I’m Putting My Older Brother in Prison

Of the two of us, I never thought he would be the one to face death for this. I thought he had gotten away with it.

About a week ago, I found out my older brother was arrested for sexually assaulting a minor.

I can’t say I’m surprised. My brother is my childhood rapist.

The first time my brother assaulted me, I was 5 years old. He did not stop until I was 13 years old. Even beyond my abuse, I have known my brother to be a serial rapist. I know he has assaulted other children in my family, and in 2012, he was caught sodomizing a child at his school.

I pressed criminal charges against my older brother right before my 14th birthday.

Ultimately, nothing came of these charges. However, my rapist was removed from my home by child protective services, and I have not seen him since.

It is important to note that my brother is disabled. This is only an important factor because we were both born into a Mormon family. When my family was forced to choose between us, they chose him. They told me,

“His cross to bear is his disability. God wouldn’t make him disabled and a rapist.”

In telling the police about my sexual abuse, I lost my entire extended family. The only people who believed me were my mother, her husband, and two of my younger brothers.

I spoke to my dad about five years ago. He texted me wanting to reconnect. In the same message, he told me he was disappointed in me. Why didn’t I tell him first? Why didn’t I let him investigate? Above all else, how I was sure I didn’t rape my rapist? Needless to say, I changed my phone number the very next day and we haven’t spoken since.

If I try to look at my story as an outsider, I can see why you might think I was brave. As the person who lived this story, it felt like a series of accidents.

I never intended to tell the police I was being raped. They found out because I attempted suicide.

While doing the intake paperwork at a mental hospital, I was asked why I had tried to kill myself at just 13 years old. I answered all their questions honestly. Sexual abuse wasn’t the only skeleton in my family closet, but it was the one that warranted a phone call to the police.

Shortly after, I was given a case worker. I was sitting in her office when she told me my brother was being removed from my home. I started crying. I told her he didn’t have to go. I told her I could hold my own. I told her it wasn’t a big deal. I asked her not to tear my family apart.

She looked at me, confused, and said,

“Honey, he raped you.”

With that, I instantly transformed into a victim. He instantly transformed into a rapist. My rapist.

I was in my second semester of eighth grade when I finally understood I had been regularly raped for more than half my life.

I missed three weeks of school due to my suicide attempt. When I returned, I told my best friend what had happened. A thirteen-year-old girl herself, she freaked out. She told her mom and her mom promptly banned her from talking to me. My best friend told our mutual friends. They told other people, and it didn’t take long before my entire grade knew what happened to me. Shortly after I returned to school, I was a pariah.

In the eyes of my peers, I was either a victim or a liar.

I think this social isolation was the hardest part. When my rapist was removed from my life, he took everything else along with him. I didn’t get prom, homecoming, or a loving friend group. I got doctors who labeled me with every mental illness in the book and ten emergency visits to mental health facilities.

I spent a long time not caring about my life. I failed my first two years of high school due to this extreme apathy. I was alive, but only because I was breathing. I didn’t do very much other than breathe.

It took me eight years to care again. Once I dedicated myself to my recovery, I recovered rapidly.

With time, I stopped thinking about my rapist.

Now and then, I heard whispers about him. For a time, he was living with my aunt and her three young daughters. When he was suddenly kicked out, I had my suspicions. Afterward, he lived with his girlfriend’s family and her two baby siblings. Again, I had my concerns.

Since I had no legal recourse, all I could do was make peace with the high probability he was creating more victims.

What else could I have done?

Now, I know for a fact he has been creating more victims. I have spoken with those involved with his arrest. I’ve learned my brother is in jail for sexually assaulting two children under the age of ten. Both of these children have said this abuse has been ongoing.

I know now the question is not “Will he go to prison?” it is “How long will he stay there?” The answer to that question is anywhere from 6 to 40 years.

Obviously, I believe the maximum sentence is warranted. He has proven this to be a pattern. These current victims are just the most recent of many. Beyond any personal vendettas, my brother is a danger to society. Keeping him in prison is a measure of protection for other children.

Even knowing this, I have this eerie feeling that I am signing my brother’s death warrant.

It’s no secret child rapists do not fare well in prison. Based on what I know about his disability, I don’t believe he would be able to survive a fight.

I have no control over what sentence he will receive. Given the facts, I already know what will likely happen. He will go to prison. Likely for a long time. One day, out of nowhere, I’ll get another text:

“Hey Charlie, I want you to know I love you. I have news about your brother. Call me when you can.”

Just like that, he’ll be dead.

I don’t believe it’s right to say anyone deserves to die. In my opinion, violence doesn’t solve anything. I also understand my opinions have nothing to do with the reality of prison life for serial child rapists. In sending my brother to prison, I have to make peace with the fact he could die there.

Because my brother is a living, breathing human being, I empathize with him.

My brother asked my mother to pay his bail. Of course, she isn’t going to do that, but she did tell me he said he was scared.

Right now, he’s sitting in a jail cell awaiting a trial he will not win. Afterwards, he’s going to prison where he’ll live in fear of the day his charges are discovered. From where he is right now, his forecast from here on out is pure fear.

I truly cannot imagine what it must be like to be him right now.

But then again, I can. Because I was in a similar position ten years ago. I was 13 years old, and all I knew was a life that included rape. Suddenly, I was no longer being raped, but in achieving that, I lost all my friends and my family. I was branded a liar by everyone I knew. I nearly took my own life several times.

Of the two of us, I never thought he would be the one to face death for this. I thought he had gotten away with it.

I am not writing this to be brave. I am not involving myself in this case because I want to be brave. I am doing this, all of this, because I have to.

If I say nothing, I won’t be able to live with myself.

At the end of it all, there is a 13-year-old girl involved here who never knew she had a choice. She wasn’t believed. She wasn’t protected. I have a lot of regret over how much I hated her when I was her. Now, things are different. I have more power here. I believe her, so now it is my job to protect her.

I am sending my brother to prison because the 13-year-old girl I used to be deserves justice.

I can’t control what happens to him after his trial is over. He will get whatever is coming to him. As much as I wish I had a different story, these are the cards I have been dealt. This is what life has asked me to face.

I will face this. He will go to prison. What happens after that is between him and God.

As a final note, I want to say thank you for all the support I received when I posted about this a few days ago. Very many of you have reached out to me with similar stories. All I can say is I am so very sorry we have this in common. I hope, for those of you who have not gotten justice yet, that my story helps you heal, too.

Thank you for believing me, and thank you for trusting me enough to give me the chance to believe you, too.

I am glad I am not alone in this anymore. Thank you.