by George
(La Crescenta, CA U.S.A.)
I am a man, early fifties, undergoing counseling and neuro feedback therapy to treat my anger issues. My wife is threatening divorce while we have two beautiful children, an eleven year old and a three year old. Essentially, my wife is at wits end with my behavior which has exhibited bursts of non violent anger (mostly yelling), and evidence of my need to control.
My history as a child was one of abuse. My older brother would beat the crap out of me, or allow his friends to beat the crap out of me while he watched. He had also conducted sadistic experiments on me with electrical wires plugged into a socket while he would probe the energized current on to my body. He had also sexually molested me when I was nine years old, and he was thirteen.
All of this must have hard wired my brain to protect myself at a moment's notice -- almost like a knee jerk reaction.
Since my brother wasn't big and strong, my dad tried to teach him how to fight. When we were kids, there was a bully on the block who kept harassing my brother. While my dad gave my brother fighting lessons, I would watch attentively and pick up on the tricks. As it turned out, I learned to fight and my brother didn't.
We lived in a tough neighborhood, Hawthorne, California during the early sixties. At this time there were white gangs claiming territory to various street corners. Being challenged by some of these gangs, they would pit me against a kid who was about my size and let us duke it out. In short time, I gained respect by holding my own in the neighborhood. And, I'm talking about a time when I was six, or seven years old.
There was one day when my older sister and I had an argument which evolved into a fight. My dad was there watching. Instead of breaking up the violence, I can clearly recall my dad coaching my sister through every move until she had me in a choke hold and I almost went unconscious.
Bear in mind that my father is an educated man. He has a degree in psychology that he received from Pepperdine University in the late 1940's. My mother, a U.C.L.A. graduate, was a career elementary school teacher. My father served in WWII as a battlefield medic. Both of my parents were raised by immigrants who landed on Ellis Island.
My father's father was a very successful Los Angeles business man who essentially turned the business over to my father and uncle. My mother's father came from more humble means as a diner chef. I was always afraid of my father's father. Yet, my grandfather on my mother's side was my best friend while growing up. The only caveat is that he had a very bad temper.
As my siblings and I grew older, both my brother and sister became high school drop outs. They had both experimented with drugs during the early seventies, and my sister eventually developed a serious bipolar condition that she has to this day. I was the only child who not only graduated high school and community college, but I was also a celebrated athlete with many awards to my credit.
I became a work out freak in high school where I could bench press over 400 lbs. I was built like Hercules, and could throw people around at will if I had to. And, I did this all with a 5'-8" 185 lb. frame. Eventually, I won the National Championships in my weight division in professional arm wrestling.
The day came where my brother had challenged me to a fight. I'll never forget how I dominated him like a cat teasing a mouse before it decided to have it for dinner. I can't begin to explain the satisfaction I derived from that experience.
Meanwhile, my dad's family business began to fail, largely due to the negligence of my brother. My dad had put my brother in charge of the business that my grandfather had built into an empire. Sadly enough, there was no chance of recovery from the errors that my brother had made.
At this time, I had received my A.A. degree and was accepted to U.C.L.A. It was my desire to study English. However, my dad -- who I forgot to mention is an alcoholic -- refused to pay for my education unless I majored in business. As a result of his lack of support, I never finished my formal university education.
Through many more episodes of feeling obligation to my dysfunctional family, I eventually became a building contractor and built a home on my parent's 10 acre property with my parent's material financing. I finished the project just prior to getting married. I was thirty eight years old at the time. And, the project took me nearly two years to complete since I had performed the task with my own two hands.
This was the time that I decided to unload a great secret that had vexed me throughout my life. Since my brother lived on the property as well -- still flaunting about as the number one son in the family, and continuing to treat me as a subordinate -- I decided that I couldn't take it any more. Now that I had become married while matching the same marital status of my brother, I felt it was necessary to tell my parents about the abuse that I had experienced from my older brother: right down to being sexually molested.