My mother wants me to live my life according to her wishes.

 This is not a success story. But I will succeed.

 I am 15 years old, yet I cannot believe how I could live for 15 years. First, I want to talk about my family. My mother wants me to live my life according to her wishes: I have to wear what she wants. I have to do what she says. Shortly, her decisions have taken my life hostage. She is tough, but I can resist it. Despite her saying I should be a hijabi, I am still not one. I still love that pant despite her being angry with me every time I wear it. In short, I can rebel against my mom as much as I can, which is not much. My dad is more easy-going than my mom, but he can’t say anything against my mom’s orders. He never says anything about my mom’s psychological abuse. I have two elder and one younger brother. My brothers are Kemalists and civilized people. Yet, they forget what civilization is when it comes to my situation. They are very inconsiderate and insensitive about all the subjects regarding me. I got used to living like this. I get more and more distant from my family. And this is a horrible situation for me. 

 Let’s talk about my life now. I want to tell everything from the point that everything had changed. My childhood passed in the village. I have a friend who is one year older than me. She is more than a friend for me, she is the reason I am holding on to life. In the village, all of my days were passing with her. We would go to her home and play for hours. She also has a brother, and he is the one who ruined my life. I was 6 or 7. He had cornered me a couple times in their house, but I was just a child then, I didn’t understand anything. Some day he took me to a room when I was playing with my friend, he almost raped me at that time. I struggle even when I am telling the story. Suddenly, the door was locked, and the curtains were closed. I was lucky, there was someone in the house, and I left a room just with sexual assault. I ran away from that home, a helpless little girl in the pouring rain. At that moment, I looked up at the sky and thought, “Did God see me? If so, why didn’t he help me?” That day I thought about what I should do in the pouring rain for hours. I was so helpless. When I came home, my mother shouted at me because I was late. I thought if I told her what happened, she would be angrier, and I kept silent. I kept my silence for years.

 My brothers left for college when I was 10. First alone night in our room, I remembered what happened to me years ago. Suddenly I was afraid, and I realized I couldn’t sleep alone. When I told my mom about this, she got outraged. She shouted and locked me into the room at night. Every night, I waited for the sun to come up crying. My sleeping pattern was ruined, and that affected me very much. I was getting more and more distant from my friends, and my grades were dropping, although I was a successful student before.

And most importantly, I was getting distant from my family. Someday, I decided I was going to tell my mother everything. I thought maybe she would pity me. When I told her, the first thing she said was, “Shut up.” I must never tell anybody because it was a shame. It was disgraceful. But I was innocent. Why would people shame me? My mother took me to a psychiatrist, and I started taking sleeping medication. 4 years passed like this: Medicine that makes you paranoid and insecure instead of working and a little girl waiting for the sun to come up crying every single night. In short, all of my childhood passed with fear and helplessness.

I started high school this year. I am not taking medicine anymore. I am not afraid to sleep at night. I am very distant from my family now. My mother hates me. She finds me guilty for everything that had happened. And I don’t know how I can live with this psychological abuse. Sometimes it gets hard to breathe, and I see the helpless little girl under the rain. I see the little girl crying quietly in the feared sleepless nights. I lost myself years ago. I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t find myself. And I cry for hours. Will I ever see the great and sunny days? 

(Image: Prudence Flint)

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