I was raised by strict parents. They’ve always spent their time reminding me how I’m always going to be fooled by the outside world. How I’m going to get hurt by people.
How I shouldn’t trust anyone till I get married and the famous, “You are our responsibility till your marriage, after that, you can do whatever you want.”
I never really had a reply to these statements of theirs. It should come as no surprise to you, that my brother was always free to do as he wishes. I guess coming out of the same womb isn’t enough of a reason to expect the same treatment for the both of us.
As time passed, I got married to a man my parents picked for me. Of course, we had ups and downs: don’t all marriages? But soon, everything only started spiraling downwards.
I began getting restless at home. I asked him if I could work, maybe something part-time. I would leave after he did for work, and be back much earlier.
And that’s when he surprised me. At first, it was just abuses thrown at me. Soon, our fights began to end more physically. He started beating me. I was hurt. Confused even.
My parents kept me confined within the walls of their love. They gave me away to this man, whom they believed were capable of giving me the same (if not more) love and comfort. And now, here I am, my body broken and my heart hurting.
Unsure of my next steps, I left his house. No questions asked, no long-drawn conversation with my family, or even a feeble thread of hope that he will change.
And in all these years, it’s the strongest decision that I have made.