Why I decided to run away (PART-2)

To read PART-1, click here.

DISCLAIMER: Loads of swear words coming up.

Why I decided to run away (PART 1)

I have written these blog posts when I have not yet run away, I just scheduled these posts to go public after my act of freedom. Plus, also because I am slightly paranoid my game would be up before my independence day itself, ’cause my sister knows about this blog and though she is busy with her studies, I do not want to take any chances. DISCLAIMER: Graphic violence coming up. 

For you to understand why I took this crucial step, you need to know the background events leading to this train of thought.

I was nailed headfirst on the floor by that sperm donor on 13 January 2016. I had a horribly disfigured potato-size swelling on my forehead. My hair was pulled and my face slapped until I couldn’t feel any pain. I think that’s why I am so accustomed to pain since childhood, so accustomed that I enjoy the pain when I slice my thighs open with that mini-cutter.

I was dragged across the floor by my legs. I felt like a dead body being dragged after being shot in the head.

I still have nightmares where I wake up screaming and kicking the air, as I replay that scene in my REM sleep. And when I wake up, I just can’t stop thinking about how to smash that “manhood” of his, that “manhood” of his which gives him the utopian right to slam me and my mother in front of me and my sister.

I repeatedly cut my hands in college in February 2016. I did not want to contain those cuts only on my legs, I wanted to show to others what I am going through. I do not care if a thousand people around me think I am nutsy-loco and bitch behind me, but if one human would help me in spite of all those tears and blood loss, I’ll gladly take that one attention-giver for once.

My therapist and doctor advised me to avoid him as much as possible and concentrate on my studies as much as I could muster up shit up. Because it would be only one year later than I would complete my graduation and then I could go away from this place which reeks of nightmares.

So I stayed dormant for one year, hoping for freedom in a legit way.

Read my Open Letter to my nightmare here.

My black hole exsistence.

Today I am going to tell you more about 13 January 2017.

HE said ravenous sh*t about it all being my fault and I got so damn volcanic angry that I got real explicit and blasted out. ( I don’t like calling HIM as my father and so call HIM as, well, “HIM” )

It’s all mummy’s fault, is it? Then there are only two possibilities :

• She is a Mother Virgin and I plopped out of nowhere.
•  Mummy slept with another guy, got pregnant, married HIM and hence gave birth to me.

Manhood my ass!

HE said I am not being logical at all. I am being logical. I am being crystal clear logical. And HE slapped me. It’s like he has been waiting for all these days to slap me. HE said “fuck” is a bad word and that mummy taught me such words. I told HIM that it is not a bad word. Penis is not a bad word. Penis is the name given to the male sex organ. It has a specific name. When something has a specific name, you call it by that name. You cannot call it “that” thing and all.

It’s just ’cause HE has a penis, HE has a fucking “manhood”, HE has to be a man, HE has to use all his testosterone and show how dastardly bastard he can be. I always wanted to kick his worm out of his unworthy body.