DAY 37

CW: Description of abuse, child abuse

When I hit puberty, warden said that she would only buy a bra if I give her evidence that I do need a bra. This obviously involves being topless in front of her. I did not want to but I had to because otherwise, she would not get me a bra. She never let me choose which bra fits me most. She always chose them for me and they were always been sports bra. I am not sure why she always lean towards sports bra. She said that I should wear bras so my breasts stay perky. She compared my breasts to my twin sister’s. She made opinions about my breasts and their growth.

She is a pervert who offends a child and that child was me. I had nowhere to go. I was emotionally manipulated to think that she is the best mother on earth. I did not know any better because I had no comparison or idea of what normal parents would do because I have never been allowed to make friends and socialize.

This is the flashback I had since yesterday and it was hard to concentrate on anything. I was depressed yesterday. I can’t believe someone like this still live three blocks away from me. I can’t believe how her sister does not even stand up TO her.

Please. Stand up TO the perpetrator. No parents should abuse their child. Parents should provide security and protection not being the main threat to their mental and physical well-being.

Where did my father go? Why did he not see this? All those years I was abused, he could sleep and not think about me? Spending his days with his daughter and his wife. Dad, how were you able to sleep at night not knowing if I was ok or if I was alive? Why did you leave me when I was 2.5 years old? You did not leave your daughter when she was 2.5 years old. Why? Why did not you do anything when I told you that the warden physically abuse me?

It is not the children’s fault that they are abused. Please stand up with the child. Children don’t lie about who abuse them.

DAY 36

CW: Covert incest abuse

I got an email for one of my incest abusers. I had flashbacks of how he abused me. I was eight years old when he told me with frustration that he has not had sex in 8 years. I was seven when he told me that his ‘manly’ needs are not met. I was nine years old when my other incest abuser, his wife at the time, told me to understand his ‘manly’ needs and forced me to be comfortable to be touched by him after he attempted and succeeded to invade my physical privacy as I changed my clothes. I did not want to talk to him ever since he forced the bathroom door open to see my twin sister showering when none of us had reached puberty. We were too young and his wife enabled him. If anything, his wife was angry that I ignored her husband. His wife touched me too and did not let me change in my own room.

He said a red nail color would look sexy in me. I was eight. He said that if he was a boy my age he would have a crush on me. He said I am prettier and more attractive than all the girls in my primary school. He told me to clean my genitalia very carefully to prevent over pigmentation. Yes, as a kid, I felt sexualized. Yes, I felt obligated to be comfortable around him. I had no one to save me. I had no parents that would take me. I did not know what to do. No one believed me.

I was seven or nine years old when he asked if I ever seen a grown man’s genitalia. Obviously I said I have not. He said, “you have to see it. It looks different than a boy’s genitalia”.

I did not wake up today wishing that I face another flashbacks but here I am facing some this evening. This is depressing.

DAY 20

CW: Suicidal Thought

As a kid, I was violently punished for food-pocketing, for buying a yo-yo, for wanting to read my textbooks, for bringing glitter pens to school, failed to finish lunch on the time she expected, writing diaries about how I feel towards her abuse.

Living with Warden makes me used to be tensed during my development years. I would write things that bothered me in my diary and she would open them and read them. One of my diary entries writes,

“She is a monster. She is not my mother. She pinched me, she take my hobbies away from me. She is evil, she is merciless. I want to die”.

This did not make her feel remorseful. This made her yell and becoming even more abusive. I felt very remorseful to her to have written this. I remain to live without seeing her as a mother, caretaker, but as an older woman who is a monster and who has control over me.

After that incident, if she becomes more violent, she would say, “What would you write, huh? I am a monster right?”. All the sudden everything is my fault.

I told her that I would tell the police about all the things she had done. This is a conversation I had before I turned 10. She said, ‘Then tell the police that you misbehave too. Be fair”. I was scared, I felt intimidated with her response because I thought I deserved to be violently punished for almost everything I do. This kept me silent until now. I never told police officials the things she did to me and my biological mother.

I always felt responsible for Warden’s feelings. Though abused, I would draw her and write, ‘I love you’ and slipped the paper under the door when she locks herself. This was the routine until I turned eight when I started to sense that my love is not returned.

My heart was broken long before I fall for a man.

DAY 18

CW: Description of mental abuse.

Warden does not want me to be like her sister, my schizophrenic mother. Warden thinks it is her job to make sure I am not like my mother in all areas, good and bad. My mother graduated as an MD, making her the first medical school graduate in the big family. She has a soft heart, she never hurt someone else physically nor show any inclinations to abuse others around her. Like everyone else, she has strengths and weaknesses.

I am my mother’s first born. I have resemblances, identical mannerisms to my mother. I am introverted and love to spend my time alone during lunch time. Like her, I love making poems for fun. This concerns warden because she would associate these activities to development of schizophrenia.

I was very young when warden alienate me from my biological mother though she live in the same roof as warden and me. Warden said that I have my mother’s genes. These genes are not good genes, she said. It is as if it was my fault to have my mother’s genes. If I appear nervous in front of the crowd, warden would say, “200 million genes”. She thinks I have 200 million genes of my mother. To put on a perspective, humans have 20,500 genes.

Unfortunately I was too little to understand the scientific facts or to learn the basics of genomics. For a long time, I thought I was cursed that I share similarities my mother. I thought I will be schizophrenic, I thought I will be everything but good.

She hates my mother, they are at odds but somehow I am punished for being my mother’s daughter. I expressed my discontentment to my warden about her habit to call me out for everything that my mother has done before. My mother is a person, she would do things like writing, pursue her hobbies, studying, stressing out, etc. I should not face the consequences of her hatred towards my mother.

When I said, “Would you please stop saying, ‘200 million genes’? I have my mother genes! I can’t help it. Just stop, please. My mother’s genes are not all bad”. Warden said, “I am not shaming you, I am just warning you that you are like your schizophrenic mother, so when I warn you, you should be grateful”. My mother has lips, I have lips, so what? My mother is shy, I am shy, so what? My mother likes to write, I like to write, so what? So what, warden? Warden, your schizophrenic older sister aced her medical school. I would be so happy to be a doctor just like my mother. I will be so happy to have a tenacity like her.

DAY 17

Children usually stop to wet the bed at the age of seven. I wet the bed until I was ten. This is very unusual since I am a girl. My bladder control during the day was perfect. Warden ridiculed me for this. She said, “If you want to pee in your dream, then you should wake up and go to the toilet”. However, in my dreams, I was not able to know that I was dreaming. My sleep would be interrupted when the sheets feel uncomfortable.

Warden sleeps beside me. I was never allowed to have my own room or sleep on my own bed. I never understood why.

Warden would treat me like a five years old. She would do baby talk with me and expected me to talk like a baby even when I was ten years old.

Wetting the bed becomes a joke during family gatherings. Some relatives know I wet the bed. I lost my confidence and I blamed myself for why this happens. Apart from wetting the bed, I had loss of appetite and suffer from stomach aches, and occasional headaches.

Warden never brought me to a psychologist, doctor, or other experts for this. She would ridicule me without giving a proper treatment. At some point, I thought being ridiculed would solve everything.

Sometimes I just want my brain to have good memories about my childhood instead of neglect and years of abuse. I would really love to wake up one day and have a fake memory of my childhood; That I was taken care of properly, that Warden did not divorce, that my biological parents were not divorcing, that I was allowed to make friends and treated for my prolonged stress in childhood.

Children can feel stress too. I am twenty-one years old and if I had to face the exact same conditions as I did in my childhood, given the current cognitive and mental abilities I have now, I would not be able to keep my sanity. It was stressful. I was stressed. Warden and her husband at the time dismissed the idea that I was stressed, simply because I was a kid. I do not wish anyone to go through what I went through.

DAY 15

At the age of six, my biological father drove me to school when he asked me if he could marry someone else and leave my mother.

I replied, “Yes, you can marry her”. My mother, isolated because of her mental condition, never fall for any man since. I felt very culpable to have “given a permission” for him to marry someone else.

That morning, I asked my biological father why would he leave my mother. He said, “Your mother is tired taking care of you”. I asked him, “Would you leave this woman if she’s tired too?”. He said, “No. She would not be tired”.

His response left me puzzled.

Before I turned seven, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer and she refused the biopsy and refused to get treated abroad just so she can be close to me. Her choice to refuse biopsy led to an incomplete diagnosis which accelerates the deterioration of her organs. The doctors cannot administer her the right treatments because they didn’t know which type of breast cancer she has.

My grandmother was an inpatient at a hospital 10 minutes drive from where I lived. Her second daughter, my Warden, was spending a lot of her time there. Since I was a minor, I had to stay close to her. I spent months sleeping in the sofa-bed inside my grandmother’s room. I went to school from the hospital and would return to the hospital.

Relatives said I was mature for my age. I looked poised and composed despite the divorce and witnessing worried oncologists coming in and out of my grandmother’s room.

I amused myself by making up algebraic equations after school. I made simple equations made of letters and numbers. Warden would asked me to go get some things at a store across the hospital. She never went by herself. I was always been asked to do such errands. There were restaurants and stores across the hospital yet there is a busy road that separates them. The road is full with motorcycles and clumsy drivers.

I asked my Warden what would she do to ensure my safety. She said, “I will watch you from here”. She is five floors high. This does not make sense even to my younger self. She can’t save me if someone was going to harm me. As a way to ensure my own security, I walked closely behind adults when I was going out. Considering the abnormally high population density, I am quite fortunate to have never been kidnapped.

DAY 12

I was never allowed to feed myself until I was in the 6th grade.

My breakfast used to be cereal or toast. My lunch for school was almost always the same. Rice and a processed meat. I never liked the menu for my lunch. By 1pm, I would be very hungry. My eyes would be heavy, I would be dehydrated, and my blood sugar will be exceptionally low. I never slept in class, but it was extremely hard to focus. I was a picky eater, but I never got to pick what I wanted to eat. I was forced to like foods that I did not like. I remember I enjoyed the chicken katsu in the cafeteria, but I was not allowed to get them. My lunch box never had chicken katsu in it. I also liked noodle soup. My lunch box always had rice and process meat. There were things I like to eat, and rice is not one of them.

My problem is that I would not eat something that I did not like. Aside from being a picky eater, I also was stressed and very anxious. My appetite was strongly correlated with my psychological well-being.

After school, I would be asked to eat what is left in the lunch box. That will take me about 3-4 hours to complete. By the time I finished the leftover in the lunch box, my dinner will be served. Another pile of rice. I hated rice. My stomach was tiny, I was skinny and stressed. I was unable to swallow food like other children my age. I needed to drink water to swallow my food. Mrs. Warden fed me. She fed me with big spoon, big lump of rice with cooked vegetables inside it. Eating was traumatic for many reasons.

DAY 11

Teachers liked me, maybe not all of them but surely there were few in elementary school. They all agreed that I was a loner and have no friends. I was a loner back in school. I had lunch in the corner and never really socialized. Teachers asked Mrs. Warden why I never really made friends and Mrs. Warden would ask me. My grades were attached in the green file. Mrs. Warden would receive the file and bring it home. She would sign the papers inside it. My grades were great, but that never left Mrs. Warden happy. She would complain that she needs to sign them when my biological father could have sign them. I asked why she signed them, and she said it is because I am not her daughter. I do not recall when the first time I know I am not her daughter. I am aware of this for as long as I remember.

During parent-teacher conferences, I would be left alone in the car. I would wait alone in anxiety and anticipation. She would come back and told me that the teachers felt bad about me that is why my grades. Years later, I learned that teachers are not allowed to fake grades. I deserved my grades and they were not faked.

DAY 10

The images of my tears are occupying my mind as I write this entry.

Mrs. Warden did projection through pretending that she can read what I feel subconsciously. If I forget something, she said that I forget because I subconsciously think that it is not important. She boasts about her memorizing skills as if no one were better at memorizing than her. For her, everything needs to be perfect. God forbid I forget any details before my exam because she would shout and call me all sorts of names, pinch me, and say things to make me hate myself for existing.

After my tests, she would ask how they went. If I said that I doubt many of my answers, she would shout so loud that I would not be able to hear the words she said. There were times where she pinched me and threatened me to leave the car when I told her that I have doubts with half of my answers in one of my tests. Being honest became a ridiculous option to me for obvious reasons and lying became an only viable option. Yet, this did not serve me as well as I wanted. Lying postponed the abuse, not preventing it. As soon as the teacher shows her my results, if they were bad, she would pinch me, on the stomach and isolate me even more from things I like or socialization.

There were times where I cried uncontrollably, I think I was 6. I suffered a great deal from memorizing. I was stressed, I knew I was going to be abused, I cried until my stomach was turning. It is not school that I fear. I feared her evil, violent hands. I never feared subjects at school, even math. I feared the consequences, the abuse I must endure in the process of learning everything at school. She said that you must suffer before claiming victory. My arms were wounded and so was my heart.

There was nothing I could have done when I was in elementary school to prevent her abuse. I only know how to postpone physical abuse. I knew I was going to face it, but I would do anything in my power to postpone it.

She said that my grandfather expected me to be excelling at school and that she is protecting me from his wrath if I performed below his expectations. In reality, he never harmed me, in fact, I needed him to protect me from his daughter.