I've been having a rough time with memories from my childhood. They felt traumatic to me but I tend to doubt myself and think I'm making a big deal out of something not very significant. And I'm 42 yrs old so I have to ask myself why I'm still dwelling on it. I suppose it doesn't help that my family will never admit to any wrongdoing. I stopped arguing with them about it long ago.

Anyway, everything came flooding back the other day. I don't know why. My older brother tormented me greatly as a child, beating up in me viciously - In my opinion not your typical sibling rivalry and fighting but abuse. He has issues of his own - Still very volatile (tried to push me out of his truck several years back). As a kid, I told my parents what he was doing when they left us at home alone and asked them not to leave us alone together, but they did nothing. My mother and brother fought as well, kicking and hitting each other up and down the hallway, and I usually had to watch it because my bedroom was right off the middle of the hallway and I wasn't allowed to close my door. My father would retreat to the basement when this stuff was happening, checking out even though he could hear the yelling and stomping and banging. A few times he finally lost it and came upstairs in a rage. When my brother was in junior high, my parents sent him to karate classes, thinking it might be positive for him, and he got his black belt. He used his karate on me frequently and I had to learn to block his kicks and hits. My mother was psychologically abusive as well.

I went to Catholic school and they tried to brush everything under the rug - didn't want to involve the authorities - until one of my teachers in high school threatened to report the abuse, if you can call it that. They sent me to the school librarian's home for two weeks and had my parents agree to two family therapy sessions, which were a joke. My mother snowed over the therapist - She was always anxious for everyone outside our home to think we were the perfect family. I'll never forget - it just sticks in my mind - that my parents delivered my clothes and personal items to me in a big plastic trash bag when the school asked them to bring what I'd need those two weeks. It feels symbolic.

I tried from junior high onward, btw, to be the perfect child. My parents loved that I got straight A's and won lots of awards and went on to an Ivy League school with scholarships, but the abuse never stopped. Also, I think my mom has bipolar like me - She has a huge shopping addiction and is generally impossible to deal with, but she's not treated. She drives me and my husband nuts because she doesn't respect our wishes where our kids are concerned.

I do have a great therapist but sometimes I just need some extra support. I can't stop thinking I'm overreacting or remembering things wrong,