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I am Faithe. Born in a traditional Chinese family, my mum left when I was barely 14 months. I was placed under the care of my grandma while my Dad worked all day. Grandma was an angry old lady who was perpetually cursing everything under her nose. Her chest would sink every time she flared up. Looked like as though her rib cage was protecting her angry heart from falling out. At the age of two, I started my childhood making friend with an old, cold kitchen cabinet. There was this rope that went around my waist and it is with me every now and then, stifling my ability to move forward. It was only when the nights fell then I would be released to bed. I was attached to the kitchen cabinet for almost 10 years. That was the dark corner where all the abuses were carried up conveniently since I could not run away. I remember spending most of my waking hours begging them to release me. Very often, I was beaten, slapped, pinched, kicked, punched, and spat on that very same corner When I couldn't stop crying after 1 good bashing, she would seize me by the throat with one hand and cupped my mouth with another until I turned green. When my vision started to fade away I thought I was going to die, then she would let go. She would repeat the choking process until I stopped crying. In fact hatred was the first feeling I experienced as far as I could remember. I was a puppy that couldn’t bark. When dusk came, I would shake because the kitchen was so dark and quiet. Sometime I stuck my tiny frame so close to the cabinet, hoping that it would swallow me up once and for all. Other times I would cry for my mum I never met. Almost every week Grandma would pick a certain type of green plant from the forest. That plant had the most horrible smell.. After boiling it, she would force it down my throat. She believed it would make me a slave to all her whims. It was common to witness cane marks on my face, bruises and blood on my legs and hands. She pinched my breasts when I was in puberty and probably broke my hymen. I ate the leftover in a green metal bowl on the floor and sometimes it could be red meat after a week. Pork! I hate Pork. I was forced to eat my vomit and strictly not allowed on the table because they said I was the dog in the family and at the same time the “slut, idiot, jinx, bitch, whore…….” When there were guests in the house, I had to be confined to the room. I was a disgrace they said. Grandma claimed that I was ugly and would grow up spreading my legs for a living. For many years when somebody told me that I was beautiful, I thought they were liars. If Grandma was Hitler than my Uncles were the Nazis. There were a few cruel ones who periodically hit me for leisure. There was once I had blood from my eyes when one of the Uncles hit me. I was so traumatised. They took great pleasure teasing and cursing that little pathetic creature. They did fantastic jobs reminding me how hopeless, stupid, ugly useless and worthless I was that my mum had to dump me. I would cry my eyes out while throwing punches in the air. They roared in laughter watching my restricted movements by the rope around me. I couldn’t do much except hugging myself and cried. My Grandpa and two of the Uncles were kind but not man enough to protect me. I was extremely fearful of my Dad. I would start praying when he came home. Those footsteps, tinkling of keys and turning of locks sent chills down my spine. He had fists so huge that one slap could send my head spinning for hours. He cursed in the filthiest language and beat the daylight out of me while grandma stood one corner, clapping and clamouring for more. I had kneeled for hours in the toilet and slept in the dark with little ventilation. Some nights when the thunder raged, I thought it was going to get me. May be I should get sick and die so that Dad could get a new wife. Being the shortest and tiniest girl in class, always a loner, I was shy and timid and spoke no English. Young mothers came to school and brought food for their kids. I locked myself in the toilet. I had no money and most importantly, no mother. Everybody knew that I was an unwanted child because they were told that my mum was a whore. Thanks to Grandma again. Thank you. Twenty years later I got to find out that my mum was never a whore. She remarried and had two the kids ds. Like what one of the teachers called me, I was a nobody’s child. There were also physical abuses and more names calling in school than back home. If I had a choice, I would rather be physically than verbally abused, though words break no bones, it permeate into every fiber of your being and leave your heart bleeding for days, weeks, months and years to come. On one occasion I failed to complete a Maths problem, the teacher made all the kids queued up so that they could hammer my head for ‘being dumb’. As each little knuckles landed on me, my heart shattered a little. I cried so badly that day. A cloud of sadness sat on my chest for many years. At nine, I almost killed myself because I hate to live and wanted to stop the pain. Subsequently, I had murder in my mind…. stabbing Grandma to death and killing my Uncles in their sleep, set the house on fire……... Somehow God made me very strong inside. There was always a gentle voice telling me it would be all right. It would be fine. Just hang on….Don’t retaliate. Don’t make the wrong move. Don’t! I was the Cinderella who scrubbed the whole house from ceiling to the floor, did the laundry, the dishes, struggling with loads of groceries and that was the hardest task because my fingers and feet hurt so much and under the scorching sun my body threatened to give up. I better be impeccable in my chores if not another round of bashing would be on the way. I always thought God must have really detest my existence. Life was like a concentration camp. The Jews died shortly after sending into the gas chamber. For me, it was just mindless struggling every day. Death never came. Somehow that little creature managed to go through school even topped the class later, got out of Grandma’s concentration camp and stayed with Dad at sixteen. She thought she was free. No. The relationship between Dad and me was atrocious. Brief reconciliation ended in violence. I wanted to break free from my Dad’s iron fist. I hated him and wished that he was dead. Loneliness started to eat me up. Little things drove me to the brink of devastation. Some nights fear seized me like an iron fist. Fear that most people can’t comprehend. There was a period I started hearing voices, seeing people in my room and having nightmares. I spent every weekend curling foetus-like on the bed and cried helpless for hours. I had drugs, alcohol, tattoos and self-injury to cease my pain. For years I have told my story thousands of times to friends, relatives, teachers, classmates, acquaintances and even strangers, thinking that it was supposed to be therapeutical. "Damn the abusers! They should perish in hell!" And then what? Nobody could help me. Nobody. I went home feeling drained - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. My inner child was screaming for attention, love and a little warm touch. Some nights I drank myself silly in the pubs. A few occasions I wept helplessly in some stranger’s arms. I want nothing more than a hug. Hug me before I threw myself before some cars. A series of relationships left my heart bleeding profusely. When one boyfriend left, I stopped breathing. I retreated into my shell and cried. My world was built around them. I traded my body for so-called love. I was clinical depressed. Lying on the bed all days and nights, I refused to face the reality. I didn’t eat or bath, merely survive on water for days and flunked high school eventually. I was angry, foul-mouthed, emotionally unstable and totally messed up in all ways. I hate the sun. I hated God. When the man I had loved for six years left, I decided to give another man a chance – Jesus. The moment I kneeled down and prayed, my hearted sank with such immeasurable relief. I cried a river on that particular day three years ago. It was all over now. After twenty-nine years. Done and over. It was an obligation to attend one and half year class in the church before baptism. In the class we were asked to share the reasons for accepting Christ. Of course, my reasons were simple. So in that session, I talked about my traumatic childhood and how God has ferried me through those difficult times .After all, I was in a church and these were God-loving people right? Wrong! I was childlike. Incorrigibly naïve. After that session, I was scrutinized with those head-to-toes glares accompanied with perfunctory smiles. Those "problem child" looks in their eyes were so cruel. My heart was being ripped apart. Totally devastated in that deepest sense of the words. Then I went through a period hating people. It was God who held me in His loving arms and enlightened me in His own mysterious ways. I have come to realise that :- 1) I don't have to get over every single trauma in order to get healed. There were too many. Detached from those memories. Transcend it.Pray for strength. Lord is with me. Always. 2) Protect myself. Certain things can be shared only with the right people. Think about repercussions. There are ignorant and cruel people out there. Don’t get yourself hurt. Don’t. 3) I will not let the abusers stay rent-free in my head. My life can only be better without them. Forgive them. Jesus was stripped naked, mocked, completely humiliated and then publicly executed in the most horrible,excruciating way yet without blaming anyone: “Forgive them, Lord, they know not what they do.” This is a sign of wisdom. – it means when people are crucifying us in every way, it is our hatred, self-pity, pettiness and selfishness that is the problem – the suffering.It is not even the physical pain, it is the aversion. Again detachment works here. Live your life NOW. Yes NOW!Not in the past. It is a totally waste of time. Transcend it. We are God’s children. We are spiritual beings. The black dog, as Winston Churchill called his haunting depression, will say hello now and then. It is fine. Transcend it. Don’t give any attention. Keep moving. 4) At the end of the day, it is between God and me. Therefore, I don't have to think give a rap about what people think. I don't need approval from anybody. Be gentle on yourself folks. Kids like us have come a damn loooooong way.Accept yourself. Love yourself. Certain things will still trigger me off now and then. I do a lot of soul-searching especially when negative feelings overwhelmed for no apparent reasons. I will keep still and contemplate. Is it the look on that person face that resembles one of my abusers or the scream of that child that unmistakably sounded like my own at his age pissed me off in the supermarket today? Each time the answer will never fail to surface. I cultivate the habit of discarding toxic relationships, thoughts, speeches and actions. I believe detoxification works extremely well in my healing process. It has taken me quite a while to let go a toxic 16-year-old friendship. Didn’t I have enough people telling me how worthless I was, did I? It was simply not worth to trade self-esteem for friendship. Sometimes friends can be subtle and insidious abusers. I read all kinds of books that could aid me in my self-healing. Meditation definitely helps. Currently I am pursuing a Business degree and have all the intentions to read Child Psychology after this. My mission is to help the abused kids. All of you folks out there, God is with us. I love you. God loves you. When you feel lonely and troubled, remember God is around. I will pray for you. Just email me at jesusparousia@yahoo.co.uk Please show your support for the all of physically, emotionally and sexually abused children of the world, by putting a symbol of teardrop on your homepage or in your e-mail signature. For more info, please do to www.wtv-zone.com/Jae/Teardrop_project.html Be brave. Be strong! Be the sage, remain composed, cool, calm, collected. Stand straight etherically in silent strength. With great love and respect God bless you folks Faithe Click HERE to return to the edited story Click HERE to create a banner that links to this story! Your e-mail address will be kept private!
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