From the very beginning I have always believed that whatever I have to say had to be unique and original, different than what anyone has to say. I believed that it should be valued and I would give myself the reasons as to why it should be in this manner and they would make sense to me but they usually don’t, to other people and now I know why. It’s because they don’t know my reasoning. So here is my story.

My life went downhill when I was just 6 years old. I was s******* abused for a few months and that scarred me, left me wondering why it happened to me. I started uncovering disgusting secrets about the world we live in, and I hate it till this very day. My parents found out about it and dealt with the abuser whilst I sat on the sofa wondering what to game to play next with my best friend when I got the chance to go back out to the park. I was still not okay, I never seeked help and because it seemed like it was something that simply happened, like being mugged on the streets of Pakistan or India.

I grew up too quickly, I don’t remember the year but I was probably 8 or around it when a teacher used to come over every night at 7:30 pm to teach me, I hated that man, I had a sixth sense for as long as I could use it, it helped me acknowledge what type of a person I was dealing with from their looks and such… I was never wrong. This man I can describe in perfect detail as if it’s the first day that I met him, he disgusted me in so many ways, when our time used to start for the first few days he would find a reason to touch me, whether it be my shoulder or hands and I hated it, I tried everything I would sit a bit farther or I would keep my hands off the table in between my legs, just anywhere away from him. I never got around to telling my mom because we’d never had that talk before. After a few days he started to touch my feet with his, I would end up rolling my legs behind the chair’s legs and he’d always pull them out. I hated him, I always cleaned my feet after it. That matter started my feet phobia, if that’s even a thing. He would have his foot crawl up my leg and I felt so upset. Around my birthday that year my brother had slipped it was coming to my teacher and he ended up buying chocolates for me and left them at home when I was out playing with my friends, when the day came for him to collect his money my mother went to her room to get the fee and he saw his chance to kiss me on my cheek and I damn near washed my face off that day. I was happy to know that my mom had told him to leave and end his classes, that day my mom finally asked if that man had ever tried anything weird on me and I was eager to call my best friend over to play that I told her nothing ever happened I was 8 and that was my second mistake.

I was 11 in 2013 when the third s***** abuser had entered my life and I had finally gotten around to knowing what was happening to me, I read it in my ‘book of knowledge,’ the one I got on my birthday. I read everything in that book and I did everything that man asked me and I hate myself for it, I hate every fibre of my being for letting it happen to me. It became normal for me, because despite my denial I just never wanted to even get around to facing it, facing the explosion that I thought was bound to happen. I was scared every single time, I found myself getting frozen or just forgetting who I was whenever it happened it continued for so long. It was the summer of 2016 when it went too far, that he forced himself on me and I had finally done something to make him stop at that moment I don’t know what it was and I still don’t remember. All I remember is I was 15, in a bathroom, crying, wondering why I was bleeding. I searched it up on Google and that night was the night I tried to end it, I don’t remember the date, all I know is that I did everything in my power to end myself but I couldn’t even stop myself from crying. I left the washroom after a shower and slept. When I woke up the next morning I wanted to cover up everything that had happened , so I pretended it never happened, thus he continued to abuse me it was in 2017 when family issues started to arise and I was threatened over writing a letter to a crush, one that I never sent cause I knew it was a stupid thing and I’d be over it within a week. I got pissed and finally found the courage after 4 years of abuse, to let my mom know and I told her about my abuser and how he was a family member. My fourth mistake was telling my mom it only happened once when in fact it had happened over a hundred times. In November that year my mom had ended the abuse for me but it began again in December when she left the country for her job alongside my dad. In 2018, I disclosed my secret to my teacher at my school but it was in such a vague manner he hardly understood he gave me advice and I stuck by it for a while. It continued, depsite it.

I got in a relationship with a guy who I had to end it with several times, despite my family’s wishes I always got back with him, rebellion. I guess in 2018 he had enough because his reputation was through the mud and going in again so he decided to use me, and I was in a messed up place and I let him, he then dragged my reputation through hell, and I couldn’t even lift a finger against it, after all I allowed it happen. Another mistake.

In August 2018 I was frustrated and I guess after years of keeping it together with the abuse, someone recognized my s*** slipping and it was my teacher he called me out alone and tried talking to me. I must say I hated him, I did so because everything he stood for was around giving up and I was against it, but somehow this time we stood on the opposite sides, he wanted me to stand up whilst I was on the verge of giving up. I found a reason to trust him and I told him, everything. The fact that I was going through it at that time, as well. He talked to me and started to get me to my senses again. It was in September when I found out that another teacher of mine had found out about my ex and the damage it caused me so he decided to tell me about it. I knew it was high time, my news had gotten far enough and I went home that day and texted my teacher the one who always talked to me, I told him what had happened and I tried to end it for the second time. I was ready but this time I had to say goodbye to someone, it was my teacher. I had to, so I called him and the call was blurry I don’t remember much all I remember is making a promise to him about not doing anything wrong.

The next day I convinced my mom to let me take a month off from school to study and told the school that I was sick, I went to the school and this time I was numb, I didn’t know, I just felt nothing, I saw my teacher approach me and asked me to stay a little while longer so after awhile we were in the library and we were talking about stuff, I don’t remember. That was the last day I spoke to my friends for a month. The abuse had continued and along with it this time I started having nightmares that haven’t stopped till this very day.

What fucks me up was when I saw those nightmares my mind messed up the person hurting me into the people I loved. Each time a different one. It then evolved into me waking up every once in awhile with an asthma attack. The abuse has stopped but the nightmares just keep getting worst. This is my life now. I’m learning to embrace it now.