My older brother’s violence.

He was much bigger and stronger than me.

For no reason he’d head toward me as I said “no” over and over as I sprinted to my room to lock the door, but he always caught it just in time.

He would then contort my body in very painful positions (he was a champion wrestler) and wouldn’t stop no matter how many times I screamed “stop” at the top of my lungs.

He’d crush my hand in his and grind those hand joints together, spit on my face, slap me, punch me relentlessly, etc.

And before leaving he would usually knock all the stuff off my shelves and dresser.

For a long time I just considered it normal older brother stuff, but it wasn’t until I was an adult I imagined how disturbing it would be to witness that happening to someone else.

There was something extra sinister about how he purely did it for fun, and how the more I screamed, the more he enjoyed it.

In a lot of ways I think it made me tougher growing up, but god damn.