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#savingme

#savingme: Give Women Their RAGE Back!

Throughout my existence on this platform, I have often put up post such as “leave something positive that happened to you so we can share some good vibes”. I put up many posts like this in 2020 because this year was the year we all needed to remind ourselves of things we are grateful for because all of us have struggled with our own demons and problems in this pandemic. So I had to write this down because I didn’t want you to think I have anything against positivity and looking for reasons to smile. With that being said, let’s get into what I really wanted to discuss here.

I don’t post a lot on #savingme because it gets hard. I no longer live in domestic violence, but talking about it, opening some wounds is still painful and the fact that my brain just decided not to remember a lot of my childhood to protect me (I guess) doesn’t make this easier. I think I have repressed memory, but I am not doctor. Maybe my memory just sucks but I believe that my brain is trying to protect me from those hurtful memories.

Now, let me ask you a question. Why do you expect women to be happy and smiling all the fucking time?!

I am not attacking you directly because I don’t know you but if you ever used the phrase “You are so much prettier when you smile, you should smile more often etc.” I am kind of attacking you. If you ever placed a woman in a situation where she was forced or bullied into smiling and pretending everything is okay, I am kind of attacking you. To try to explain this better to the male audience that might not understand this so much – forcing women to be composed, happy and pretend like everything is perfect all the time is equal to the idea of the “masculine man” being imposed on men where you are expected to be a stereotypical man who should know how to do stuff, lift things, not have feelings or cry ever. You know what I am talking about “the manly man”. Since I am not a man and do not have experience with this, I would like to point out a poem that sums this up nicely: Guante – “Ten Responses to the Phrase ‘Man Up'”

Why am I writing about this and linking it to domestic violence and abuse? Let me explain that. Women, and I have seen this on my mother, feel the shame when they go through domestic violence. What will the people say if I call the cops? I am a bad mother because this man is beating my kids. It falls upon me to carry the burden of this domestic violence/abuse without realizing I am the victim. The same thing happens with rape. The victim is shamed into silence and the “women have to be happy” feeds into this fucking problem.

We are expected to play a part in the world and a great part of that role is covering shit up and being happy all the time, giving out this impression of having our life together, having the perfect family, being good cooks, caring for kids and expected to want to be mothers, if I might add (I could write a whole new post about this topic). When we get angry, when we voice our discomfort or just our opinion that doesn’t sit right with other people then we are PMS-ing. “It’s that time of the month”. “Our hormones are doing the talking”. “We will calm down once our period is done”. Stop bullying women into thinking they are crazy when they are unhappy! Stop bullying women into not seeking help when they are abused.

When shit hits the fan, when the cops are on the doorstep, when women walk around with a black eye, when someone is DEAD, when a woman kills herself because she was raped, then we hear the phrase: “We didn’t even suspect something was wrong, she always seemed so happy”. How many times have you heard this from someone or on TV? How many fucking times have you heard this phrase or a variation of this phrase? Why do we need to have women mentally and physically scarred for life or a dead body to realize that there’s something wrong?

When a woman says no, when she pushes you away, when she tells you to stop, when she calls the cops on you and accuses you of abuse, she is not making stuff up and being crazy. She is uncomfortable and scared and this is not the time for women to think they should go easy, not raise their voice or say NO with an uncomfortable, fake smile. You have the right to get angry when someone is invading your personal space and abusing you. You have the right to fight back and seek help. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.

This is why I say GIVE WOMEN THEIR RAGE BACK. Give us our anger back and watch us evolve even if it scares some. Just that freedom of being able to experience emotions that society tried to tell us we are not entitled to, will give us also the freedom to speak up about abuse and to fight the oppression.

For anyone dismissing all of this TRUTH that I just wrote as a “feminist rant that makes no sense” and if anyone envisioned me as a man-hating, no-shaving angry female that is fighting a fight that doesn’t exist anymore because “we gave women rights” let me just tell you that 1992. was called the year of the women the same way that 2018. was called the year of the women and despite all of this we are still fighting the same bullshit, the same sexual harassment, women are still fighting harder than men to get into high positions and the same people are still trying to silence us and bully us into submission. Google your facts before you call women angry feminists and trust me that we will write, yell, protest and fight as long as we have to until every woman and every little girl stops being silent about oppression and abuse because “that was the way it has always been and if you speak up, we will shame you into believing it was your fault. now SMILEEEEEE”.

This is not to say that women are never the abusers, but I can only speak from my perspective. I know there are men and boys abused by their mother and/or father or any other person who are scared to speak up because of the “manly man stereotype” or because they go through the same fear and shame mentioned before. I think that abused men and boys are an issue society has to dive into thoroughly  because we cannot pretend that it is not happening and telling men to “Man up”. There are stories to be heard from their side and I hope they will speak up as well.  If you want to share your experience you can on this platform and you can stay anonymous if it makes you feel safer and better.

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#savingme is the community where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not.

Latest Poem: Poem #345
Youtube videos: Luna’s channel
Latest Coffee Date: Flowers in the Garden 

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#savingme Poems

#savingme – Poem #286

No means no. Pushing you away
doesn’t mean try harder. No, she did
not ask for it. She is a woman and she
has a right to make her own choices and
dress how she wants without the threat
of being beaten up, raped or killed for it.
Get that fact clear in your abusive mind.

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#savingme Poems

#savingme – Poem #263

You. You with your bottle and words
sharp like broken glass on the floor
from the glass you threw at me. You.
You with your addiction always thinking
about yourself. I might be your daughter
but the blood in my veins is thinner than water.
Trust me, I wish I could change that red
poison which binds me to you, maybe then
this wound would hurt less.

Did you feel like you had control in your miserable
life every time you would come home drunk
and beat the shit out of me, my mother and my sister?
Did it make you feel good or worthy? Did it mean anything?
Did you ever regret it?

Million questions I’ll never get an answer to because
to this day you deny ever being an abusive monster.
You can deny it but it doesn’t change the fact that
there is a special place in hell reserved for the people
who try to put out the light they brought to the world.

And you still think you’re a king. Well, dear father, kings
protect their heirs and you tried to put yours into the ground.
Kings leave a legacy for their kids and you just took and
broke everything. Left me with nightmares and scars
that still bleed every once in a while.

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#savingme Poems

#savingme – Poem #240

I am doing this old school, putting pen to paper.
Like 13 years ago when I started writing this mess down,
learned that violence can inspire creativity.

On the floor, the bed dragged to the door,
mommy told me not to make much noise because dad
was convinced he was alone.

In case he heard me, got upset and kicked the door down
there was only one way, jump out of the window
to the grass that, I swear, was never the greener.

I found a gift in your violence, beauty in the bruises
that covered my mother’s body every time you saw the
bottom of the bottle.

I found words beneath the insults to write down my anger,
to make sure it doesn’t boil inside of me turning me into the
drunk, selfish monster you came to be.

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme – Solace and Sanity

Your hand released
Everything changed
Family extracted
Like I never existed

Lost

Little girl
Tear filled eyes
Stains down on her cheeks
Scars across her tiny body

Prisoner

Love, a foreign dream
Comfort, no such thing
Tragedy, encompassed grief

Suffering

Those dark brown eyes
Concealing what they have seen
Visual antipathy

Broken

Little smile
Pasted on perfectly
Something she learned
Authentic joy a mystery

Alone

Separated siblings
Mix and Match despite their feelings
Disposed of completely

Abandoned

Another child
Made to pay the price
Adult responsibilities
Addiction’s insanity

Violence

Seven years old
Lifetime of misery
Wise beyond belief
Desperately pursuing stability

Acceptance

Running to escape memories
Desperate for harmony
Just a little safety and peace

Solace

Wonderment in simple things
Never taking each breath for granted
Every day a new opportunity

Admiring

Thoughts infiltrating
Positive healing
Complete tranquility

Sunrise

Lost in the majestic beauty
Embraced by strength
Smile on her face
Kissed by the sunlight
Absolute comfort

Serenity

Blog: https://thebrokeninsideofme.com/

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme – Why Me?

Another house
A new family
Why me
New school
No one knows me
why me
A different room
New monsters
why me
All alone
This house isn’t home
why me
Picked up and removed
They have no clue
Why me
My brother is gone
Can’t even call on the phone
why me
A million tragedies
Locked inside of me
why me
Remember smile and be polite
Complete strangers judging
why me
Examined under the light
Imperfection in plain sight
why me
Confused, damaged and all alone
Scary visions feel more like home
why me
Different than them
Only demons live within
Why me
Surviving the darkness
Hungry and cold
Why me
Sleeping on a bed of stone
Down by the river as viciousness unfolds
Why me

Written By

The Broken inside of me

https://thebrokeninsideofme.com/

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme – Shame, shame

This is the hardest post I’ve made so far.

Shame is a hard topic for me. I hate parts of myself and I am working on healing them, but honestly it has not been easy for me.

I spent years feeling ashamed and alone. I had this idea in my head that if I let anyone get close, they would inevitably hurt me. I fought against myself. I would run away from relationships or I would let someone in and then push them away.

I started to add more Shame on top of the shame I already had. I started drinking to numb the pain, and all that did was cause more pain. I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

It wasn’t until a counselor told me that I had it all wrong, did I really start to understand the root of my fears. He taught me about transferred emotions. An idea that was foreign to me.

TRANSFERRED EMOTIONS

He explained that when we are young, under the age of 10 or so we don’t understand what shame is. Yes we know the difference between right and wrong. We can feel bad about something and scared of being punished, but at that age, shame is something we can only feel if it is transferred to us by someone else’s actions.

This is not to say you can’t have emotions transferred to you as an adult, you certainly can and it happens all the time.

For me it was the daily abuse, and eventually sexual abuse (at the age of 7),that I suffered from. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I truly understood what happened. I felt dirty and unclean.

I kept asking myself questions:

Why did this happen to me?

Was I a bad kid?

Did I even deserve to live?

The last thought plagued my mind for almost 15 years and still surfaces now and then.

NOT YOUR FAULT

I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully healed, but at least I am trying. One thing I have figured out, is that I am not to blame for my abuse. There was nothing I could have done to change what happened, it wasn’t my fault.

I did make some choices that I am not proud of, and while I probably made some of these choices because of my trauma, they were still my decisions.

I am making amends with my choices in the best way I can, by being a better person. I have been sober for years and while there have been some slip ups, I have never stopped trying to be a better person.

I hope this helps other people who have gone through, or are going through similar situations. While writing this is harder than I thought it would be, it definitely makes me feel better than I thought it would.

So, if anyone out here has been through verbal, mental, physical or sexual abuse, it’s not your fault.

People make choices and no one has the right to abuse you, and you don’t have the right to transfer that emotion on to another, just because you were abused.

Abuse is never an option and you deserve better.

Blog: https://oneregulardad.home.blog/

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme- How Do I Escape?

“Hey, kid! Get me some water!”

A surly, old man shouts from his table. I fill a jug and hurry to serve him before Father gives me the stink eye. I haven’t been performing well lately. Not in school. Not here, in the restaurant. Father owns a small restaurant and earns just enough to provide for the family and to quench his thirst for alcohol. Mom manages the restaurant most of the time because of Father’s incessant hangovers.

Someone shakes my arm and pulls me out of my reverie. Father. He looks at me with eyes full of angst and a wildness that comes from inebriation. I have good reasons to be afraid of him but I try to hide the dread whenever I can. I lower my head and walk to the nearest table, throw away the mushy leftovers from the plates and wipe the table. From table to table, I serve the food and clear the old plates, adding them to the pile I’ll have to wash later. Maybe, Mom will offer to help.

I wish I could get out of here.

I’m cleaning another table when Father calls at the top of his voice,”Patrice, come here!” My pulse quickens and I scurry towards him, legs shaking. What did I do now?

“What. Is. This?” Father asks with an eerie calmness which masks the wrath behind each word. I look up to see what he is pointing at: a greasy table with an oily plate on it and a couple waiting to sit there. I clean the table as swiftly as I can and apologize to the customers for the delay. They sit down, grunting and begin to skim through the menu. My eyes slowly creep up to see my fathers’ and his look of resentment says it all.

He’ll deal with me later. Later when he is drunk and when his anger gets the better of him. He’ll probably hit me and then I’ll cry myself to sleepIt has happened twice this week.

The sun is emitting its last rays and fear grips me as the evening wears on. My hands tremble when I serve the dishes.

I don’t want the day to end. I don’t want the day to end.

Father is nowhere to be seen. He must have gone to the liquor shop nearby. I shudder at the very thought and bury myself with work to prevent my mind from wandering. Mom is preparing the dishes along with Nancy, the other cook. Mom has often tried to stop Father from drinking but that just agitates him more. Mom and Father fight a lot and once, I’d even seen him slap her during an argument. That was the first time I thought about escaping.

Father returns with a bottle of liquor and I gulp involuntarily as my heart starts racing. I serve the dish to the last customer in the restaurant, hands trembling. I accidentally drop ketchup on him and a deep red botch covers his shirt. Fury takes over the customer and he yells profanities at me. To him, I’m just a stupid clumsy kid who can’t get a job done right. And maybe, I am. Father glowers at me and apologizes to the customer for my impertinent behavior.

As soon as the customer leaves, Father clasps my wrist and drags me to our house adjacent to the restaurant. Mom hurries behind us, begging him to stop and calm down.

“Unlock the damn door!” He growls at her. Mom wails as she opens the door, pleading him to be calm.

Once we’re inside, he pushes me forward, takes a swig from the bottle and slams it on the table. Mom pulls me aside by her hand protectively. With clammy hands and tears sluicing down her cheeks, she weeps uncontrollably. Father yanks me away from her and my only protection is gone. I feel…vulnerable. I don’t want to cry myself to sleep.

He shouts incoherently, “What was that, Patrice?!” I stand speechless, motionless.

The couple could have chosen another table. I want to say it. But I can’t.

Coward.

“What the hell was that, you stupidgirl?!”

I try hard to stop the tears from falling. I fail. I know what awaits me and I brace myself before it comes. He raises his hand and strikes my face.

A moment. Just a moment of intense, physical pain and a lifetime of haunting nightmares. A lifetime of suppressing the hurt and distress. Excruciating pain and fierce revulsion boils inside me. Blood rushes to my cheeks and tears obscure my vision, blocking my throat and wetting my face. Mom’s shrieks fill the silence and I just can’t lower my head anymore. I raise my head and glare right into his malicious eyes.

Father slaps me hard again and I fall to my knees, dark strands covering my face. I let out ugly sobs and look around wildly for the door. What am I thinking? I can’t run from home! Can I? How much of a coward can I be?

I try so hard to compose myself, setting my jaw and clenching my fists and I raise my face to look at him. He is about to hit me again when Mom stops him. He yells at her loudly but fatigue washes over me and I can’t hear a word he says. My abdomens feel hollow and my chest has become a tight burden. The tears block my eyes and the last thing I see before passing out is Father raising his hand again. But I don’t feel the strike. All I feel is the need to escape.


Hey guys!

My name is Rashi Singh and I love writing fiction. This is my site and I’d appreciate if you check it out.

https://fictivefinesseff.wordpress.com/

In many households, violence is a method of “teaching” and by teaching, I mean hitting them just because they don’t follow something or enforcing them to do things that they’d rather not do.

Please note that this piece is my story but expressed as fiction.

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme – Will you even know the real me

Yes, I’ve been run down in life.

Yes, I’ve been beaten ruthless in life too.

Yes, I am stupid.

Yes, I am undesirable.

Yes, I am a screw up.

But, why can’t you tell me something positively amazing about me for a change?

Yes, I’m not beautiful.

Yes, I am hairy, for a girl.

Yes, I am dark.

Yes, I am stupid.

I’m sorry!

But, I’m sorry, I was born that way.

Emma, you are so dumb! How did you not get this math question right?

Emma, you’re so stupid! How do you still not know math?

With all the “subtle” situations have have gone wrong, I really wonder, was everything really my fault?

Emma, I just don’t understand, what do you do all day?

With all the thoughts running through my mind of snarky sarcastic comments to blurt out back to their face, I just smile and say, lots! You simply wouldn’t understand.

Let’s say I go back to work.

Why are you working as that position?

Why is your salary only so much?

You should get another job. This job doesn’t “suit” you!

Emma, your paints are ugly!

Emma, you’re not bright!

Emma, you’re a joke!

Do something else! Everybody is laughing at you!

Whether I do something kind,  unruly, or abrupt.

Looks like the blame is still coming to me!

After everything I’ve done, and the amount of smiles I’ve gathered from others, most so from strangers

I still wonder,

What will it take, for my own to see me? The real me?

After everything, many still ask me,

But, I don’t understand, why are you sick?

Then, some on the other hand, feel, hey! It’s great that she’s sick!

She’ll die faster!

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

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#savingme

#savingme – You are a survivor

In my post “The story behind the name Luna” I shared a part of my story about domestic abuse. It actually gave me courage to dive deeper into this problem and open up about it here because I think this is a great community to share such stories and help each other. It took me years to speak about the torment my father put me through and I can relate to many children who were abused and today I want to write a little bit about how to deal with abuse after it’s done.

When I was 11,12 years old the problem with my father started solving and it wasn’t over until a few months ago. I haven’t lived with him for years and I last saw him and spoke to him about 5 years ago. That chapter of my life is over now but it still takes me a great amount of strength to close that chapter in my head. My problem was that I identified myself with what he has done to me and I believe that’s the problem of many abused children out there. We develop a bad opinion about ourselves based on what the person who abused us had done to us. We often feel like we aren’t worthy of anything, become introverted, depressed, scared to live the lives we deserve and we can’t step out of our pasts. Going through abuse leaves a strong scar on the one’s personality, sometimes even on our bodies and I will be quite honest and say it’s impossible to hide that scar or erase it so wear it proudly!

Don’t be ashamed of yourself and of who you are and of what you’ve been through. Instead of waking up every morning feeling like you are worth less than others, feeling like you will never reach happiness, wake up and say to yourself “I’ve been through hell and I survived that. World, bring it on because I can handle you!”. Don’t call yourself an abuse victim but rather call yourself a survivor because that’s what you are. Your body and mind were strong enough to handle the weight of abuse and I know how heavy that weight is and you are still here. You are biting and scratching your way through life. You know how to handle difficult situations and your power can never be drained out. Even when depression hits and you feel worn out just repeat those words to yourself.

Who you are depends only on what you want to be so be a survivor, be a warrior and show the world there’s happiness after abuse. Learn how to show your scars to the world and demand respect for them and respect your own past because if it wasn’t for it you wouldn’t be the strong person you are. Even if you feel weak, trust me you’re not. Shift your state of mind and you will turn your life around. Remember: You are a warrior, you are a survivor.

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#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here.