A Disturbed Damsel

Yes. I am a Woman. I am a Survivor. I am brave, courageous, and passionate. I pretend. I lie. I despise. I love. I failed- to be the person I thought that I could be. It is not easy to live in the world full of judges, murderers, hypocrites and ya-- 'The Victim.' (It is a category of a person who is promised to gain everything but ends up being the person who has lost the most!)

Great world we live in. Full of innocence. Flooding with garbage and shit. Provocative. Extremely Biased. Poisonous. Democratic!

14th of July, when I was carried in arms of many until I reached the main gate of my school. It was my last day. It had to be epic. I made sure of it. My uncle and my neighbour (whom I used to call my brother) carried me on a motorcycle and took me to the hospital. You see, I was unconscious. At least that is what I wanted to be. The first thing ever went exactly as I predicted.

I thought that I finally get to die. At least I pretended to be dead so that I don't have to face those filthy looking, favourite picking teachers, who made every day of my life more miserable than it already was. I thought it's a good way to go.

They were taking me to the hospital, and my so-called neighbour brother held me tightly from my immature breasts, so that I don't fall. My uncle was driving. You must be thinking- Why an uncle? Why not a father? It's because my father was earning money in abroad.

I was humiliated. Broken. Trashed. Abused. A pleasure house. I had to give my best so that no one notices that I was there. Fully conscious. Listening. Feeling. Terrifying. Acting. I didn't have the courage to even shout. I was not much of a speaker. My voice was stolen, so I froze every time I was victimized.

The whole reason for my acting was to get out of the troubles that I was in.  My manoeuvrings wasn't of any help. It was the day when I realised, that even a dead body of a person is not safe.

We arrived at the hospital. It was an emergency. I was lying on the stretcher- pretending to be dead. I sealed my teeth so tight that my jaw was hurting. I kept on acting. I did not move.

A nurse pinched a needle through my vein. I did not move. They gave me few other injections. I did not move. A few minutes later an intern came to the room. He saw me lying unconscious. He came close to me. He started touching and pressing my breasts, my legs and then-- my vagina. I did not move.

 I don't know why but all of a sudden my control over my body was lost. My whole body started shaking like hell. It was a panic attack. They however, referred it as epilepsy!

My mother was informed. She came to the hospital. I was shifted to the general ward by then. But while on the way, I really wanted to die. I wanted it to be the last day of my life but-- I did not move. I even held my breath long enough in hope that it would give me death. Little I was and little the brain I had. It was the day when I also realised, that this acting was causing me more harm than good. In normal days it was just a person but today, there are multiple of them.

They made me wear an oxygen mask. They thought I had hard time breathing. Almost all of my relatives and neighbours came to see me and gave my mother fake courage that- I will live! I was lying there. Pretending. Listening. Terrifying. But I did not move.

The reason I had to act like this was my uncle. He was abusing me since I was a baby. I didn't notice much but deep down I knew it was wrong. He made me not to say a word. So I didn't. I lost my voice. I was considered stupid. I was a failure. I lacked in studies. Everyone thought I have no brain. I even had a medicine for it and that too for or a very long time. It made me foggy and more silent.

How unlucky I was! It didn't stop with my acting. It only grew day by day. After the hospital, I had to spend my days in home, alone. My mother was a teacher so she used to give me pills and leave me sleeping. He (my uncle) used to knock doors, like Bang! Bang! Bang! He even tried to break into our house once, but I pretended to sleep. So he made a duplicate key of my house. He came easily and did shit with my body and I couldn't speak. I was high on dosage and whenever my mother came early from the school and asked him how he's here- he told her that- I let him in. And I couldn't say a word. What was there to speak? Who would listen? My mother trusted him. And I didn't trust anyone. Not even my mother. Little I was and little the brain I had.

Great world we live in. Full of Innocence. Flooding with garbage and shit. Provocative. Extremely biased. Poisonous. Democratic!

Years after, when I was a little bigger and much angrier and my father was here, I shouted out loud about the things he had done. Cried my mother and forbidden my father his entry from our house.

A couple of years later, he died out of mouth cancer. Epic isn't it? How you lie about someone's character to the society and end up shutting your mouth permanently. But what was the use? I have been dead from the very beginning. His death did give me a piece of relief but what about the damage which was done? How am I supposed to bring back the person I thought I could be? There is nothing left! I am still living in this house. I am still here. And now- I pretend. I act- to be the person I want!

--Inspired by true events as mentioned by my friend--

We all know that these things are happening all over our pretty world! But the thing is- NO ONE CARES! No one care enough to do anything about it! No one care about the abuse. It is more of a culture where I came from. What do you think this so-called culture of yours do? It sabotages the life of a person from inside out. It ends a life before it even begins!