4 YEARS OF HORROR LIVING A TOXIC LIFE It was still a mystery how something good turned so sour in just a few years. It felt almost like a switch was flipped off and his humanity was automatically turned off, turning him into a monster of the worst kind. How had I endured all of this for so long?? I felt drained and exhausted from constantly checking my actions to avoid any flaws or mistakes that would unleash the demon in him. Being mentally frustrated was not enough to explain how dehumanized I felt; I was practically scared of my own skin and was always wired to bolt from the slightest scare. How could a man drag a woman's pride in the mud, destroy her self esteem, brutalise her personality and still expected her to love him completely ?? What a toxic world I lived in. My name is Neni and I was trapped for four years of my student life. 2015 *** Stepping into my biology class for the first time felt good because it meant I was grown up enough to handle my life and take care of myself. I have been set free from the shackles of my parents and I had the world at my feet and the heavens just above my head. In my euphoric state I was ecstatic and crazy enough to think if I just reached out my hand I could touch the heavens above and make my wishes come true. More like my worst fears came to life. Meeting Simon was not as dramatic as first love's seem to emphasize. He was my lab partner during computer class and we sort of bonded over trivial discussion while I admired how beautifully created he was. He was very funny, goofy, knew how to charm a woman and make her swoon,very persuasive in a romantic way and was as considerate as any first year student could be. We made time to see each other outside of classes which proved difficult because of our different time tables, class schedules, hostel rules and everything beyond but we tried as much as we could to hang out during games in the evenings. He asked me to be his girlfriend on matriculation day and I gleefully accepted with all my immature heart fluttering and goosebumps lining up my arms which sent chills down my spine, making me feel I had found my missing rib. Four year down the line and it still remained the worst decision of my entire adult life. 2016 *** "Simon, have you seen my ATM card"?, I can't find it anywhere. I lamented bitterly because I needed to use the money my parents sent to me to pay off my school debts. "Yes babe" I have it with me and I need to use some of the money to clear up some stuff I got tangled in, he replied casually. What!! Exactly what are you talking about?? How can you even say such a thing. Please hand over my card I said with my hands outstretched. The vibration from the slap I received gave me nosebleeds and I literally fell to the floor. "Don't you ever question my decisions in this relationship ever again" he yelled and stomped out. I sat down on the cold tiled floor in my shorts and bloodstained white tank top feeling like a hammered drunk, dazed and too useless to move. Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the beginning of many more scary abuses to come. I was currently leaving with simon because we couldn't bear to be apart from each other even for a minute and he didn't want the restrictions the hostel presented so I partially moved in with him in my second year. I remember how loving and caring he was during our first year together, how he lavished me with tenderness and love. He holistically adored the ground on which I walked and worshipped at my feet. He loved my body like it was his, he adored every part of me, reverenced my core, bowed before my gates, asked permission before taking charge and took me on a ride of ecstasy and over the edge with a mastery that only he could perfect. We understood each other perfectly well, we didn't envy others and were content with everything we had until he wasn't. Simon became more cranky, lost interest in school, pilfered some money here and there, made excuses for his absences and spent all his time in the gambling den. The days he didn't win were the worst of them all. Full Story Here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/o04shq93hkaftha/4%20YEARS%20OF%20HORROR%20LIVING%20A%20TOXIC%20LIFE.docx?dl=0

If you have the privilege as a woman to never have been sexually abused or assaulted, it might be difficult for you to understand the mixed emotions you might have towards your abuser. Let me explain better. When someone you love or admire assaults you, you might not hate them immediately, heck, you might never hate them at all. It's difficult to go from admiration and love to hate. It's also a very exhausting process. When my favourite person in the world, outside of my nuclear family assaulted me when I was barely 8 years old, I didn't know how to feel. I was pretty close to my mum so I just had to tell her. Before I did, I made her promise to not flair up. I didn't want my abuser to feel ‘bad'. Obviously, she flared up and banished him from visiting or sleeping over. This was very difficult for all of us because we really loved this person. His mum (of blessed memory) was my favourite aunt and my mum's closest sister. My brothers also didn't know what happened at the time so they didn't understand why he was banished. The next time I met him at a family function, I was worried sick that he would hate me. To give context, this man is about 20 years older than me. I remember how relieved I was when he smiled at me. It meant he didn't hate me. It's been about 15 years since this thing happened and although he took the time to apologize to me when I was much older, I almost can't stand him. It was like one day, a switch flipped in my head and I instantly became angry. But even then, sometimes I still admire him. It's really exhausting. While interning in a broadcast outfit when I was 18, I went to get this exclusive interview with a (now dead) well-known and loved musician. Apart from the fact that he was loved by the general public, I also really loved his music. The interview took place in an apartment. First, we watched him play his instrument and I videoed the whole thing with a smile plastered on my face. I couldn't wait to show my father. I was watching this man play live! This legend! Throughout my stay there, this entertainer kept looking at me funny and making inappropriate sexual comments. I was starting to get uncomfortable but we were so many in the apartment so I didn't really feel threatened. While trying to leave the apartment, this man rushed behind me, held me behind and groped me. I tried to get away from him but he held me firmly. I almost had to be forced away from his grip after I raised an alarm and I immediately ran outside. I really admired this man. I loved his music but I was highly irritated. When I got home, I still showed my family the video before I dropped the bomb. I went to bed that night watching the videos of the talented musician that I really admired with mixed feelings. The days that followed weren't any better. I had to conduct vox-pops on this man, asking people what they loved about him. I didn't even know how to feel. When he died and I kept seeing the news everywhere, all I could remember was the humiliating incident. My best friend asked me if I was okay, and my mother told me how uncomfortable she felt seeing everyone worship the man and was wondering how I felt about it. How did I feel? Was I glad that he had died? Did I hate him or dislike him? Honestly, no. Do I still think his music is great? Yes. Would I listen to his songs? Maybe. Sometimes I think about these unfortunate experiences and I'm angry with myself for not hating my abusers. I should hate them right? Imagine not knowing how to feel about a terrible thing someone has done to you because you remember all the good that they have done. If you're feeling this way, I just want to let you know that it's okay to feel what you feel. Sometimes you hate them and sometimes you don't. But don't ever beat yourself up about feeling any type of way. If you feel like you can forgive them, it's fine but if you can't forgive them, that's equally okay. I've heard people talk about how it is impossible to heal from abuse if you don't forgive your abuser but I've also read too many articles that say otherwise. People shouldn't tell you how to feel about these things, it's pretty complex so it's okay to heal at your own pace.

'It's been a good year for the roses', by George Jones is playing loudly through the cassette player. As I toss and turn lying nervously alone in my bed. Praying that I can fall asleep before everything gets bad. Before my dad gets shit-faced wasted. Before my mother gets her ass beat again. This same routine happened every single day. As if I were an actual re-run playing on my t.v. But this night was different from all the rest. I didn't just lay there in fear. Dressed in my well worn Barbie night gown, down the hallway I fled. Attempting to help mommy, afraid if I didn't then soon she'd be dead. "Daddy stop", I screamed. And low and behold, he actually listened to me. Suddenly a feeling of peace came over me. And just as fast as it came, he took it right back. I was told to sleep between mommy and daddy that night. Is this my reward for being so brave? Although I finally knew what it felt like with being content with my surroundings, it only lasted for a very short time. It was within thirty minutes when I felt daddy's hand caress me. He was being nice but yet it still just didn't feel right . After playing like I was asleep for so long, I started to actually doze off.. But daddy's hand wouldn't allow me. I wake up at the sound of an alarm clock and literally sit straight up. Startled at the memory of last night's despair. Frightened at the thought of what may happen next. Although I probably should have cried, I didn't. I didn't have time. Emotions are running wild. The school bus would be here soon. Relieved to be leaving home but at the same time I'm not ready to face the mean black kids at school. When I was at school I wanted to go home. When I was at home I wanted to go to school. But never did I want to be where I was at . 'I just wanna go home' I spoke aloud. Lying alone in my bed. Tears soaked my cheeks. Feelings of confusion and loneliness consumed me. On so many occasions I recall lying in bed alone and scared thinking out loud to myself. I guess you could say I was praying. Crying out for help. Though no one could hear me if I wanted them to with the loud music that was always playing.