I stole a tomato thing-a-magic (you know the ones where you squirt out the tomato sauce from the middle) at the age of 5 from a fish and chip shop. Walked out with it under my dress. My mother saw me with my hand under my dress and says, "What is that you've got?" I show her and she takes it from me and makes me go back with her. The guy at the fish and chip shop had a huge mustache, which I secretly envied and ever since wished I was a guy so I could grow a mustache like that. He gave me a huge lecture about how I would go to jail if I ever stole again. That was the end of my shop stealing ways as a child.
Then at the age of 14 I started stealing again, this time it was mainly books and magazines and tampons and art-supplies. I also started using the phone late at night when everyone was asleep calling friends as I wasn't allowed to use the phone, got really smart at it too so that my parents wouldn't know by calling random numbers after I was done with the phone so that if they hit redial they would get some random number instead.
At 14 I also started walking the streets at night or when everyone thought I was busy, would climb out of the bedroom window walking the streets hoping that some guy would pick me up and murder me. Really sick I know, at the time I couldn't understand what was wrong with me, why on earth I was doing that, how stupid how sick, but looking back I know that I was just really, really messed in the head.
I wanted to die and my own suicide attempts hadn't worked so I hoped that some sicko would pick me up and kill me instead. For some reason I'd chicken out every time a guy would slow down and ask me if I wanted a ride, or if I wanted to service them, or insist that they take me somewhere and every time I'd just run off as fast as I could and cry 'cause I couldn't understand what was wrong with me, why was I doing that. Every time I'd hate myself for walking the streets and everytime I'd hate myself for not going through with it and just fucking getting my death over and done with. Had one guy actually get out of his car to try to grab me, but I was fast and ducked him and ran back home. That ended when my father one day caught me and bashed me senseless. Thank fuck I never did get picked up, but fucking hell was I messed in the head.
I remember wishing my parents would die in a car crash, even prayed for it and felt so guilty, so bad, so evil to want that. I had so many fantasies of hurting my father, and felt so bad about them. But I felt completely powerless, was so scared of my father that I couldn't do anything or escape the hell I was living in and couldn't make him stop.
14 years old was the age I was when my father started using me, and was the age I started acting out the most, even though at younger ages I'd been sexually abused by an uncle which had started when I was 5 and stopped by the time I was 12, but all the same, for some reason at earlier ages I'd been content with just the self-harming, and by the time I was 14 I'd graduated onto suicide attempts, stealing, and trying to get guys to pick me up on the streets to murder me. I was so messed up in the head and couldn't understand what was wrong with me, I hated myself so much and couldn't understand why I hadn't died, why I'd survived, why was I still alive and how to change myself so that men wouldn't want me in that way and how to make it so that the bad things would stop happening. I really believed it was all my fault, for some reason I'd been born on this earth to suffer endlessly and I didn't know how to make myself different so that people wouldn't need to hurt me any more.
I was one messed up kid, hence why when I see kids acting out it really makes me wonder what have they been through and what's the real reason behind why they are doing it.
Such a painful look back at your life, it's amazing that you are here now, still able to laugh and still able to keep trying. You know they say women with children are less vunerable to suicide, so that's our blessing right. If not for us and the broken things we think of ourselves, at least for our children and the sort of life we want to give them. I have learned to love myself through the eyes of my children. It barely touches your background, or helps with the lonely broken moments, but it helps keep us grounded and moving forward.
This
<< doesn't really express what I want to express, but I think you get it. We get by da_dude, there is pain in memory but we get by
Topic: Shafilea Ahmed murder: parents 'killed daughter for dating boys'