This is it.

All my life I craved their approval, I wanted their attention, I wanted to be in their presence, whether it earned me an insult or a coffee poured on me, I got their attention, didn’t I?

0-12 years, who am I to them but the ugly sister? The black sister? The pig sister? The one they’re embarrassed to introduce, the one who smells, the one who acts like an animal.

12-19, I’m the wild one, the dumb one, the depressed one, the suicidal one, the failure, the slut, the waste of time, the disgrace?

20-25, I’m the drug addict, the fat one, the whore, the black one, the desperate one, the useless one, the waste of money?

25-30, The one who ruins lives, the whore, wild, sickly, fat, ugly, going nowhere in life, useless mother, not their blood, not good enough, the hated one, the filthy one, the one who will rot in hell.

But I still wanted approval, the acceptance, the glimmer of hope that despite the heart wrenching pain they caused, I’ll be apart of their world, so I’ll take it, I’ll take it until I’m in a dark place, where the echoes of their remarks full the emptiness of the room, but still I forgive them because I hoped they’d be the one to open the door and let light in.

But now 26-30 years, you can’t force family to love you even though you’re connected by blood, it took me years of ridicule and loneliness to understand that I am strong, that the hatred poured onto me in every stage of my life shaped me into something resilient, I’m a pyramid that will stand strong through any obstacle, I’m the seed that grew into a flower with the dirt thrown at me and every time I felt like I was drowning, I was learning to swim, to swim away from toxicity, from loneliness, from the need for approval, from people who bring me pain instead of joy.

All my life I wanted approval but that’s over, now I wish them well.

I closed my eyes and I saw nothing.

I write to you, to you who break into homes of innocent people and instead of taking what you desire, you beat them, you try killing women, while their young watch from the inside of a wardrobe praying that their father comes in and saves them, I write to you, you who came into my home and held my parents at gunpoint, I write to you who would probably never know how it feels standing two feet away while your mother is getting beaten with a firearm.

Do you know how it feels being paralyzed with fear? Your legs won’t move, your hands can’t reach for the phone to call the police, it’s fight or flight but you know you need to fight but your brain already boarded the plane. I write to you, can you imagine 4 men in your home and you don’t know if they’re gonna break your door and shoot you or if you’re gonna open a door and find every loved one covered in blood.

I write to you, you who traumatized us, all crimes are wrong, but to hurt our women, to scare our children, you have destroyed our trust in this South Africa. I pray that the lord so good to have his hand over us during this trying time, I pray that same hand will open your eyes and make you realize that you can’t keep hurting women and children, stop, please.

Take me back.

It feels like your heart just sank, shivers run up your body, you feel a rush of tears, you hear your heart race, your palms sweat, you hear a buzz in your head like you’re blank. That’s when you know, your heart just broke.

As a child you look at the world in bright colours, you see the good in every situation and the only time you ever cried was because you scraped your knee or because you wanted your mom and dad. Little did we know the harsh reality that comes with age, I see more black and blue, I cry even more than I should, I want to cry for my mom and dad but not because I miss them.

The truth is, we always wanna believe that things get better with time but sometimes more damage takes place in time, I wanna wake up one day and hear birds chirping and admire the blue skies, I wanna wake up one day and know my parents still love each other, but that’s a night sleep away, there’s no birds but loud screams and devious whispers, my skies are filled with black clouds and I’m scared to wake up in a house where a broken family now lives.

We need to change

We wait everyday for new cases, news stories that break your heart and make you want to be religious even if you haven’t pray in years, where racism doesn’t end and women are being beaten to death, where children are being murdered all for the purpose of sacrificing a child for good health or prevention from a virus.

What’s wrong with the world? Why do we go against each other when we all should be helping each other, why do we do more wrong when we’re all in panic and should be doing more good? Why is a pandemic a joke and why are statistics just numbers when they should be known as people’s lives, loved ones, family and friends?

Why are women bleeding from their eyes and nose when they should be taking care of their family? Why are children being thrown into fields when they should have been protected by the people who murdered them? Why are police killing people who aren’t fighting back?

This pandemic is an eye opener, the earth heals when humans stay home, animals are safer and happier when we don’t interfere with them, people are bad, people can be in experiencing the most difficult time of their lives and they still won’t have a good heart,

Are there any good people?

It’s been 4 months into lockdown, I could have been blogging and spending time doing something I love but how did my lockdown begin?

It starts with the South African crime rate, where people think it’s okay to take from others, even if these “others” are financially unstable and have a lot of health issues, it’s not the poor stealing from the rich, it’s the criminals stealing from good people. I remember rushing home to find my door broken in half, my clothes scattered on the tiled floor, they touched everything I owned even placing their hands on my underwear and climbing onto my bed, I lost a lot of material but I also lost the security and the feeling of being safe in my own home, all because 3 men decided to break gates and doors in my house, take all I owned and leave, I’m unemployed, I’m a student and my parents don’t have much money. We go into lockdown a few weeks later, when I didn’t have time to get a phone or laptop for online classes, not just because of lockdown but because they took all my savings.

Fours months later and I’m still trying to sleep without jump scares, I’m trying to be comfortable in my own home, I’m just praying that they don’t come back, I have nothing but I’m alive, alive in a place that is cruel, that is selfish, a place not meant for good people.

One day, one hour, one life ruined.

They say it’s what we wear, it’s how we speak or how we ask for the wrong attention, they say it’s usually by strangers or people with psychological issues. They say we asked for it. They say you should have known better, they say how can you allow this to happen? They say you asked for it.

I was only 15, he promised me no harm, no hurt and no pain. He lured me in by telling me “we’re just going on a date, baby.” I trusted his words, after all we’ve been together for a year.

I was only 15 wearing my green check shirt and waiting for his car to fetch me, he arrives looking uninterested, untidy, unbothered, the drive was quiet and I should have known why.

He drives home and I ask “Why?”

“Come in and say hi to mom while I change.”

I believed him.

I enter and he latches the gate and door and I’m standing in an empty house, not even his mother was home.

He asked me about why I wouldn’t give him my virginity and I responded telling him that I’m too young and I’m not yet ready, I was 15 when he slapped me and called me a liar.

I was 15 when he pushed me on the couch and pulled off my clothes, the louder I screamed the harder he punched, I told him to stop, I said no, I cried as loud as I could, no one heard me.

I was 15 when he threw me on his bed, called me a bitch and never heard a word I said, I was too thin when he punched again, too weak to fight off the man who promised me no harm.

I shouted, I cried, I pushed him.. I tried.. I tried and I failed.. he got his way while I laid there losing every bit of happiness and sanity I’ve ever had.

I was 15 when I ran away once he finished.. I ran with blood between my thighs, swollen jaws and him crying and saying he made a mistake.

I was 15 when I was raped, I tried to escape, I screamed, I fought but I was too weak. But they tell us that we dress for it, we ask for it and it’s usually by someone we don’t know.

I’m coloured with pain.

I remember sitting on the couch watching romance and planning out my future with my first love, I remember the innocence, the happiness, the hope, the faith, the love..

But it takes an hour for an argument to transpire, for him to call me a bitch, a whore but how? A virgin? He’s my first kiss, my first touch, how am I the names he calls me?

He thought I didn’t want sex because he thought I lied about being a virgin so he called me names, he punched, slapped, strangled and headed me.. he stopped when I bled.. when I cried.. when he came to his senses..

I had scars of blue, purple and sometimes black. Scars not deep enough to make me walk away, marks my mother asked about, but he loves me so he won’t do it again and if he did.. I’ll repeat, he loves me, he won’t do it again. He loves me and the swelling will go away, my skin will be clear again.. he loves me, he won’t lay his hand on me again.