The Past II

I just want to quickly point out, that these chapters can get quite harsh and unpleasant quite quickly, so younger and more sensitive readers please be aware. Chapter III may not be so pleasant.

Continued ..

At the age of 11, I had simply become more odd, more silent, and my life hadn’t even begun yet. Primary school ended, and I found myself in a car stuffed with all my belongings. My whole life had been heartlessly jammed into boxes, scribbled labels giving away the contents. It felt as if I myself had been put in one of those boxes, with a label reading “unwanted child” as the car drove further and further away from home. I was moving to Denmark to live with my mother.

I have no idea who had made the decision, nor why the decision had been made, but facts were, I was being pulled from my roots, out of my safety zone, and placed with a mother I didn’t know.

10 days after my arrival I started school, and realised that nothing had changed; I was still the odd girl, with the odd stare, who never spoke much, and didn’t even speak their language. People avoided me, and the snorts of badly hidden laughter would follow and haunt me every time I tried to speak. Shortly after, hell broke loose at home too. My mother started to show her true side.

Comments such as “tuck your tummy in, you are too fat to be my daughter. If you keep on looking like that, I don’t even want to know you” and “If you weren’t so ugly and chubby, I might actually take you out every once in a while” started to form my everyday life. Chores were piled on to me, without a chance of me ever completing them all, and when I failed, punishment awaited. The bathroom wasn’t spotless; No dinner. The dishes weren’t clean; No duvet at night. The house wasn’t tidy; No music, games, friends or free time. Hadn’t finished eating my dinner; Cutlery would be taken, and I would have to eat with my hands or mouth depending on what was being served. Privacy was a privilege I had not earned. Whenever a visit to the bathroom was needed, the door was to be wide open, and my stepfather was to sit by the door and watch me, whether I was going to the loo, brushing my hair or showering. Showering had to be done without warm water or soap, no curtain or door was allowed to obscure the view for the far too curious eyes staring at my naked body, and towels were never available. Food was scarce, with padlocks on the fridge and cupboard. I could eat when dinner was served, or else I would have to earn it – This could usually be done by rubbing my mothers feet, commenting on her clothing or buying cigarettes for her on my way home.

After a while, I started sinking even deeper, deprived of sleep, food and love and I became lifeless. The only time I could feel I was still alive, was when my mother would smash my head into the wall, slap me across the face, drive her nails into my neck or throw me onto the floor. If only I had known back then, how blissful that could be ..

Will be continued ..