I have to keep on Living….

One of the mails I received. A few things have been tweaked to protect the lady’s Identity but here it is:

I have to just keep on living….I don’t know what else to do. I have considered suicide to just end it all but I’m not brave enough. I have struggled with this guilt since I was like six. I had this uncle who came some weekends from Halifax and he would bring us lots of candy and sometimes toys. My parents trusted him. What they didn’t know was that he would take me to his room and abuse me sexually. He never actually did ‘it’. He would just touch me for a while and that was it. I never told anybody because…..because I enjoyed it. I felt..wanted. because I enjoyed it I felt so guilty. I felt like God didn’t love me anymore even after I gave my life to him a million times over. I was a kid I just wanted people to like me especially God. So any time they did the altar thing, I would rush out. Almost every Sunday. This continued for years till we had to move to Canada because poppa got a job there. By this time I had become so quiet and shy and withdrawn everybody thought that was just how I was. But I remember being so…alive. My parents had had issues before we moved and I know she didn’t mean to but my mum neglected me a bit. I would go to school with dirty clothes, my hair so dirty and old you could see the mould on it. I knew this because I always wanted my uniform to be as shiny and the other girls…I started ironing my clothes myself and doing everything myself just to feel like a pretty shiny student. My grades didn’t suffer much though because I somehow had a very good memory especially in science class. It must have been that right because I did my homework myself sometimes copying my friends answers…and through all this my mum would blame me for being so dirty when she had time to bathe me. like what did she expect I was a kid bathing myself unsupervised of course I’m not always going to wash behind my ears properly. She would scrub me till it hurt and I would start crying…I remember I used to have some brown in my underpants and she would call me and scream that why are they brown? I guess she didn’t really know how to handle it. The guilt. I kept on wondering why I had that kind of discharge and why I wasn’t like all the other normal kids and why my shoulders were too broad and why my legs where not so straight. I was 9 -10 years old by this time and I already felt so ugly. Then I started wanting boys to want me. I thought If somebody could just want me, I will be fine. The person won’t regret it because I would give them my everything and more. All this while,through high school, I was known as a good girl because I never partied, did drugs or had sex. It’s not like I didn’t want to do all those things but I had read a lot of books by then to know the importance of waiting. I used to read a lot of inappropriate books back then….nobody cared what I read but I loved to read. I would pick up newspapers, dirty magazines anything and just read. My dad gave me my first real book but he was not around enough for that to occur often. I would never forget that book. I never quite understood it but I felt like my dad expected me to read so I did and I never stopped reading after that. That’s a good thing I suppose. Anyway I got into college trailing my past behind me and just managing to stay that quiet good girl…I almost got raped one time. I followed a guy I had just met back to his apartment and he locked the doors and said “I paid for your groceries didn’t I?” I screamed and struggled till his neighbor came and banged on the door. He kept on banging till he opened the door. He told his neighbour he was just teaching me a lesson because I tried to steal his money. He ordered me to clean the mess I created and I started cleaning and his neighbour asked me to leave that he would do it. I will never forget that guy. I never saw him again but I still pray for him sometimes when I remember and I hope he has all his hearts desires. I couldn’t go to the police because that guy threatened me and told me he knew guys down at the station. I was too scared to think I just ran home. I met a friend on the way and he kept asking me why I looked so dirty and where I was coming from then he said “oooooo avery you’ve been naughty huh?” with a twinkle in his eye. I got home and met my friends and gave them one bullshit story about how I tripped and fell into a ditch. I cried myself to sleep that night. I stopped going to class because I had bruises everywhere and I was just tired. Somehow I started living again. I even fell in love one time and it was beautiful. ‘He was the wrong one but he loved me right’. I felt wanted again. I felt good about myself. I felt beautiful and I felt intelligent. He was perfect. But not every perfect is your perfect. I’m glad I met him. He helped me heal. He helped me grow. He helped me to be truly happy. Then my parents died. My mum had been battling cancer for some years and I guess her death broke my dad because he died a few months later. That period of my life was shit. I had long since broken up with my boyfriend and my friends were nice enough to call me but I was all alone for the most part…I couldn’t really cry till a few months after. I was in a cab and it just came rushing at me. I cried the whole way like really cried. And I didn’t know but the cab driver kept driving round my block till I finally calmed down then he took me home and wouldn’t take any money. Then he said “don’t worry madam,it will get better. Pain only gets worse if you try to resist. It will get better after a while ” then he left. And he was right…the pain is now a dull ache….i feel like I’ve lost my bearings but I just have to keep going, keep living. I believe I will be fine one day…that one day will come as long as I keep breathing. I just decided to write to you because ut feels good talking to a complete stranger you might never see in this life. You can put this up to give women like me hope. Thank you.

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