I will start by saying: these posts about my childhood trauma I’m telling you guys; is a heavy topic. Sensitive people and minors are advice to not read this. The content contains rape, violence, mental abuse, physical abuse, and death. Pedophiles, killers and a lot of narcissism.
I write here to sort out my flashbacks and memories. But also, to leave something for investigation, in case something bad happens to me. I have survived a lot and it would be a shame to get this far and not be able to tell my story, just in time.
This is in Sweden.
Why would your parents make you into an underachiever?
That’s a question worth some reflection upon. I mean, what would one gain to see one’s own kid not reach their own full potential. What’s more important than your kid’s well-being and success.
Even if you have no money or any means to give your children the best. Why would you stand in their way and cripple them? Kids always give their best. They try to make their parents proud. If their parents seem to struggle, they try not to let their parents feel the pain they are going through. So they mask themselves with a happy smile. These kids try to be off so little burden as possible. Because they feel unwanted.
Do you know what kind of kids wouldn’t want to be a burden? The kids who have a parent that see them as a burden. The parent that turn kindness into business. The parent with conditional love. That parent becomes a burden on the child, in so many ways.
Ok, enough with the philosophy. Now over to what makes me sit down here and write this. Rape, it is rape. Not only physical but mental rape as well.
Yesterday I was at a Workshop called Media Hack. Fanzingo came all the way from Alby (part of Botkyrka) to Malmo to hold Workshops and give us inspiration about how we could make our own media. They showed us some clips, and one of them were about Fittja (part of Botkyrka as well) where I have grown up.
There I saw this girl that I recognized as one of our neighbor’s daughters. The youngest of Benali’s daughters. These girls were the all A-straight achievers in school. At the top of their classes. They had a lot of respect in the neighborhood and at school. They were all pretty with glowing faces.
The girls in the clip had a discussion about the image of Fittja, in the media. How only people who are not from Fittja were able to describe it in media. I remember when I was as defensive as them about the image of Fittja. Segregation is a huge problem. I remember when I classmate told me that she accidentally dozed off on the T-bana and woke up in Fittja. She was terrified as if she had woken up in another country.
The state of being defensive. I recognized that in myself, from this little girl; she is not so little anymore. Trying to love something that doesn’t love you back. Fighting to make things work out. The unhealthy discussions and apathy. Does that sound like relationship abuse? Damn right it does.
I had to learn the hard way; if something doesn’t work, let it go.
But something wasn’t right with this girl. She looked grey and pale. My heart goes out to her. I knew straight away when I saw her, that her dad had raped me too. Her dad was too old for her mother and we never saw him outside or ever. He was a mystery.
And then I started remembering, one of my sisters was there too. She was just a baby back then. And so was this little girl. I was fighting for my life, and so were they. There was music, bag pipes that her dad, my dad, and some egyptian man were playing. Noisy music and they tried to make us dance as if we were snakes in a basket.
From being on the top floor under some sheets to being in the basement. Days had gone by. Suddenly I’m in the kitchen and waiting for my food. But first, her mom in front of the stove, had to pour some sort of drug into my food. I was starving and reckless. I was drunk/under the influence of drugs.
Next, I remember being awake and on my way out of their house as if it was time to leave and I thought to myself. How did I even get into their house, when did I even get here? So weird. But home I went. And my mom’s look was like; everything went according to plan, everything is as it should be, you are home now and that’s the end of it. She was all satisfied with the process.
I was just confused and glad to be home. I don’t usually talk to my mom so why would I now?
This woman put drugs into her daughter’s food. This woman was my baby sister’s Arabic teacher in Kindergarten. This woman never spoke to me and was basically a stranger. This woman learned from my mother how to use drugs in food. My mom has worked with a lot of neighbors.
(For my sisters: the 3 white poisons are; sugar, salt and flour. Use himalayan salt (pink), brown sugar or no sugar. No bread! Check Pinterest for new inspiration.) Det är lätt att blanda droger i vita pulvriga produkter obviously. Res inte utomlands om du inte har råd att betala för din egen mat eller åka direkt flyg! Låt ingen beställa mat åt dig. Ät inte fucking salami eller vattenmelon från din farsa eller egentligen något han köper. Inget som har håll i sig, brukar/flaskor. Släng allt! Laga mat för dagen, ät för dagen. Spara inget till han. Och ni kommer få se att han inte köper något nytt mer. Inte änns Zamzam vatten från dessa människor. Ont i magen, huvudvärk, yr? Glömt vilken dag det är? Notera!
Her daughter might not have been an underachiever in school. She however was still stuck in Fittja and didn’t seem to have a healthy self-esteem in my eyes. What chance do you have with yourself and drugs? When you don’t even know you are being druged.
I know that physical rape has an effect on you mentally even if you are not aware that you are being raped. The close to death experiences. The harsh treatment. The verbal repression. It all stays, and you have no idea why you feel so sick and tired constantly. People around you try to boost your confidence but to no use.
Because they have mentally raped you as well. They have damaged your soul and spoken directly to your heart, with no conscious filter for you to defend yourself. They told your subconscious that you are worthless and helpless. They tried to kill the core of who you are, make you a submissive slave. Tame you, humiliate you and control you.
As a kid, I was a bright child. Unlike many children; I loved school, loved school food, respected teachers. Because they saw me, and that was my escape from home. From my mental hell.
This woman however, worked in my little sister’s kindergarten. I bet she destroyed her trust for grown ups. My baby sister didn’t like her.
I believe in my sisters because they have went through a lot of hell but still stand strong. Their souls are tired but they keep fighting to keep the family intact.
Not knowing there is no family. It’s just a facade.
They are bright, passionate girls that could achieve so much more than being mediocre and live a life full of stress and disappointment. Why choose survival when you could thrive?
My parents are strictly sell outs and my brothers don’t think it’s a problem as long as it doesn’t happen to them. As long as my older brothers don’t ger raped they are okey with their sisters being raped: that’s rape culture right there. Isn’t it? When you live with over privileged people like that, you live with narcissists.
Narcissists are not your family. They know how to pretend and manipulate. They know how to empty you and make you codependent. How to get the best out of you and give you almost nothing back.
That’s not what a loving family does. A loving family doesn’t turn kindness and trust into a selfish business. A family doesn’t abuse the powerless members in the family.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or, as I believe: what doesn’t kill you gives you unhealthy coping skills. Like being distrustful, judgmental and righteous.
Thank you for reading through!