u/Flower_princess_101

My family contacted the police a little while back when my brother didn't come home one night about a week ago, but they said that because he's 19 he counts an adult and they believe he probably just ran away even though there is absolutely no proof that he ran away. They are being very dismissive and are refusing to even look into the case.

None of my family believe he went missing. We used find my iPhone to ping his phone and we found it inside his room. His sneakers are still in our house, all of his belongings are also still in his room including his suitcase and there doesn't seem to be anything to indicate he ran away. We've tried explaining all of this to the police, but we're just being told again that he's 19 and could have left voluntarily. We talked to his friends and other family members, no one has seen him lately either.

He said that he was going to his friend's house but his friend claims that he wasn't even at home when my brother was supposedly going to visit him so he didn't see him. My brother's friend's dad has a car that we have not seen since the day he went missing. He told us that he let my brother borrow the car to go get a quick snack while he waited for his friend to get home and that my brother has the car. *edit: no, the dad did not report the car as stolen or missing

We're really at our wits' end with this and trying everything. Should we hire a private investigator or go to the police again or what?

Okay, so this is a story about an ex-boyfriend, an ex-friend, an affair, a secret blog, a fake Facebook account, and what I can only describe as one of the strangest stalking situations I’ve ever experienced.

And for some additional context, this all happened during a period of my life when I was convinced I was experiencing some kind of spiritual attack.

At the time, I was dating a guy I’ll call J. We’d been together for a while and lived together for about two years. We had a pretty solid little friend group, and within that group there was a smaller group of us who were all local photographers.

That’s how I met C.

C and I became VERY close, VERY fast.
Looking back, that was probably the first red flag.
She quickly became a fixture in our lives. She’d come over for dinner, hang out at our apartment, watch TV with me and J, go places with us, basically just become part of our household.

Eventually, though, I started feeling exhausted by her.
I felt like I never had any alone time with J. I was constantly sharing food and other resources with her, and J was unemployed at the time, so I started feeling like somehow I was supporting three people.

I also started noticing something else.

C was copying me.

And I mean REALLY copying me.

She changed her haircut to look like mine. Changed her hair color. Started wearing glasses with a similar shape. Started dressing similarly. And, most notably, she started copying my photography style.

Photography was something I’d spent years developing into a very specific style, so watching someone essentially start recreating it was… uncomfortable.

I began slowly trying to distance myself.

Part of what made C exhausting was that she was incredibly emotionally intense. She was the type of person who could call you at 3 AM crying about something and threatening to “get off the ride early.”

At first, I took those calls extremely seriously.
Eventually, though, it became a pattern. I’d respond with something like, “Do you need me to call 911?”
And almost immediately, she’d calm down and completely change her tone.

That was when I started realizing I needed some boundaries.

Then I found out that C and J had been having an affair.
For over a year.

I found out through someone I had known my entire life, who I’ll call E. E had heard about it through another mutual acquaintance and decided that I deserved to know.
J insisted that the affair had only been emotional.
He claimed that physically, all that had happened was a kiss.

Which was particularly complicated because J and I hadn’t been physically intimate in a LONG time. He’d told me he had a medical issue that affected his ability to function sexually.

So, yeah.

In retrospect, the red flags were basically waving from helicopters.

The really stupid part is that I didn’t immediately leave him.
We had literally renewed our lease THE DAY BEFORE I found out about the affair.

I was paying the bills, and because I had stupidly allowed J onto my lease, getting him out would have meant evicting him.

And despite everything he’d done, I didn’t want him to be homeless.

So some delusional part of me decided maybe we could fix things.

During this period, I was an absolute wreck. I was anxious, depressed, and experiencing some genuinely terrifying things that I interpreted at the time as supernatural.
I was seeing what I thought were demons while awake.
I wasn’t religious, but I became so frightened that I started reading the Bible because I was desperate to figure out what was happening. I was posting Bible verses. I was smudging my apartment. I was getting into crystals and anything else that made me feel like I could protect myself.
I genuinely believed I might be under some kind of spiritual attack.

And here’s where the story gets REALLY weird.
While all of this was happening, I was still running my photography business.

One day in January, I got a message from a woman named Jennifer.

She said she’d recently moved back to the area and wanted to book me for engagement photos in the spring.
She seemed completely normal.

She had a Facebook account with about five years of activity and, supposedly, over 50 mutual friends with me.
She said she wanted to stay in touch until spring so we could talk about the creative direction and logistics for the shoot.

That was slightly strange because she hadn’t actually booked anything yet, but whatever.

Then she followed me on Instagram.

Except she followed my PERSONAL Instagram.

Not my photography business account.

Then she started responding to basically every single story I posted.

At first I assumed she was just enthusiastic.

I was posting about photography, crystals, Bible verses, my spiritual experiences, everything.

She’d ask questions about all of it.

Then one day I was having a particularly rough time and she started talking to me. She was actually really kind and supportive, and I ended up telling her that I was going through a breakup.

She was basically cheering me on and encouraging me to take care of myself.

So I thought I’d made a new friend.

Meanwhile, everything with C and J was still going on in the background.

Then E contacted me again.

Remember G, the person who had helped expose the affair?

G had apparently been friends with C socially and had been keeping some of her secrets.

Eventually, he felt so guilty about it that he told E everything and sent her a link to C’s secret blog.
E sent it to me.

And the blog was INSANE.

C had written about how she was going to be with J no matter what.

There was an entry where she talked about potentially drugging him and driving him out to a field in her truck.
But then I got to the part about me.

She wrote that she wanted to take my life because I “have everything that she deserves” and that everything I had should belong to her.

That was the moment I went from “this woman is fucking weird” to “I may actually be in danger.”

Also throughout this time, mutual friends kept telling me that C was now also reading the bible and smudging and collecting crystals so she was still some how copying me but I didn't have the capacity to care anymore until that point.

I went into full hypervigilance mode.

And then I looked at my Instagram DMs.

There was Jennifer.

Completely unprompted, she messaged me to say she was in Pittsburgh and sent me a picture of a sunset.

I looked at the photograph.

And something immediately felt wrong.

I recognized the landscape.

More specifically, I recognized two distinctive trees in the picture.

I’d seen those trees countless times at a local state park.
And that state park was definitely NOT in Pittsburgh.

My inner detective immediately activated.

I started messaging the 50-something people who were supposedly Jennifer’s mutual friends on Facebook.
Not one of them knew her.

Every single person basically gave me the same answer:
“Oh, yeah, she just started appearing on my Facebook one day.”

Nobody actually knew this woman.

At this point, I was freaking out.

I asked Jennifer to prove that she was actually who she said she was.

I told her that because I sometimes met strangers at parks for photography sessions, I needed to verify people’s identities for my own safety.

She sent me a photograph.
It was a photograph of another photograph, with her hand holding a piece of paper showing the date.
This was before AI-generated images were really a thing, so it was a pretty convincing attempt.

Except by then I was already suspicious.

I started collecting evidence.
Screenshots.
Messages.
Photos.
The fake Facebook profile.
Everything.

And eventually I realized what was happening.
Jennifer wasn’t Jennifer.

Jennifer was C.

She had apparently taken an existing Facebook account with years of activity, changed the name, and used it to create an entirely fake identity so she could continue following me and communicating with me after I’d cut her out of my life.

And suddenly all of those weird things she’d been doing made sense.

She wasn’t randomly interested in my crystals.
She wasn’t randomly interested in my Bible posts.
She wasn’t randomly interested in my relationship.

She was monitoring me.

She was learning what I was doing, where I was, what I was interested in, and what was happening in my life.
And then she’d been talking about doing an engagement photo shoot with me.

At a park.

As a complete stranger.

Given everything I’d already learned about C, that scared the absolute shit out of me.

I never knew for certain what she intended to do if she actually got me alone at that park.

But after reading what she’d written about me, I wasn’t about to find out.

I confronted her and essentially exposed the fake account online.

The account disappeared almost immediately.
And almost simultaneously, the REAL C blocked all of our mutual friends.

Which pretty much confirmed what I’d figured out.
I told her I was going to the police and that I was going to pursue a restraining order.

I never actually did.

And then life moved on.

Or so I thought.

More than SIX YEARS later, I was working part-time at a medical dispensary.

I’m standing there doing my job when I look up and see C standing in line.

I recognized her instantly.

My heart literally dropped into my stomach.
I almost collapsed.

My coworkers noticed something was wrong and asked me what was happening, so I told them the entire story.
They were incredible about it. They put a warning on her customer profile so that if she ever came into the store, someone would alert me and I could leave the floor.

The thing that still gets me about this whole story is that for months, I genuinely thought I was dealing with something supernatural.

I was terrified that something was following me.
I was reading the Bible, smudging my apartment, trying to protect myself from what I thought was a spiritual attack.

Meanwhile, the actual threat was a person I had invited into my home.

Someone who had eaten dinner with me.
Someone who sat on my couch.
Someone who knew my boyfriend, my friends, my routines and my life.

Someone who was having an affair with my boyfriend.
Someone who wrote that she wanted to kill me because she believed I had everything she deserved.

And when I finally cut her out of my life, she created an entirely new person to get back in.

Honestly, I still don’t know what to make
of the paranormal part of that period of my life.
Maybe there was a completely psychological explanation for what I experienced.

Maybe there wasn’t.

But I do know this:

I spent months thinking something invisible was stalking me.

Turns out, I was being stalked.

It just wasn’t by a ghost.

Redban is hilarious.

Just saw William Montgomery tonight at Punch Line Philly and he absolutely crushed it.

I wasn’t sure how his style would translate from the one-minute Kill Tony format to a full stand-up set, but honestly I think he’s even funnier when he has more time. The longer format really lets him build on the absurdity and it works so well.

If the Big Red Machine comes to your city, go see him. Highly recommend supporting him. Great show.

I am not the Original Poster

Original posts by throwaway4620048486

  Originally posted: February 8, 2016

I'm trying to write this in a way so that no one will be able to research and find out who I am (or my brother is). But it's the Internet and everyone's a super sleuth.

My brother went missing years ago. And when I say "missing," I mean that his case was declared one of those "creepy unsolved mysteries." It was on the news. I distinctly remember my parents interviewing for the news in our living room.

I think I know what happened to him.

I was very young when he went missing. I barely remember him, but I do remember that I loved him a lot. He would pull me around our block in a wagon. Most kids his age didn't do that.

The days before he disappeared, I remember him staying home and babysitting me. I stayed in my room and played Nintendo 64. Throughout the day, a guy came over. I remember him. He was older, almost our dad's age. My brother made me go into my room whenever I heard the doorbell.

Later, after the guy left, my brother would ask me not to say anything about the guy. With my brain only being focused on video games and extra dessert at that age, I agreed. I didn't care, nor did I comprehend the gravity of the situation.

The day before he disappeared, I remember the older guy coming over. I was in the kitchen and remember looking up and seeing him kiss my brother. They hugged. They didn't care that I saw them. The older guy waved at me and I waved back, then I kept watching cartoons.

I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to my brother whispering outside our front door. "Don't worry, he's asleep," he said.

The older guy said something I couldn't hear. Then my brother said something I couldn't make out, but I made out the words "visit them" or maybe he said "visit him"? Either way, I know the word 'visit' was in his sentence. The man raised his voice and said no. Then I heard "plan" and "city." Then I fell asleep again.

The next morning--the day he disappeared--my parents were at work. My brother was acting very strange. I remember he kept checking the clock. In the afternoon, I remember him picking me up and asking me if I wanted to go in the wagon. I was too hooked on Nintendo 64 and said no. He almost begged me and I said no again. Then he told me he had to run to our neighbor's house for something, I don't even remember what he said. I said okay. He reminded me to not open the door for anyone, only mom and dad. I shouted at him "OKAY!" because Super Mario was getting on my fucking nerves and he wasn't helping.

He gave me a hug and told me he loved me and left. He never came back.

All these years--decades--later and I think he was in love with that man. I know he was. The memories randomly came flooding back to me earlier, I'm not quite sure why. But it has been taking over my thoughts lately. I can't sleep because I keep thinking about it.

I think my brother left with that man and they ran away together. Or maybe something worse happened. But I don't think that's the case.

My freshman year of college, I was part of a sports team that got national recognition. I remember my team's picture was on ESPN and with our university's name. A few days later, I got mail at my dorm. It was a gift basket. I thought it was from my parents, so I didn't read the card. I threw it away immediately and ate what was in it, but it was nothing but candy. Nerds, jolly ranchers, Tootsie Rolls and Hershey's Kisses. I called my dad and thanked him for the gift basket and he said he didn't send one, neither did mom.

Then I got to thinking: all of those candies were what I used to eat as a kid. Literally all I ate for the earliest years of my life were those candies. I tried to find the card, but I couldn't. Then I began to think about how my brother would wheel me in the wagon to the gas station close to our house so I could get candy after dinner, even though it was a punishable-by-death "no-no" from mom.

Months later, during Christmas, I got an unmarked Christmas card. The only thing written on it was a :) smiley. Since then, I've heard nothing. No one I know sent that card. I have never responded.

I wonder, every day, if he's out there. I have never told anyone this. When the police asked me what happened that day, I told them that he went to the neighbor's because that's all I remembered, honestly.

It destroyed my parents. My mom became addicted to pain killers and my dad has had three extra-marital affairs (which, I know this tragedy is no way an excuse to cheat, but it sure didn't help). It has ruined our family, and maybe my brother knows what he did. Maybe he regrets it and knows he can't come back home.

But if I could see him today, I would just want to tell him that he is always welcome in my home. I love you so much, brother. We have so much catching up to do. Please come home. Please.

 

[UPDATE 1 - April 12, 2016]

Title:My parents kept my brother a secret from me

It's 4pm and I'm drunk lol

These past few weeks have been insane. I posted on here before....my brother went missing a long time ago. I thought he ran away from home. Long story short, I got into contact with some detectives that our family has known since my brother went missing. When I started asking questions, they told me that my brother was no longer on any missing persons registry. When I asked what that meant, they told me that he was removed per my parent(s) request.

I asked my parents--my dad, actually. My dad ignored me. My mom told me my brother is alive and okay ("as far as she knows"). They found my brother years ago--a very, very long time ago--and found out he was living with another man. He's gay, and it disgusted my parents. He tried reaching out to them. They told him they didn't want anything to do with him and that I didn't remember him adn wouldnt' want to see him.....

I went ballistic. My parents weren't fazed by it. They sincerely hate my brother for who he is--for being gay. They kept him a secret from me all my fucking life. My brother missed the birth of his nephew, he missed my wedding, graduations, EVERYTHING. just because of my parents. they lied to me.

I've been able to get a phone number and contact information from police officers. my brother left it all open in case anyone from our family wanted to contact him. i still can't work up the nerve to call him. the address i have for him is across the fucking country. but he's alive. my brother is alive. i'm drunk as fuck right now because i can't deal with any of this. i haven't talked to my parents in weeks and i never plan on speaking to them again. not for what they've done to me, or my brother.

this is real and it happened. it happened--it is happening right now. i dont know how to process this at all. my parents let me blieve my brother was dead or kidnapped forever, when in reality he just ran away and when he wanted to come back they disowned him

im fucking crying right now. how could you do that? fuck you, God. fuck you christians and jesus. idont even know i'm so fucking--i'm sorry

 

[UPDATE 2 - May 7, 2016]

Title:I met my brother that was "missing"!

Here’s an update for you all:

The day after I made my last post, I woke up and called into work. I told my wife (who is essentially my confidant and I tell her everything) the whole story. She wasn’t really surprised; she’s not a fan of my parents much. But like many of you, she told me to call the number I was given for my brother immediately. She insisted on it. She took herself and my son out for a day together so I could be alone to talk with him.

I dialed the number about seven times before I actually pressed the “call” button. It started ringing and I hung up. Then I got frustrated at myself and called the number back. It rang and rang and I got a voicemail, but it was the automated voice, not anyone else’s. I didn’t leave a voicemail. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous. I called my wife and told her to come home and she refused until I had talked to someone on the other end of the phone.

About an hour of pacing and drinking two glasses of scotch at 1 o’clock in the afternoon, I called the number again. It rang three times. I panicked. I hung up. But this time, the number was calling me back. I swear to whatever God(s) above, I thought my heart was going to stop. I almost threw up right there. I answered the call.

The first thing I heard on the other end of the line was a guy laughing in the background. There was wind on the phone. The person on the other end was outside and it was windy. “Who is this?”

It was his voice. I knew that voice. It was my fucking brother. My brother! Who had been gone for my entire life! I covered my mouth with my shaking hands and just sat there. He kept asking me who it was. The guy in the background was trying to talk over him. He hung up on me. I called him back right away. He answered again.

Me being a creepy ass, the first thing I said after decades of not seeing him and thinking he was dead, I blurted: “I got your number.”

He asked me who I was and what I wanted. I said, “It’s me.” There was a really long pause. I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard him tell someone to turn the radio down and roll the window up. The sound of wind stopped… and then he asked me my name. I told him and he said that I was lying. I told him I got his number from the missing children’s network and detectives. I heard him gasp. He asked me what color shoelaces he wore to a picnic when we were kids, and I remember my mom getting mad at his orange laces with blue shoes. It was the last time we were together as a family.

I could tell he was crying. The first thing he asked me was: “Where are you?” and I told him I lived a few hours away from home. Without hesitating, he told me, “I’m coming.”

He went straight to the airport without any luggage, bought a plane ticket, and flew straight to me. We stayed on the phone with each other the whole time. When he was walking through the gate, I knew who he was right away. He is middle-aged; salt and pepper hair, muscular. He looks just like our dad, only better. I know if I told him that, that would make him mad.

I literally pushed an old lady out of the way and I just hugged him. He’s about two inches taller than me. He was able to pick me up. He was crying, I was crying. I was having a breakdown. We went to a bar at the airport. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He kept holding onto my arm. He kept telling me how unreal it all was. He apologized to me. He kept crying, telling me he felt horrible. I told him to forget everything and tell me about his life.

He’s married. His husband is a doctor—a pediatric oncologist. They live in the Pacific Northwest. They have two children—girls, 12 and 8. He works as a legal consultant and has his own firm. He has an amazing life. He told me that he thought I hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. We sat at the bar for hours. Literal hours. I think we sat for about six hours before I begged him to come home and meet my wife.

We got home, and my wife was a mess. She hugged him and insisted he stay with us. At this point, his husband was going insane and kept calling him. He had no idea what was going on. He thought he had eloped or something. It was crazy for a couple of days until everything was explained and out in the open.

My son and my brother were like two peas in a pod. Honestly, I never wanted children. My son was an amazing accident, but I’m not good with kids. I’m always afraid I’m going to break them. But my brother is a pro. Kids love him.

He stayed with us for two weeks. And in two weeks, everything about my life changed. His husband and two daughters flew in to stay with us. My brother-in-law and my two nieces. My family. They were my family. They are my family.

My brother wants my wife and I to move to be closer to him. My wife is on board. I work as a professor at a university and have already started to send out feelers to see if there are any open positions, and I’ve found one that is actually tenured and higher pay.

I do not plan on forgiving my parents, but my brother still loves them. He went by their house and knocked on the door. My father shut the door in his face. My mother gave him a hug and told him to take care of himself. Then she shut him out. I can’t forgive them for that. I have no reason to stay close to them. I want to be with my family. I want to make up for all the lost time.

It’s 2am right now and I’m drinking a tall glass of scotch and grading papers. My beautiful, wonderful, smart, amazing wife is asleep on the couch. She likes to watch me grade papers. My son is asleep in his room cuddled up with all the stuffed animals his uncle brought him. And I’m here, so happy, so fulfilled knowing that my family has grown and doubled in size so suddenly. My heart is happy. I am so happy right now, Reddit. I am so happy.

 

[UPDATE 3 - November 21, 2016]

Title: My New Family and Moving Forward

Hi everyone! A few months ago I posted a notice that I had met my brother that my parents had disowned and didn't tell me, letting me assume that he went missing. Here is that update: I met my brother that was "missing"!

Now, here, I'm posting an update over six months later. Thank you all for everything so far.

Everything in my life has changed in the last ten months.

Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. I want to apologize for neglecting this account; I’ve been busy. I want to fill you all in on what’s been going on in my life. I owe everyone who has messaged and commented that much, at the very least.

My wife, son and myself have moved. Not exactly to the same region of the country as my brother and his family, but much closer to him. I got a new job teaching at a new university months ago. While it’s not a tenured position, it gives me the option to do research! Which is my favorite thing to do.

My brother-in-law’s family has had many interesting discussions with each other trying to describe what has happened between my brother and I. They’re a pretty open-minded and accepting family, so to hear what we have been through was absolutely shocking to them. My brother never told his husband the truth about his life; only that he “didn’t speak” to his family anymore. Nevertheless, they welcomed me and my family with open arms when we came to visit. It was like we had always been part of their family. I feel content knowing that they are my family.

When my brother ran away with his first boyfriend, he was verging on 18. He has elaborated and told me that the relationship with the man was abusive and when he tried to leave and return home, our parents would not let him. So, he was forced to stay with an abusive man because he had nowhere else to go until he moved away to college. This deepened my anger for my parents, but my brother—still, to this day—has this ridiculous sense of hope and optimism. I love that about him, because I don’t have that.

My brother and I are two very different people, but in a way that works well. We reflected on my teenage years and I filled him in on what happened with my life. My brother is very quiet and observant; he always watches before he intervenes, he’s soft-spoken and gently objects when someone says something he disagrees with. He’s patient, kind and optimistic (as I’ve said). He has a very loving heart, so I think that’s why he has an unrelenting faith in our parents. Me, on the other hand, I’m abrasive, impatient and quick to jump to conclusions. My wife wanted me to add (about me): “doesn’t separate laundry, refuses to mop the floors and can’t properly change the oil.”

Despite being very different, we have this uncanny ability to be thinking the same thing. Even though we have been separated for several years, we can still give each other a “look” and know exactly what the other is plotting.

My brother has been able to create a spectacular life for himself—all on his own. One thing I struggle with is knowing that he went through more than half of his life by himself, putting himself through college and law school all alone. The more he filled me in about the years away from our parents, the more angry I became. I severed communication with my parents months ago, after the last time I posted on here, and it has done wonders for my own mental health. But then the election happened a few weeks ago.

In all honesty, I don’t even have the words to summarize what this presidential election was. I don’t want to make this political, but this whole thing—by its nature—is political and serves a great purpose. I’ve read messages on here of people saying that they, too, have been disowned by family for being gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or other-identifying. I have heard so many stories from Redditors across the country, telling me that they are scared, alone and afraid every single day of their lives—all because of who they fundamentally are.

The day after the election, my brother and his husband were devastated. My wife, who is a black woman, was devastated. It’s not just Donald Trump himself; it’s his supporters, followers and the ideology that took hold with so many people. Where I come from, Donald Trump’s hateful rhetoric on registering Muslims and disenfranchising LGBTQ+ and minoritized peoples was heralded as something genius and revolutionary, but to me it is a personal attack on my family. I have been in shock and disgusted for days. I had to explain to my son what it all means, and why the world is not always a good place. I had to have the same conversation with him when his grandparents did not like him because of his dark skin.

The day after the election, however, I got a call from my mother. I didn’t answer it, because I was in class, but she left a voicemail and said she would like to talk at my earliest convenience. I thought on it, still enraged, but decided to call her back—more out of curiosity than a desire to speak with her.

When we began our conversation, she asked how I was doing. My answers were short, one-worded. She jumped right in, and I could tell she was uncomfortable. She apologized. But she apologized only to me. I wasn’t fazed by this: I told my mother that she should talk to my brother, and unless she did that then she need not call me anymore. I told my brother that our mother had called and apologized, and the look on his face was pure happiness. I can’t even begin to describe it to you all; it was as if all of his dreams had come true.

My brother called our mother, and she—to my surprise—picked up. They had a short conversation, and my brother’s happy glow had dimmed somewhat when he got off the phone. He told me that she said that, given the election results, she had only wanted to speak to me (I guess, alluding to the fact that I’m a white, straight male—the “normal” son) in an effort to “repair the family” and that we all (me, my mom and dad—not my brother) “need each other now.” She also went on to say she does not approve of what my brother does, but she had “read up on his lifestyle” and recommended conversion therapy. My brother ended the call with a very gentle, “I’m sorry, mom, but I can’t do that. I love you. Goodnight.”

I think my brother has been broken these last few weeks, and the hope and optimism that naturally carries him through life has been eradicated. He’s buried himself in work and ignores any discussion around our family. My wife is a counselor, and she normally avoids counselling people she doesn’t work with, but she’s told me that the only thing I can do for my brother at this point is to be there for him, and to never let him be alone again.

Like I said before, though, I have a tendency to lash out and be aggressive. Yesterday, while stewing on my own rage about my parents, I called my mother and when she answered, I just began screaming into the phone. I unleashed a lot of things and I remember crying while I did so, because I was so enraged. I told her how much she hurt my brother—her son—and how she put his life in danger, all for her ideology. I told her how unfair and upsetting it is that her and my dad would do this to their children, to my brother, how it’s criminal and how they should be punished.

When I finished screaming, I was going to hang up (because she miraculously hadn’t during my ten minute tirade), but she cut in with a quiet: “He sounds grown.” My mother acknowledged my brother’s existence with that short sentence, then she went on with: “I’m so sorry. Let me speak to him, okay?” But I didn’t—I hung up, then I blocked her number. I don’t know what she wanted to say, but I’m afraid it is something that could damage my brother further.

We are currently staying with him for the Thanksgiving holiday. My view right now is this: my wife and my brother-in-law are sitting on the living room floor trying to assemble an Ikea shelf, my son is beside me watching cartoons and keeps telling his mother and uncle to “shhh!”, and my brother is in the kitchen washing dishes. This is a life that people want to see destroyed, taken away and “converted.” This is a life I am so grateful to have and it is filled with people that this world is lucky to have on its surface.

I haven’t told my brother that our mom tried to call, and I don’t want to. I don’t think there’s a point. I just want to spend as much time and energy as I can trying to love my brother, my family, my small little slice of bliss. This is my Heaven; this is a life I will proudly defend against hate and intolerance and bigotry.

I am so lucky to have this life, these people and this happiness and I will never stop fighting for it.

 

Edited to add link to user.

I am not the original poster. This is a repost sub.

Back in 2006, my fiancee and I were living in a small brick ranch house not far from my parents. It was a quiet and peaceful neighborhood and seemed pretty safe.

One night my fiancee and I were up watching the uncut roast of Pamela Anderson on Comedy Central, it was close to 2am. We heard a sudden booming noise, it happened like 4 times and was followed by a loud crash and some glass broke.

I opened the safe and grabbed my Glock and told my fiancee to dial 911. When I got to the end of the hall, I saw someone trying to pull the TV from my entertainment center. The light was coming in through where the front door used to be (he kicked it off the hinges, the crash was the door flying into the kitchen table) so all I could see was a silhouette of a man.

I pointed the gun at him and told him not to move, and that I was armed. I said the police were on the way and he slowly stood up. Still not sure if he could see me in the otherwise dark house, but he reached around his back for something and I pulled the trigger. I vividly remember the sound of him hitting the floor.

When I turned the light on I realized I'd shot him through the left eye. The gun was a Glock model 21 chambered in .45, so the damage was extensive. After a brief nauseous feeling from all the blood, I went numb.

It turns out he was reaching for a gun he had stuffed into his waistband. From what the cops told me, he would've fired at me without hesitating. He had been convicted of gun and gun related assault charges nearly a dozen times before.

I've never told anyone this, but I've not ever felt the slightest bit bad for killing him. It didn't bother me then and it doesn't bother me now. I never lost any sleep over it, never threw up, never went to church and cried in the pastor's arms. Is it normal to feel like this? Or am I emotionally dead or something?