Violated 6

 Violated 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5

It was late evening by the time we arrived home. The religious elder blasted me with some verbal warnings as I stepped out of the car. He then told my father to closely monitor my activity from now on as our house was going to be under their surveillance.

I didn’t acknowledge what was being spoken to me…I didn’t dare respond. I was thinking if I did or said something that agitated them, they might change their minds and send me back so I kept to myself. Once all was said and done, the elder drove off and father unlocked the main gate to our house. We both walked in through the doors and then I stopped and turned to face my father. I did this because I knew what was going to happen next.

Though I was mortified, I stood there ruined waiting for the beating to begin. For the hailstorm of verbal and physical violations to desolate whatever that was left of the person I once was.

But instead, father shut the door and walked away from me in damaging silence. I watched him go up the steps, through another door and close it behind him. He did all this with not a single look or word directed at me…his daughter that he had just picked up from jail.

I was left abandoned in the middle of the front yard of my own house. Once it sunk in that I was not going to be beaten, I found my way to the extension of the house where mother lived – my parents were divorced but she still lived there. I walked in to find her sitting in a chair in a desperate state. Her eyes were sunken in and blood shot…it pained me deeply to see my mother like that.

I fell apart as soon as I saw her, I shattered into a million pieces crying, howling, rocking back and forth in the fetal position.  I moaned,  begged for forgiveness as I tumbled into an unknown territory of depression. I began ripping off the clothes I unwillingly wore in prison and was sent home in. I just wanted to wear my own clothes again, to smell the scent of our laundry. I was craving familiarity and had an urgency to feel like I belonged again.

So there I was… naked on the floor poisoned by shame, powerless and unable to accept that I was now safe.

That territory I sunk into, I remained in for many months to come…if not years. I declined to talk to anyone about this harrowing event in my life. I refused to go to school or go out period. This was now the phase of punishing my self. I was offered no psychological council by anyone.

Exams started at school and I recognized I was going to fail but I went in under pressure from mother. I barely passed…

Shortly after passing I began a rotating internship in various hospital departments. Here I noticed I was given an extra tough time at work by superiors who were 99% religious male specialists that treated me like excrement and had no problem showing it. I brushed it off to that it was normal where I came from so I tried not to take it too personally but that does not mean it did not cause me hardship.

Later in my internship, I came to find out that the religious police who had arrested me contacted the hospital and the various departments I was rotating in. They informed them of everything and reported me as a “whore”. I know this because this enlightening essential information circulated through my colleagues who eventually came and notified me.

Here was a great example of Islamic teachings and practices…such ethics and standards.

This marked the start of my anti-social phase. I remained with no counseling or therapy to help with the extensive post traumatic stress disorder consuming me. Add to that how no one seemed to comprehend, care or believe what I was going through. To them I was acting in an attempt to gain sympathy from others.

I lost ALL friends…or did they lose me?

The general rule I was constantly reminded of was that I didn’t follow the order of things, thus I should not be suffering or upset. I was guilty and what happened to me was indeed “normal and expected”. My nickname at home was now “the whore”

Then the call came…

The religious police called father up with an order to get me into the station in 2 weeks time to receive my final sentence of 80 lashes for the felony I had committed. I was also handed down an additional 2 months in jail.

To be continued…