I told myself I'd read this thread when I had some free time, but I didn't realise what I was in store for. It's stirred me in ways I'm not sure words can do justice.
I really empathise with your position. I feel I can really relate to much of your story, but then at parts I'm not sure I can completely comprehend what it must have been like, what it would be like to be there. I've never been married, never had children and never been with a physically abusive lover.
Stories like yours make me fearful for the future of my sisters. Who will they end up with? Will these men be abusive, would they even tell us? One of my reasons for coming back to England was to put myself in a position where I could take care of any of my other siblings that wanted to escape. I could give them a home, shelter, an escape. I've managed to convince one to come join me, but that took a bit of work and he's already a bit liberal.
I don't have much faith the others will follow suit.
A number of the things you said really penetrated me though, I wanted to comment on them, which might make this post a little long, but I feel almost compelled to say these things. Even if they're thoughts long gone.
One of the things that I regret and I don't say this lightly, but one of the things that I regret I missed during my childhood and during my marriage was that I didn't get to listen to music other than the religious non-instrumental kind, except with the exception of the odd wedding where arabic music was played 'cause less strict relatives of who-ever was getting married would demand it. Even at my own Walima I missed out on having music played. I missed out on so much, yet I have memories of when I was a young girl singing my guts out making up songs of my own, music sung to an invisible being up in the sky who back then I loved and feared. I missed out on so much. It is one of my regrets, 'cause if I'd been brave enough to walk out and talk, I would have experienced music at a much younger age.
I feel exactly the same way. It's weird sometimes, hearing people listening to the music they heard when they were young. Sometimes everyone jumps up and cheers to a song I've never heard, they know the lyrics, the melody and the rhythm perfectly, but to me it sounds like cold air. I'm not sure I even like the damn song, but their minds had heard it so frequently that they could re-live a thousand past memories listening to it once again, and also create a new one.
While I feel left out in those moments, I also feel this deeper glee. I realise where I am. I'm in a place I never ever thought I'd be. Jammin' with people that actually enjoy music and sing it aloud. I'm allowed to do this, not allowed, I MUST do these things. I realise that, despite my past, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Anyways on this occasion when he'd said that, I had the song with the lyrics "Can't touch me," go through my head, so I started singing whilst doing the rap movements, "Can't touch me! Du du du, Can't touch me!" whilst completely covered in black from head to toe and it made him burst into laughter. Lol it was funny, 'cause I realized I shouldn't have done that, but it had made him laugh so made me happy.
This reminds me so vividly of the good times I had with my father. He could be violent, he could be oppressive, he could be a monster, but sometimes we'd laugh and I'd actually really have a good time. It's not quite the same as having a significant other be that way at all, but still, despite the horror I remember vividly one day when we were designing a logo together. My brother decided to be silly and gave off these signals, simple body language that I read which suggested he was going to do something silly, so I waited for what he had to say and immediately he suggested that we put a few monkeys around the logo (which was for an IT company btw) and I agreed, saying the monkeys should be wearing gold or even jewellery and for a moment I saw my father actually consider the idea. There were his two oldest sons, suggesting something that sounded absolutely mad, but completely straight-faced and serious, so for a moment he considered it too and then said "I... I don't know if that would work..." and then my brother and I busted out laughing and soon enough he got the joke and he did too.
It's a quality memory of mine, in a dark dark time.
Sigh, boy did I waste alot of time being not-bothered.
I shall take heed of these words.
I just wish they would really truly love me and just let me be who I am and not rant and rave at me about how I'm going to hell and gonna burn forever and what a shame I am to them and how I'm such a huge disappointment and how I'm so fucking evil and stupid and will never be happy unless I do what they want/believe what they want/have the same values as them/be fucking obedient to them.
I really feel this too. Currently, I live with one of my brothers, who's Muslim, and a sister that's Christian. It's a funny story really. I love them dearly and would do anything for them, I could easily live alone. It would be easier for me to do so, but I care about them a lot and feel I have to take care of them, so we live together for the sole purpose of me being sure they're okay, that they're happy.
Both of them think if I die how I am now, I'll probably go to hell.
I don't blame them for this. They're not completely aware of my intentions for living with them. They'd just feel guilty if I was open about it so I keep it to myself, I don't do things for people to see things in return, I just wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to them. It's incredibly depressing to know their thoughts despite their actions sometimes, but overall I'm content with how things are.
I hate feeling this way. I hate thinking that there is something fundamentally wrong with me. I hate days like today where from the moment I wake up I'm in mental anguish.
I'll snap out of it soon, but I'm just so confused 'cause I keep thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm the fucking common denominator here, my parents hated me, my X hated me, that's what's wrong is me, I'm the problem."
Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me, but I always know there isn't. It's probably a weird thing to say, but "thinking" something and "knowing" something can conflict at times for me. I hope that no matter what happens that might make you think there's something wrong with you, you always know you're actually awesome!
I remember saying to a bunch of people once, "Most people disagree with my views" and they then said in a sort of patronising tone "Why ever do you think MOST people would disagree with you Adam" and I looked them straight in the eyes and said, "Mostly because most people are wrong". They thought that was incredibly arrogant and protested, so I said "A good portion of the world is Christian, another Muslim. Christians believe Jesus was crucified, Muslims believe he wasn't. One of them is wrong. So far we have a good portion of the world that is definitely wrong about one thing." Then I proceeded to give them other contradictory views and show them that in the end, because everyone couldn't be right, most people had to be wrong.
They thought that was even more arrogant.
Silly humans.
Yeah, one fucked up family, that's for sure, but it's so hard to not let myself think that it's me that's the problem, so many years of being told you are tends to do that to a person.
It's hard for me at times like that. Especially when they have conversion-fest over here and try to ram pascal's wager down my throat. I'm cool with it and even encourage it from time to time, but I'm really soft on them. Sometimes in those moments I look around and ask myself, can I really be the only one with eyes? That's what the human part of me says, at least. The robot part only tuts.
I'm so sick of it. What kind of mother am I if my kids have to listen to me screaming in my sleep? I feel like the worst mother ever, as I'm supposed to be the mother here and help my kids when they have nightmares, not the other way around. I'm worried my nightmares might be traumatizing for the kids, that my screaming in my sleep probably scares them.
If it means anything, I was always worried when my own mum seemed a little sad or upset and the times she was really upset always confused me, it wasn't disturbing though. When I grew older, I understood them and it made me realise how sensitive she really was. I think back and re-interpret events, understanding them all the time. Memories of my own mother's moments have never upset my relationship with her, nor tainted my opinion of her.
Dear Little Brother, I hope you will find your wings and soar. It's truly beautiful up here.
I feel this so much. My littlest brother Mikeil. What will he end up as? Will he follow suit, will he end up like my dad? Will he a violent psychopath? or will he think for himself, he was quite independent, perhaps he will break free from the shackles of religion and be his own person. Perhaps...
Will he even remember me?
Sometimes I've wondered, thought that maybe I'm really back with my X and have gone totally mentally insane and have hallucinated this life I have now, it seems too good. I've wondered to myself over and over again over the years, how on earth can my life be this good? How come it keeps getting better slowly over time? How on earth did I escape? How come I'm not still back there? How come I get to live in an apartment with my children with a telly and music and dvds and plants and paint and story books to read to them? I don't feel like I will ever be good enough to deserve all of this, to deserve to get to just be, to get to eat whatever I want, or that I get to live in safety without getting hit, that I get to have sunlight streaming through the windows, that I get go outside the house when I want, that I get to have friends, real friends, not people who I have to be friends with 'cause someone else tells me that this woman you can be friends with but not that woman.
I feel so incredibly humbled and in awe at the journey I've made. I can't understand, I look back at that woman who lived back there, and see a ghost of me now, how did that ghost get to here today. I'm humbled and awed that I get to just be, to live here, to not have to cower in fear every day when hearing certain footsteps, 'cause we are safe, we are free, we get to dance, we get sing, we get to get our own home.
I get to fly.
Brought a tear to my eye.
I love.
Topic: Broken Birdie Flying - Blog of this Ex-Muslim