I’m a 23-year-old girl.
I graduated from college,
My siblings live abroad.
One of my brothers suddenly came back home.
That’s when I started getting beaten over every little thing.

“You’re a failure.”
My father has always called me a “failure” ever since I was little.
I don’t remember when he started calling me that.
But he still does.

I used to tell myself that we’d be better off,
If my mama left him.
We had our share of violence.
We used to get beaten with a belt,
And any other object along the way,
Until I would pee myself.
I still remember when he broke my finger when I was young.
He wouldn’t take me to the hospital for two days,
Thinking it was just a bruise,
Then it turned out to be a fracture.

My parents separated when I was young.
My mom, my sister, and I were living happily after the separation,
Until my mom got remarried.
I couldn’t bear living with her when she got married,
So my father sent me to live with my grandma.
I wish I had never gone.
My grandmother and aunt both gave me a hard time.
I would cry myself to sleep every day,
Because of how they treated me.

I had just turned thirty.
Fifteen years ago,
It wasn’t normal to be single at the age of thirty.
At every wedding I went to, my aunts would tell me,
“We hope you’re next, dear.
May God reward your patience.”
They’d say it with sorrowful eyes,
You know the look.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, motherhood, marriage, divorce

My father used to beat me up when I was young, and he still does until this day.
My brother learned to be violent with me from him. He beats me up over trivial reasons, and sometimes without any reason at all.
I suffered from depression when I was 11 years old from all the things I’ve been through.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, parents, depression, suicide

After I left my husband, I decided to look for a job.
I tried to find a job at a hospital, but they only needed nurses, and I’m no nurse.
I kept looking for a job but couldn’t find one.
Things were looking bleak.
“How old are you, ma’am? 36? Sorry, no can do.”
domestic violence, physical violence, sexual violence, gender violence, marriage, divorce, motherhood

When I was little, I often dreamt of a demon.
I’d bang on our front door as the demon came down the stairs.
I’d scream and my voice would catch in my throat.
My hands would grow heavier as I pounded on the door.
When I got married, I started to suspect that demon was my husband.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, social stigma, work, addiction