Your Fiction, My Reality

First i would like to thank everyone who emailed me, all your emails are dear to my heart. Some of you asked me whether the contents of my blog is real or not and i shall answer your questions as much as possible.

What is fiction and what is reality? is there a difference between them? in my opinion it all depends on how each individual sees it. Your fiction could be my reality and vise versa.

I am a woman in my late 20's my family is respected and known in the Kuwaiti society, i hold a BA in science and have a great job with a well paid salary, i have a new car (not mentioning any brand name) anyone would think what more does she need? People tend to judge on what they see rarely would they discover what is between the lines or mask.

This beautiful picture that i have painted for you is only but an illusion, behind that young career woman is a screaming agonizing soul, every day of my entire life is a big lie because the real me society does not want to see nor acknowledge.

It angers me tremendously when some people deny such terrible crimes like child abuse, this world we live in contains many horrors that one cannot bare to stomach it. Yes my cousin molested me, he burned me with matches and cigarettes lighters on my legs, arms, hands until i got used to the smell of burnt skin, this was my reward for fighting him.

Want to know more? can you handle my reality?

I begged him once i asked "why are you hurting me i do not understand, what have i done, please no more please" the bastard stood there laughing then he grapped my hair and pulled me down on my knees.....
I remember him hitting me continuously on my head with a black cane that had a bulldog's head as a handle. He beat me until i fainted even that did not stop him from taking what he wanted. What i revealed to you is just a small part of my tragedy forgive me if i cannot say more, it hurts me to remember.

Where is justice when i needed it? why did they turn away from me? how come they believed his lies over my truth? when a glass is broken it could not be mended, tell me people how do you think this had changed my life? I cannot deny that this experience has effected me regardless i did not sell my body nor was i suicidal, no i am much stronger and i shall always be a fighter at heart even in my weakest state.

Someone asked me if i went into therapy, no i did not but i should have done so maybe if i did my nightmares would have stopped.

My hatred blinded me all i saw and wanted was justice, it took seven long years to do the deed starting with my monster then others followed. I no longer thirst for vengeance, I am a walking zombie, i am numb to everything if you pinch me with a needle i would not even flinch, my skin got used to the scars and wounds. I have no future, no hopes, no goals, i will never have children nor become a mother, what man would love and accept me and my past? to men in our society i am tainted and used i have been judged and condemned, but does that make it right? society should not punish those whos fate was not of their own doing.

It is too late for me now, i do not care what happens to me anymore, i just do not...
In all of my 27 years this is my first time speaking of my past in this blog, i cannot deny writing about it somehow eases my pain. I am not scared, whatever fate has install for me i gladly welcome it.

My friends I leave you to decide whether you will judge this post as fiction or reality, and what ever you choose i shall respect your decision and i shall continue to write in this journal, in a way it became my sanctuary.

May you all be safe for your families and loved ones.

Blessed be,
Poena.