this is why i don't watch TV (again, yes, again and again)

I will sound like a broken record. I always do, I always repeat it. But you know why? Because it doesn't go away, no matter what I do. No matter what I do it comes back and it gets me, usually when I'm stressed and vulnerable about something else.
My parents watch TV. I was trying to get my application to the National Honor Roll scholarship done. They watch shows that I find interesting, but every once in a while there is a show on sexual abuse. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't now.
It always matters.
Suddenly, I was in an uber-anxious angry, scared, lost mood.
This blurry picture is my brother and I. It's my third or my fourth birthday. Anyway, right about the time he hurt me. We look happy, don't we? We weren't. It wasn't his fault, really. He was eleven. That's not very old. He was so angry at my mom. I can't count one ten million hands how many times I have been very angry with my mom.
They argued every night, my mom and my brother. My brother was into marijuana, I think, and not into homework. He was starting to get into a lot of trouble. Meanwhile, my mom was still hitting him. You reach rock bottom, hit hard. I remember how angry I was. I remember not eating and the dramatic fainting in school to get my mom's attention. My brother's not really that different. I hurt myself, he hurt me. We both did it to my mom.
I understand all of this. I understand it in my head and my heart, that my brother was really just as confused then as I have ever been. But it still hurts the same. It's still those same hands that force you down, force your legs apart. It doesn't make a difference if it's a fifty-year-old pervert or an eleven-year-old drug addict you idolize.
I trust him, you know? And he was doing this to me. I loved him more than anyone else. He was everything to me. He wasn't supposed to leave me. He played rubberband wars with me, played water gun games with me, sucked his thumb with me, played nintendo with me, wrestled with me, hugged me, held me, loved me...
It was him whose arms were forcing me down. HOW DO I RECONCILE THIS?! When he left, when he got sent away, I had nightmares every night. I cried and I yelled and I kept my parents awake. I screamed and I kicked my legs and my life at school went to hell. I've never been as happy as I was when I saw him in Samoa after a year of that screaming.
But I can't touch people. I can't say words. I can't stop remembering, remembering it all... I loved him so much. It can't have been him that did that to me. How can I look at him and see that boy, see the boy who forced those things on me, and not the boy that played rubberband wars and wrestled with me?
Shouldn't the years wipe away all of this? Why does a TV show suddenly force me as back into the past as effectively as my brother forced me into positions on the floor?!
I can't stand not being able to reconcile. It is the same with the rest of them. It is the same with my cousin. I know I wasn't the only one he hurt. Apparently I was the last. But why? How can I make sense of anything when he is across the country? I need him to talk to me. I need him to explain. I need to understand why he hurt so many little kids. I need to reconcile the pictures I have of him with the truths I remember. I need him to write me a letter that explains it all.
I need them all, I need them all to sit before me- my brother, my cousin, whatever babysitters there were, if the memories can be trusted- and explain themselves. I am like the judges that cannot judge the crime; they must know the psychology of the criminal.

I think there's something wrong with me, because I am a broken record, because it keeps coming back. Everything in my life seems like this, with this bipolar. Things seem okay and then they come back and they break.

WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO PEOPLE?! I don't care what Foucault says. It hurts. He can say it's okay to hurt kids all day, but he hasn't lived through it. IT HURTS!

Why does this happen to people? Why doesn't it go away? Why did my brother do that to me, and say it was another game like rubberbands or wrestling? Why did my cousin hurt me? Why did my babysitters? Why can't I move on why can't everything be fixed why does it hurt as badly now as it did then why can't I believe it's not my fault why do people think it's okay to do this to other human beings why am I a broken record why can't I remember everything why can't I be sure of the memories I have why do I keep remembering more

why after one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen years does it hurt this bad?
why why why why why why why why why why why why why...