In my younger self, I found an incandescent love for life and everything that life had to offer. However in my formative years, I never really made connections that pulled at the strings of my heart. Hence, I had already rejected some of the sweet nectar that life had to offer at a very tender age. And then I was rejected, as a countermeasure, I was kept away, under strict guidelines, from all that might, I repeat, might be harmful for an education I later will find out I didn’t have any use of. In the milieu of my puberty, when sexuality was a curious subject for many, I had already faced the dreadful, a statutory warning for what was expected to happen to young girls if they were not careful. At 15, young girls hardly think of taking their own life, but I did, but then I never could build up the courage to do the unspeakable. My private tutor invaded the privacy of my home and my body with his reckless fingers, leaving burn marks wherever they touched. My breasts became my enemy that I wanted to cut off. I lost every sensation in my body in one fell sweep. Just when I thought it was over, it continued, for 3 months, 4 days a week. Recovering is an art, and I was scattered beyond recognition. Sitting by the bed, slitting my thighs, where scars won’t be easily visible I took out my anger on my body. Self-harming was a little-known concept, all that mattered was the peace that came after. By the time I was in college, I had nothing but a sense of disgust for myself and my body. And everyone assured me that I should thank the Heavens for I was not raped. However, I again started believing in what some would call wishful thinking for girls like me. I was in love and an inexplicable passion roared in my blood every time I saw him and a fear crept alongside it, every time he touched me. No matter how sweet the caresses were, it loaded me with fear and disgust. I hated even when my father lovingly caressed my hair. However, I was in love and I believed everything will fall into place, but little did I know all that will remain are the ashes of a relationship that met its brutal end when one of us succumbed to what now is known as clinical depression. A courage that I lacked when I was 15, he garnered it at 19 and the rest is history. It wasn’t long before I pawned my heart for moments of happiness that I have long realised were simulations, which if left unchecked can become addictive. I let myself roll deeper into the abyss of this self hatred ever since. Since I was 15, I have been a victim of molestation thrice, and a victim of sexual assault once. I have seen how destructive negligence of mental health can be. I have seen my boyfriend succumb to suicide even after the warnings were raised. We don’t take mental health seriously because it’s not a disease that’s visible to the naked eye. But if we look closely, pay a little more attention, be more tethered to the world, we will be able to see the signs, the red flags, and maybe we will be able to help a person survive. I survived because I have a strong support system and everyone deserves that.
If you or someone you know is facing or has faced any form of sexual abuse, you can report it by calling 1098.
If you are searching for support networks for women survivors of sexual abuse, please contact the RAHI Foundation (Delhi) by email: info@rahifoundation.org or Tulir – Centre for the Prevention & Healing of Child Sexual Abuse (Chennai) by email: tulircphcsa@yahoo.co.in.
For more resources, you can visit: http://ncw.nic.in/frmhelpline.aspx
