It isn't Your Fault

My friend,

I am writing to you because I want someone to know that I am tired. No matter how much I smile or how loud I laugh, I’m slowly dying inside. Please believe me if I tell you that I tried. I’m not ashamed to admit that I am physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I tried living like any normal woman my age, but I guess, I cannot be normal and will never be. I’m rooted at the darkest and deepest hell of life. Who am I to blame? It was all because of me.

I am opening up to you since you already knew that I grew up in a broken family, it just lessens so much explaining to do. Also, I trust you and you’re the only person who treated me like a human being, you made me feel that life isn’t all just misery and pain. You’re my safe haven, but to tell you frankly, life isn’t just all happiness and butterflies as what you believe it is.
You never judged me, and God knows how thankful I am to have you beside me. I know you have heard a lot about me, quite the reputation I got. You never confronted me, I was assuming you were just waiting for me to talk to about it. Remember when I once told you I’m not in good terms with my very own mother? It was because she believed I seduced her boyfriend into having sex with me. She never believed me when I told her I was raped. She blamed me for what I have become. Even I blamed myself for it.

It was past midnight, I woke up thirsty. I walked towards the kitchen in my pajamas to get some water. He was there, he reeks of alcohol. I was guessing he just got home from his kumpadre’s birthday party. I greeted him and he nodded. I quickly walked back to my room. I was falling asleep but the sound of the doorknob clicking bothered me. The door opened. Someone must have intruded the house. But I did check all the doors and windows every time before I sleep—I just forgot to lock my door. Seconds passed and the room was filled with the bad scent of alcohol. I heard my door making the ‘lock’ sound. I tried to disregard it and closed my eyes to sleep. But the strange feeling of having someone staring at me really bothered me. I was afraid to turn around and see my mother’s boyfriend staring at me. But I did turn around. He was standing at the end of my bed. I sat up and asked him what he was doing in my room. He said I shouldn’t have walked around with this type of clothes. I was wearing my pajamas. He pulled my blanket and he was quick to cover my mouth before I got the chance to scream. He held both of my hands, still, his other hand on my mouth. Tears fell down my cheeks. I was helpless, weak, scared and trembling. When he stripped me off, freeing my mouth, I tried really hard to scream for help, but he was already gripping my neck. Suffocating me. He told me the words I would never forget even in my deathbed. “If you make any sound, if you ever wake your mother up, I would make her watch me rape you… and then do you know what I’ll do next? I will slit her throat in front of you. You don’t want that to happen, do you?” It was like I was hypnotized and I just nodded. I didn’t have a choice.

That night was a nightmare. I didn’t go to school the next day. He made my mother believe I was just sick and in need of time off school. Unfortunately, I was having the worst day of my life. The moment mom left for work, he used me. He humiliated me. He raped me over and over again until he was satisfied. My body hurt all over. I couldn’t stand without shaking. I couldn’t even walk properly. My head was blank. I’m tired of crying, too. My tear sac just gave up. I couldn’t shed a tear anymore. I wanted to shout but I couldn’t. I was too weak to even speak or mutter any words.

I wanted to die. I tried.

I found myself at the corner of my room, with a cutter on my right hand. I cut my wrist. Several times. With high hopes that I would die faster. I could feel life moving out of my body. Finally. I’m starting to lose my consciousness but someone barged into my room. Unfortunately, I forgot to lock my room, again. My worst nightmare came to rescue me. The irony. Oh, please just let me die.

Sadly, I’m still alive.

Mom was mad. She tried to lecture me about how teenagers act like fools. I tried to tell her. But she couldn’t pay attention to me. She didn’t want me to cut her off when she’s talking. I wanted to tell her. Mom, I wanted to die. But she kept on saying things I couldn’t understand. Gibberish. Mom, I wanted to die. She can’t hear me. She never listened. I’m tired.

I woke up but I wasn’t in heaven nor hell. I was just in a hospital, I would always prefer the latter. Mom’s seating next to my bed. She fell asleep too. Her face looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake her up but I feel like I’m going to explode.

“Mom…” I tried to tap her shoulders several times, but she didn’t wake up.

“Mom…” I called out again, this time, I tried to make my voice firmer.

“Mom?”

Mom was still asleep. Her boyfriend entered the room. He grinned at me. He arranged the things he brought on the table across my bed.

“Don’t wake her up just yet. Let her rest. She was so worried about you. You made us worry about you.” I couldn’t speak. I pretended that I was still sleepy. I closed my eyes and silently prayed that he won’t come near me. He did.

He whispered “I know what you are trying to do. The moment you tell her, might as well bid your goodbye.” I opened my eyes. I stared at his dark and black eyes. He glanced at my mother and caressed her nape.

“Do you think I’m joking? Don’t make me try.” He touched my lips and caressed my neck. The BP monitor beeped loudly that made him step back. The nurse barged into the room. Mom finally woke up. I couldn’t breathe. A lot of people were surrounding me. A nurse positioned the bed flat. I held her hand. Please let me die. She couldn’t hear me too.

I didn’t die. But I wished I was. No one can hear me. I was screaming but no one can hear me. No one dared to listen to me. Believe me, my friend, I tried but no one came to rescue me out of my misery. Turned out, I couldn’t speak. I became mute.

Two years have passed and I never tried to get back to school. I couldn’t speak anymore, why bother? My mother invited some of her colleagues at home to celebrate my 14th birthday. They knew my situation so they didn’t ask me questions. They just greeted me and wished me well. Some of her boyfriend’s friends came over too.

It is becoming late, mom’s colleagues left. She was feeling sleepy because she had few drinks. Mom bid her goodbye to her boyfriend’s friends, but they didn’t let her off. They made her drink few glasses of whatever kind of alcohol they’re drinking. A few moments, mom was really drunk, so I helped her get to their room. I immediately headed to my room and locked my door. I was just staring at my door. I fell asleep. I woke up to the sounds of heavy footsteps. I glanced at my wall clock—2 A.M.

There was a knock on my door.

“Beth…” I also heard a faint sound of whispers.

“Beth… c’mon! I know you’re awake. Open this door for me, will ya?” He’s back.

I froze.

Then I heard a sound of keys clanking. How? I felt that God has forsaken me. I couldn’t think of a reason why it has to happen to me. Did I do anything wrong to receive the wrath of the God? Is there really a supreme being that guides and watches over everybody? If there is, why is he only watching? Why didn’t God do anything to make my rapists stop? I wished God was real. A sudden realization came to me, we were so desperate to get away the cruel reality that we made an image to escape. We have to believe in something to keep us sane in this world full of misery. 

Whatever you’re thinking of what happened next, I guess you’re right. I was raped again. But not only by my mother’s boyfriend. I was raped by his friends, too. They raped me one after the other. I wanted to scream and curse them. But I couldn’t. There’s no sound coming out of my mouth, not even a faint one. I tried. My friend, believe me, I tried to fight them off. I tried to scream at them but they won over me. Once again, I lost. They didn’t stop until the sun was up. They left me in my restroom. One of them turned the shower on and told me to fix myself. Fix myself.  How can I ever fix myself when I couldn’t even find the broken pieces?

My temperature was high. Mom checked up on me. She was taking care of me. Mom, please just let me die. She couldn’t hear me. She cooked porridge for me. She almost begged that I have to eat something so I wouldn’t take medicine with an empty stomach. I stayed still. Staring at the ceiling. Staring into space. God, if you’re ever real, please just let me die. Kill me. Right here. Right now. I started to have convulsions that mom had to take me to the nearest hospital. I was confined for days. Still couldn’t speak.

A week after the incident, I knew there was something wrong with my body. I had rashes on my private part. It hurts when I take a pee. I tried to endure it, but I couldn’t. If no one would kill me, I knew I have to do it myself. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… 13 sleeping pills. I swallowed it all. But life certainly doesn’t work my way. I woke up in a hospital. I saw mom. She was relieved I was still alive, but I was not. God, why can’t I just die? Are you even for real?

The doctor made my mother walk out of the room, and said he has to do further examinations on me. Mom obliged. The doctor called out a nurse. He gave me a piece of paper and a pen. He told me he was ready to listen. That I have to tell him what really happened to me. He told me that I could just write whatever it is that I want to say. I held the pen with my hand shaking. Tears fell down my cheeks. I tried to write but my body was so weak from all the pills I have taken. So, the Doctor told me that there’s nothing to worry about and that I should take my time. I tried again. Still couldn’t get a hold of the pen. The nurse, he told me that he will come here later so that I can try again. 

I didn’t die, and my only hope to escape just walked out the room. Mom entered. She told me that it was okay if I’m ill. It was okay that I’m crazy. She would settle an appointment with a psychiatrist so that I will get better. Mom, why can’t you see? Are you that blinded by your love for him that you couldn’t get a clue? Mom, help me, or better yet, just let me die.

To cut the story short, mom found out I had STD. She was confused. But I know, deep inside, she knew what happened. She knew how, she just couldn’t accept it. She was in denial that her boyfriend could cheat on her. She was trying so hard to be a good mother, but the time when I needed her most, she wasn’t a mother to me, and I wasn’t her kid. I was just some dirty girl whom her boyfriend cheated with. She never talked to me again. I gave her the space she needed. She stopped visiting me at the hospital. It broke me more, but what could be worse?

The doctor helped me get into a program of abused kids, and I left that place when I turned 18. That is when I get to know you. Starting a life from scratch was never easy. It was like building myself with scrape from junkyard because I was so broken. I didn’t know why, but you gave me a place to stay. A small step back on track of life. I am thankful.

Time has passed, but the darkness in me never ceases. I would always wake up in the middle of the night, grasping for air and continuously having nightmares of what happened. I couldn’t face it before. This time, I have to. I couldn’t bear to lose again, so I only did what I had to do. I killed him. Hoping that the nightmares would stop haunting me, but it was still there. Maybe it was really my fault. I shouldn’t have woken up thirsty that night. I shouldn’t have worn my pajamas, maybe something to cover me more. I shouldn’t have forgotten to lock my door.

By the time you read this, I might be dead or there’s just a bullet stuck in my head as I walk around. But thank you for telling me it isn’t my fault. Though you never had any idea what happened. Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt. As I finally take my life away, hope this time I succeed, your words will be the last words I remember. "It isn’t your fault."

Love,
Elizabeth

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Time has changed. A lot has changed. One of the things that doesn’t change is the rape culture. It’s sickening to listen or read a statement about rape justifying that the victim was at fault. Why can’t we face the fact that rape is real? Rapists do exist even though we are fully clothed. Rapist will always be a rapist regardless of the profession, family background, and wealth. There is no justifying rape, and it has to stop. 

Digital illustrations by  Lukasz Poslad (Pinterest)
Written on May 25, 2018