I grew up in Indiana. My father was in the army, and my mother was the only one who was raising us (boys). I frequented my grandmother's house, and for a point in time, we were lock key kids. My older brother was in charge of making sure we got home safely and that we were working on our homework.

One day, I was sitting in my room in which I shared with my brothers (I am the middle child), and my older brother came in. I was playing with a steel tonka truck, and he asked if I wanted to play a game. I was bored, and agreed to play this 'game'. I asked what we had to do. I was so naive.

We had a bunk bed in our room. He told me that we needed to build our house. So we took one of the blankets off our beds and put it up on the top bunk and wedged it in between the frame and the bed so that it made a curtain.

He then explained to me that the game was called: "House". It was a game of pretend. I would pretend to be the "mommy" and he would be the "daddy." We both got onto the lower bed, and there he instructed me to take off my clothes. I was uncomfortable with it the first time, but I obliged thinking that nothing was wrong. I was soo wrong.

He took off his clothes, and all I had was my underwear on. That didn't matter because he forced it off of me. The other times I just took it off. It became routine after a while.

Sometimes there was just kissing, sometimes there was rubbing of my private parts, and sometimes it would be full blown sex. But regardless of what it was, I shut down during it. I tried to imagine or pretend that I was something grander, something exquisite during those times.

After it was over, I would cry or just black out. There was a lot of crying and a lot of blacking out as I just tried to forget the pain, forget that it happened, or just pretend that I was never there.

I didn't say anything to my family or to my older brother. I had mentioned it to one of my best friends, but he was taken away from me. He was moved into a different section of my grade than me and I was crushed. I entered into a season of silence.

My family was increasingly having problems where I was living. My family was falling apart around me, and my older brother was increasingly having problems in school and with the law. I felt isolated. I felt insecure. I felt alone.

I cannot comment on if he was the only one that ever abused me, because I do not know and nor do I want to remember. Suffice it to say that I think it happened more than what I remember.

It stopped after moving to Illinois, but it happened one more time here. I had to take a shower with my older brother because we were late for church, and all I could feel was nausea having to stare at him.

I told my best friends in high school after they had torn it out of me. I was silent with them when hanging out. I would pretend everything was alright but I was dieing inside. I would go home and just explode. I broked down and disclosed to them, and I was incredibly sick afterwards. It was like someone had beaten me repeatedly.

Two years later, I told my parents about the abuse, and now I am 21.

I am learning to cope with the problems I have. I have friends who I want to trust but have problems doing so. My lack in trust towards them has put in a strain in my relationships, and I'm taking one day at a time. I'm ridden with guilt, shame, and pain...but I see hope.

This year, I started working with a Therapist this year, but had to stop it because of an insurance goof up by their office. I am seriously considering going back once things fall into a pattern for me at work, school, and life.

Some days I wish I could still pretend I was someone else, but I am me.