts until I climaxed. I was rough on purpose because of the stimulation and because I was aroused by his whimpering. It wasn't just physical, I felt such strong emotions of sexual mastery which translated into incredibly intense physical feelings. I remember worrying that I was damaging myself somehow because I knew I shouldn't be having such overpowering climaxes at my age. Once I was careless, I was being noisy and he was crying a little, and my mom opened the door, looked at me, shook her head, and then just closed it again. Since then I did it with impunity.

I'm in my mid-twenties now, and I am certainly not the same person I was then. Honestly, for the most part I am doing very well. I'm able to lead a rich and adventurous life, I have a wonderful circle of friends, and I'm already earning well into 6 figures in a job I absolutely love. And I feel like I am naturally happier than most people, my natural state is serenity and joy, I wake up each day with this wonderful sense of anticipation. I often wonder if my early experiences of being highly placed in the home social hierarchy, as well as the intense and self-aggrandizing early sexual experiences, have somehow wired me neurally so that my natural, homeostatic brain state is more uplifted than normal. If I have "problems", they are what might be considered hyper-sexuality, and a strong need to be in control in my romantic relationships, which means I mostly date girls these days.

...and then there is the guilt. Sometimes it overwhelms me. It can be the worst feeling in the world. Sometimes I think that everything that is good about me is the result of my brother's oppression, that my life is basically a sham, and that I don't deserve any of it. One night I just sat in the bathtub ruminating about my childhood, playing through all those endless memories, feeling the guilt like a claw grasping inside my stomach, strangling my organs. I found myself stepping out of the bathtub, dripping wet, walking to the kitchen and taking a knife and just holding the pointy end to my throat. my mind totally lost in memories. This was a truly terrifying experience, and the day after is when I sought therapy.

I've tried apologizing to him, multiple times, and he accepted my apology, but this is so woefully inadequate. What does an apology mean against a lifetime of injustice?? I want to help him, but I honestly don't know how, I feel like he is in a bad situation. He is married to my mom's friend, a woman who owns a real estate company, and who is almost twice his age. My mom pressured him to date her, and when she proposed to marry him, my mom insisted he accept, and gave him an ultimatum: marry her or don't, but either way you can't live here any more. He was 20, few skills, few friends, no resources, no confidence, and so he married. Seeing them together (which is rare, since they moved to the other side of the country, in a remote area), I get the impression that she shows him no more respect than my mom and I did growing up, which makes me so sad. And it is simply impossible to talk to my mom about him, or about the way she raised us. I feel like she is a rock, and my words are like a stream flowing around her, having no effect.