Quit playing victim card, p.1
Quit Playing Victim Card, p.1Sahithi SS
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Copyright © 2016 Sahithi SS
All the material contained in this book is provided for informational purposes only. It is sold with the understanding that the author is not engaged in rendering professional services of any kind. If expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought first and foremost.
No responsibility can be taken for any results or outcomes resulting from the use of this material directly or indirectly. There may be mistakes, both typographical and in content. Therefore, the author does not assume any responsibility for the accuracy or use/misuse of this information. In addition, reading this book implies your acceptance of this disclaimer.
QUIT PLAYING VICTIM CARD:
REFUSE TO BE BURIED
WHICH MANY WISH IS A LIE
Today is the happiest day in my life. Now I am independent, and going to get married to this perfect guy. Even though I never expected it, I finally have the perfect fairy tale ending. I never thought I would be laughing again. Sometimes I will have flashes from my past, but they do not send fear through my body anymore.
To tell my story in a short version,
I was six; he touched me inappropriately and started telling things I did not understand. I never felt comfortable around him. I did not tell anyone for a while, and when I finally did, half did not believe me, and half did not want to. My mother made me stop going to school for a few days, then she never allowed me to play outside. That incident might not mean much to the people around me, or just a little fun to my abuser, but my eyes always filled with dread every time I heard someone behind me, and I always got an irresistible urge to hit anyone who happened to touch me unexpectedly.
Meanwhile, my father was transferred and we were enrolled in a new school. I was so happy, but after a few years, I met another demon who started molesting me. I did not tell anyone at home, because I knew the price my mother would make me pay, but this time I was not alone either. I had my friends to help me. Together we informed the local news about him. They alerted the police, and came to school with the child helpline. He lost his job. However, instead of appreciating us for our bravery, we were scolded for making him lose his job. That day I understood that community was more important than an individual to the people around me.
From then on, people would whisper behind my back and I would get strange stares. Many people avoided me because I was labeled as trouble. I was expelled from school. My mother started scolding me, said I was defamed in society, and not going to get married. They started homeschooling me. Until one summer day, while I was going to groceries, the demon abducted me in a van.
This was my nightmare. When I went back home, I didn’t tell anybody, and had no clue of how to tell them. My mother applied an ointment to a bruise on my hand. I knew she would not treat me the same way if I told her what had happened. Then he came in the evening, asking my hand for marriage, and told my parents the truth. They cried and agreed for marriage to not to get my siblings future disturbed because of me.
I wondered why I could not just let myself die. Then they said my life had already ended, and warned me about what everybody would say about my character if I died. In the name of “justice,” they legally gave him permission to rape me every day.
The community heads said to my parents, “She is of age, and she would respond to it”. All I wanted to ask was, “Would these big people react the same way when things happen to their wives and daughters?”
Innocently and reluctantly, I entered hell. I was not allowed to go out. Neither could I ask for money, nor talk to anyone. I was an object to dump all his emotional baggage on with ruthless words and actions. I always wanted to ask him, "Why, why me?” Over time, I thought that being dead would be my best option. While I was contemplating suicide, during one long painful night, the demon whispered in my ears that he wished I was dead. I was angry and frightened.
Then it struck me, why should I die? Why should I stay paralyzed and live with fear and shame? What sin did I commit? Unable to bear the torture any longer, I ran away to my parents. Society blamed me again as if I did something unforgivable, but I was not silent, and they heard my voice this time. The way they were expecting me to live was the life I had to live and I did not need their pity. I wanted them to stop humiliating me. I am not a sin. I wanted justice and my justice was his punishment. They warned me not to take it to the court because they might turn down my case against him from lack of proper evidence. Even with evidence, they said it would take lot of time in court to get justice, and I would be hopeless after one stage since there is no point of getting judgment after I die or get old. There would be no escape from memories, which haunt me either, because I had to remember everything, every small detail to testify against him until final judgment. Then my father also convinced me that he could not leave his job to go to the court every time, and it will jeopardize my family.
They did not understand, he was still out there. That demon was still out there and knew where I live. I did not want to live in constant fear. They silenced me with their words, but they could not put out the fire in my heart. Why should I have to hide? Why does it have to affect me for the rest of my life? Why do I have to feel guilty and ashamed? He should have to be the one who to feel all those emotions, not me. I cried, silently screaming inside.
Movies, campaigns, all sorts of awareness programs, and laws came along, but nothing has changed over time. Amidst those fears and questions born my desire to do something meaningful in my life and I started dreaming again for a new life. I could not live like that anymore because I am done being weak. I am done praying to be set free. I did not want to be left out with pain and suffering.
So, I started studying again. After a little while, community heads and my parents wanted me to get married again. I was not willing or ready. My mother said, “You have no idea what society will think if you reject this proposal. How will you survive? It is hard for somebody to marry you. It’s god’s grace that he offered his hand.”
They always thought about society and their comments. If these loud mouth people cannot ignore me, I can ignore them. They wanted me to marry any person who offers me his hand. They did not understand that, when something happens again, I did not want to go back to my parents, AGAIN. What if there comes a day where I could not go to anybody?
I am not a sin, but a fellow human, and I have equal rights to live like them. I did not want to end up a mess. I did not want my scars to take charge of my life and mask my identity. I did not want to talk with fear, but confidence. I wanted to live with freedom, even at the cost of my death. I had cried enough. Humiliation does not hurt me anymore. Rape and domestic violence are not my identity. I want to survive with pride and respect, and education was the only way.
I told them that I applied to one institute, and they were offering me a scholarship. I did not want to miss the chance. “You would be alone,” my father shouted. I am used to being alone. My mother worried about my safety in a new place. That made me laugh, “I grew up in a safe environment always covering from head to toe and never stepped out of house without their permission. What for? What did that leave me? What else left to be afraid of? I have nothing to lose. I was already a living corpse. Death does not scare me, but not standing up for myself would defiantly have intensified my pain. I left home to let happin
After a year at college, strange whispers and stares started again. I could not understand what it was. Slowly through my roommate, I got the news that there was a sex video of me out there. My demon had uploaded it. I froze and I could not believe that it was really happening. My mind shut off completely. Some voice inside me said to be strong, and fight him off.
I filed a complaint against him, and they did what they could. I was also enrolled in therapy sessions to help me come to terms over it. It was a struggle every day.
During one of those sessions, they made me meet this guy who said that he was a victim too, and his mother and step-dad. He had no clue of what was happening. They always said that he was a good child, and after they were done, they would give him a dollar. They ruined his little innocent mind. He held it all in for many years, overpowered by his fears. He wanted to run away from home, but it is all he had ever known. Finally, he gathered all his courage, and they got punished.
One day he sent me this text message, “Unfortunately we do not have the power over other people or their actions. Although my abusers were punished for what they did to me, they still haunt my brain. Still I feel I
Quit Playing Victim Card by Sahithi SS / History & Fiction have rating 4.3 out of 5 / Based on34 votes