Photo by Alycia Fung: pexels

My name is Lisa. I was an introverted young lady. And I was always too shy to express my emotions, which is a huge disadvantage for any female. I used to be a very calm person. My father worked for the government, and my mother was also a working woman. I was supposed to be home alone at 4:00 p.m. after returning from school. I had a friend at my next-door neighbor’s house.

My aunt, my father’s sister, and her husband visited to our house one day. Her husband used to come to see her friend, the father of my friend, on a regular basis.

When I was in fifth grade, my uncle visited to her friend’s house and then came to my house with his friend. They inquired, “How are you?” Yeah, I said. I’m all right. They wanted to bring me water. I moved to the fridge when my uncle abruptly locked the main door and yanked me back. I’m not familiar with abuse. I was just ten years old.

They sexually assaulted me. I was shouting a lot, but they were closing my mouth. I was attempting to flee from them. But I was unable to succeed. I was just ten years old, therefore I had no idea about maltreatment. I was just ten years old and had no idea about abuse. It was excruciating.

My mother always advised me not to open the door to strangers, to close the door carefully, and not to walk outside. However, Mom did not teach me about abuse or the importance of being cautious with family members and close friends.

They cautioned me not to tell anyone. They went off, and I collapsed on the bed. I sobbed nonstop till my tears turned to vapors. I didn’t tell anyone about the hard time. I don’t want to stay at home, so I began attending tuitions. I began to consume a lot of food. Then I realized that I was suffering from bulimia. We relocated to another location a few days later due to Dad’s transfer.

I finished high school and began attending university in preparation for graduation. I was madly in love with a man in college, but I never expressed my feelings to him. I was afraid of my past. However, he voiced his intentions, but I rejected and buried my thoughts.

It was the final semester of our graduation. He was still feeling the same way for me. I opened up and conveyed my emotions as well as my memories of my youth. He was the first person I told about my childhood and that terrible day.

Then he said, “It’s okay, I don’t care about your history, I love your heart, not your body”.

My parents are preparing to set up a match for me, so I told them everything about us. They, however, refused to marry him. They made the decision to marry someone else. I made efforts to persuade them. My aunt is also opposed to me. She was continually poking my parents in the direction of me.

I was driving home from college one day. Some guys kidnapped me and gave me narcotics. They assaulted and tormented me for two days. They threw me on the riverbank after two days. I have no recollection of anything. I noticed a man’s face. The worst part is that he is my aunt’s kid. My parents are concerned about me. My aunt informed my parents that I had fled the house.

I returned home with the assistance of cops. My parents and police officers humiliated my lover. My aunt continued to poke my parents.

I couldn’t remain quiet; my quietness was stifled. I told everyone about the traumatic experience and expressed all of my feelings and emotions. After learning this, the man who was supposed to marry me declined to marry me. And I told them about my abusive childhood and my uncle.

I yelled at my aunt, “Don’t tell your kid to stay at home; teach him not to harm girls.” I would not be in this predicament if you had done that.

“I broke my silence, the cops punished those men, my uncle committed suicide, and I married my beloved.”

Teach your sons rather than your girls.

Wearing shorts is not a crime and is not grounds for abuse. Men’s mentalities are important. If it’s because I wore shorts, my childhood wasn’t too tough on me. This society is terrified of men. Women, on the other hand, are punished by being kept in a prison-like environment.

.     .     .

Discus