Life was very tough for us. My mom always worked two jobs, but there was never enough money. Then she started dabbling in business. Money began to come in, but we still didn’t have a place of our own.
Mom took out a loan and went bankrupt. We lost all our possessions and moved to my grandmother’s village. There, we rented a house. I made a lot of friends. At that time, I turned 12 years old.
Two years later, a man showed up, claiming to be my father. It turned out he’d been in prison all this time. I was horrified and couldn’t believe this strange, tattooed man was my father. He asked Mom to sell her dorm room and promised to give $20,000 for my education. Mom agreed because we were struggling financially. But I said I didn’t need his money, that we’d manage without it, and went to stay with my grandmother because I didn’t want to see him. Mom left for a business trip, but he stayed to visit and help around the house.
During one of his drinking binges, he stabbed a neighbor and was sent back to prison. They gave him 12 years in a high-security facility. Now he writes us letters, calling me his daughter, saying I’m in his heart, that he’s cursed by a cruel fate, and signs them: “With love, Dad.”
But I don’t want to consider this man my father! People say you don’t choose your parents. I wrote him a letter telling him to leave me alone.
Some time later, my grandmother let us live in her one-bedroom city apartment, which had previously been rented out. On weekends, I’d go with Mom to visit Grandma in the village. I had friends there. Everyone respected me, but I never really got close to any guy. There were boys I dated for about a week. I wasn’t sexually active.
Last summer, a terrible thing happened to me in the village. One evening, I went out with a friend. We were hanging out at our usual spot near the store with other kids our age, staying out late. A van pulled up, and a guy I knew got out, suggesting we go swimming at the river. Everyone agreed. He pulled me aside, said he’d liked me for a long time, and asked me to be his girlfriend. But I’d heard bad things about him, that he was a womanizer, and I didn’t trust him.
Everything happened so fast. The van turned around and pulled up to us. The door opened, someone grabbed my arms and pulled me into the cab, and he grabbed me from behind and shoved me inside. It all happened in a flash. He jumped in after me, and the van sped off. There were five drunk grown men inside. I screamed and tried to break free, but they wouldn’t let go. They drove me to a forest. When the van stopped, four of them got out, but that guy stayed. He beat me and raped me, slamming my head against the van, grabbing me by the hair.
Afterward, he got out and called the next one in. Another guy jumped in, already undressed, and beat me for a long time. I fought back, but he raped me too. Then a third one climbed in, yelling at me and hitting me, but they stopped him from raping me—they were afraid I’d die. Then they threw me out of the van and drove away.
I was so scared, alone in the forest, half-naked, barefoot, beaten, and broken. Before leaving, they threatened me: if I told anyone, it’d be worse, that I wasn’t the first, that they had connections and would get away with it, and I’d never prove anything.
I didn’t want to live, but somehow I made it out of the forest. I cried for a long time, screamed, nearly lost my mind, but I crawled back home. I quietly opened the door; everyone was asleep. I took all of Mom’s pills, swallowed them, then went to the yard, found a piece of glass, climbed to the attic, and tried to cut my wrists. But I ran out of strength and passed out.
When I woke up, it was daylight. Mom thought I’d stayed at a friend’s house without permission and was about to scold me, but when she saw me and heard my story, she immediately ran to the police.
They identified those monsters within three hours—there were witnesses who saw them take me. They arrested them, but not all of them, only the ones who raped me. The others were just witnesses, though none of them helped or intervened. They all gave statements about how those two beat and raped me. And yet, I heard them standing by the van, laughing, and one of them even advised not to hit my face so there wouldn’t be bruises.
After that, I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital because I didn’t want to live. I screamed at night, refused to eat, and was terrified of the dark. I stayed there for a month. After treatment and talks with a psychologist, I calmed down a bit. Then Mom was admitted to the same neurosis ward for a month; she couldn’t walk.
The investigation lasted six months. In December, there was a trial. Those two were sentenced to four and a half years in a general-regime prison. The first one never admitted his guilt, while the second claimed he mistook me for a prostitute and didn’t know I was 16. The others played the part of outraged witnesses. And now they live with clear consciences, healthy, strong guys who didn’t protect me or help.
The prosecutor appealed for a retrial, but I’m so exhausted. All my friends turned their backs on me, except one. No one wanted to go to the investigator or the court. They were scared.
Now I feel defiled. I don’t know how to live with this. I’ve learned what betrayal by friends feels like. I don’t believe there will ever be love in my life or that anyone will need me. I’ve lost interest in living. I keep going because I feel so sorry for Mom.
A month ago, I had another nervous breakdown. I tried to die. I cut my wrists in the bathroom, severed an artery in my elbow, and lost a lot of blood. They found me in time and took me to the hospital. In the ICU, they stitched up my arm under anesthesia. When I woke up, I was terrified. Terrified for Mom, for my sister. I don’t want to die anymore. But the memories of those people won’t let me live. I’m trying so hard to forget it all.
Now I’m studying part-time at school and working as a dishwasher in a café to help Mom, who’s completely worn out and sick. I don’t have a personal life; I don’t go anywhere, I don’t trust guys. And I don’t have friends, except for one who sees life differently. She believes.
Please help me! I want to have pen pals. Tell me how to move forward, how to forget all this horror. I want to believe in human kindness and justice.
No comments