Week 6

Photo taken by me in Australia

“Fall seven times, stand up eight”.

Up to week 6, can’t believe how fast time flies!

This is a long read with triggers. Please read at your own risk.
If you’re new to reading my blog please take the time to read from week 1 so it all makes sense to you.

I have been summarising my life as I know if we went into full detail we would be reading for hours a week instead of minutes and I understand some of my readers, well, aren’t big readers; but are interested in the content.

The little town I lived in crime rate had risen and my family was one of many that copped it. I couldn’t stand idly be and take it.

The new comers were transferred from other small towns where they were known for extreme violence and brought the heat here.
They would stalk my family like prey and my anxiety went through the roof.

I wondered why my family would always fall victim to these scum bags when we never did anything to them. My family kept to themselves.
I found out that our big mouth, nosey neighbour was the one always calling the cops on these people then telling them it was my parents doing it. I was furious when I found out. She was a piece of shit. Making fraudulent claims from the government and claiming more money than they had a right to. She loved starting fights for her own entertainment but would place blame on our family so she wouldn’t cop heat.
It didn’t matter how many times I told the others that my family weren’t police informants because as soon as I defended them my neighbour was quick to make up another story.
There is nothing worse than looking like an informant in our neighbourhood. I was on guard and had adrenalin running through my body every second of every day.

I made a rash decision to keep my family safe; again.
One of my friends came from a high crime family. All family members in and out of jail, strong fighters, drug dealers and ran in circles of people that would traffic heavy drugs into the area. So associating with heavies came with the territory. I wanted in on that circle. I wanted to keep my family safe so for me this was the best way to do so. I felt like it was my families only way out. It was the worst decision I could have made.

I was only 15 when I made this decision. I was too young to be making decisions for my family and it should have been them making choices for themselves. But for some reason I felt it was my responsibility. Probably because I was raised to protect and look after my family. I really wish I knew then what I know now.

This decision still haunts me to this day. The thought of it initially scared me but now I’m filled with rage.

My friend had a brother that was single. He was 21 so I was unsure if he would be interested in me but I made it easy. I lured him in like Medusa without casting him to stone. Over the next couple of weeks he will be referred to as FW.

FW was 6 years older and since I was a minor, he was basically a paedophile. He was a high school drop out drug addict, drug dealer and heavy alcoholic. Despite all of this he appeared to be the nicest man I had ever met. He was such a gentleman and ever so sweet.

I never had anyone care for me the way he did with the words he would use. I really felt safe around him and his family and more importantly my family were safe.

My mum decided to take me overseas to visit our family on the condition that I don’t smoke. She said I could drink but not smoke. My asthma was really bad so she didn’t condone it but she knew that she couldn’t stop me from doing everything I’m accustomed to. At least I could taste alcohol. I spoke to FW every day that I was there, making out courting stage stronger every day. My family that I was visiting lived in the same area as the al-Qa’ida, another dangerous area where people were killed or went missing or were trafficked. I don’t look like my family from overseas, I looked like a white girl so I was under guard at all times to ensure I wouldn’t be harmed. It was full on.
One day we visited a small village because my cousin set up a photo shoot for me there. I was so excited. Once my mum and uncle found out they refused so I fought back, until I found out why. It turns out my cousin was trying to sell me to human traffickers. When my family found out she was beaten for it. Rightfully so, everyone in my family loved me so to have her show such disrespect was huge. It was a big wake up call for me culturally. I realised I shouldn’t steer away from my guards and that I need to be vigilant at all times.
That wasn’t the only hiccup in the road over there. When I was flying back to the capital city of this developing country I was attacked on an aeroplane by a couple of men. I was travelling with my mum, lola and cousins. They couldn’t defend me out of fear of being killed so I took the beating but it traumatised me. I cried and looked into the eyes of my cousin. I could see fear in his eyes too. Better me to be beaten than them though, right?
All in all despite the violence and doting security it was a great trip seeing my family. I couldn’t wait to see FW though. Our courtship before I left for overseas wasn’t long so when I was overseas, we made up for it. Now that I can see him in the flesh I’m so excited.

This is a man that made me feel so confident and so happy. An experience I never had with a male. I couldn’t get enough of him and he couldn’t of me either.
I thought I finally found my place in life with the perfect man by my side. Oh how I was wrong – but we’ll get to that.

He presented me with a beautiful gold butterfly necklace and called me his “Asian butterfly”. This made our relationship official.
I felt on top of the world. My family were safe and despite FW family being really bad criminals, he didn’t seem bad. He would buy me nice things, take me out to eat, compliment me almost every hour and of course we drank a lot together too.

Everything seemed great. Until it wasn’t.

Once we made our relationship official I started to see changes in him. He became more controlling. It was like he took ownership over me. One night I told one of my friends when we were all drinking and she started beating FW. He fought back by choking her. I was shocked. He’s hurting a woman. I’ve seen a lot of domestic violent relationships but he always said he’s never hit a woman and now I see him beating one. What the fuck? I’m quick to run to my friends aid. FW then grabs both of my hands and twists my wrists so far around that I hear cracking noises and feel sharp pain. Again, I’m in shock. Who is this man? FW panics and runs away.

Fuck that, I don’t want to be with a man like that. I decided it’s time to move on but soon realised it wasn’t my decision to make.

When FW found me, I told him it’s over and I wanted out. He was quick to remind me about my family’s safety and what could happen to them. What am I supposed to do?! Be with a man who could potentially do more than twist my wrists for the sake of my family?

Well shit, didn’t I make a “great decision” being with this man. I should have known better but I thought he was different to his family. He fucking wasn’t.

It wasn’t long after that, that I experience much more worse things. I found out that FW had a really bad gambling habit. He was living off of government benefits and I was working, so guess who had to feed his habit? Me.
He drank alcohol like it was water so guess who had to feed that habit too? Me.

So after he twisted my wrists the first time he found it to be a fitting punishment every time I did something that was “wrong” in his eyes.
It got worse from there.
He went from twisting my wrists to beaten the shit out of me. And I mean beating.

The first couple of times he beat me he would cry after and promise not to do it again. He would even go so far as to buy me jewellery after each beating as if to say he is sorry and was making amends.

But how can you reward such bad behaviour?

I would break up with him and he would threaten to harm my family, going into full detail about what he would do. So I essentially felt trapped. But I knew there was a way out. I knew as soon as I turned 18, I could report him to the police. But turning 18 was years away and what I didn’t realise is that time doesn’t fly by when you’re not having fun.

I felt so trapped. This was disgusting. I couldn’t tell my parents out of fear of them being harmed by FW and his family but also out of shame.
FW would punch, bite, kick, head-butt and choke me till I would black out. He would spit on me. Strip me of my clothing and rape and beat me and humiliate me. He would say things that would stain my mind. Threaten me, tell me what he was going to do to me then do it.

FW abused me physically, emotionally, mentally and financially.

I couldn’t hold a job any more. I couldn’t have people questioning my relationship and the bruises and welts. This meant FW had more time with me to do as he pleased.

He would go on benders, cheat on me with multiple women then come back and bash me, take my money and repeat the cycle.

I would fight back, I would scream, yell, call him every insult I could ever imagine, mock him, scratch him. He would tell everyone that I’m crazy when really, he made me that way.

He would tell everyone that I beat him up but leave out what he would do to me.

He had full control over me and he knew it.

He became obsessed with choking me and if he wasn’t choking me he was smothering my nose and mouth so I would suffocate. The look on his eyes as he did this was haunting. It was truly terrifying. I would black out. I thought I’d die. But sure enough I’d wake up to him raping my barely alive body or spitting on me or even wake up to him on his phone finding other women to sleep with or talking to his mates.
It just seemed normal for him to do this.

I was helpless.
My mind and my body weren’t my own.
And just to think, it gets worse.
I would cry to my friends and ask for help. They didn’t know I was staying with FW because I was scared for my family’s safety. They just thought I was an idiot that liked getting beaten up. My “friends” lost interest in me and dropped me.

I was lucky enough to catch up with an old childhood friend. We were drinking and having a great time. FW was calling and texting like crazy and I ignored him which made him angrier. But I didn’t care. I knew I was gonna get bashed so I may as well have a good time first, right?

I get home and FW is in my room, he is furious. He found out where I was from one of his family members. He went to attack me but I got in first and started choking him. I finally felt powerful. I finally had control. Maybe I could beat the shit out of him for a change. He overpowered me and started hitting me. I was so emotional and broken and just over it.
I cut open a coke can and cut myself. I wanted to be in control of the pain I was feeling. FW couldn’t let me have control. He said “you want to cut yourself and bleed then I’ll fucking cut you!”.

And that’s when everything happened so fast.

He grabbed a sharp long object that looked like a mini sword from my bedside table and stabbed me in the leg. All I felt was cold metal clicking against my bone in my thigh. He went so deep through the skin and muscle of my thigh that he hit my bone. All of this blood appears, my bed sheets are soaked in it. I can’t see the wound because I’m wearing pants. I try crawling off the bed but he keeps pulling me back in. My whole body is shaking and I’m screaming. My dad is in the lounge room, why can’t he hear me screaming???? FW disappears from the room. I’ve lost so much blood that I’m barely moving at this point. I know he’s coming back but I can’t move. Lord if ever there was a time I needed you, it’s now.
FW comes back with a big kitchen knife. I’m saying the lords prayer, stuttering and just making out the words. FW puts the knife against my through and tells me it’s my time to die. I’m still saying the lords prayer and can feel the pressure of the sharp knife piercing my skin and somehow, despite falling in and out of consciousness from the stab wound and blood loss, I find the strength to push the life away and throw it. FW is shocked. He doesn’t know what to do so he runs out of my house.

The next 24 hours were the hardest. I was falling in and out of consciousness on my blood-soaked bed. I took photos of the wound for evidence for when I turned 18. The wound was a big black hole and the entrance of it became hard and large and swollen like a big tennis ball. Every time I moved my leg blood would burst out. I couldn’t walk. I tried to get up to use the toilet but couldn’t make it so I had to piss the bed. I thought I was gonna die and didn’t know when I would be found.

My relationship with my family was estranged so even though we lived together we wouldn’t talk. I don’t know if they’d ever come into my room to check on me.

I lay in bloody and piss-soaked sheets for 24 hours. What a way to die.

I’m feeling extremely exhausted from writing this so I’ll write more next week. Thanks for reading.
If you’re feeling triggered or distraught please call your local mental health line or counselling service.

See you next week.

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