Anonymous

Updated Aug 2

The Hell I was forced to live in for nearly two years.

This is a long story, but I feel it has secrets that I must tell.

For the first half of my teenaged years, my life was privileged and I was ignorantly blissful. From the ages 13–16, all was well and lovely.

I was beautiful. Enviable smooth skin, long blonde hair, hazel eyes. I was tall and tanned and slender and my parents were wealthy and I had everything I thought I could want.

I went on dates when I turned 15 every Friday night. I'd go bowling with my friends. We'd go ice skating and shopping and we'd laugh in the streets and everyone would look at us. We wore pretty clothes and had perfect makeup, and we all were identical in our looks. I thought this was what I had to offer. Beauty. The ability to make others jealous.

This all changed when I turned 16.

My step-father was having an affair. He left myself, my brother, and my uneducated, ignorant mother quickly and effortlessly. He never looked back.

My mother was forced to move us two hours away from our private school. My step-father stopped paying for it, so my brother and I had to go to a public school. My friends stopped talking to me.

We lived in a low budget area. My mother found work as a maid, but it wasn't enough.

One day, I came home from school, and 80% of my clothing was gone. My old makeup was missing too.

I asked my mother where it was. She told me she sold it to one of her clients, and she left her makeup bag at a bus stop, so she took mine.

My mother only cared about how she looked. As did I. She taught me to. She didn't care about anything else, other than her looks.

My face began to break out horribly. I got acne everywhere.

I went to school in cheap shorts and t-shirts everyday, with a shitty book bag. Boys didn't look at me anymore. I was horrified. Everything changed. It felt like I was living in a different world. My hair got dry and brittle, from all the days I straightened and curled it. I had no products to fix it.

I got scarily skinny. My curves were gone.

Who was I without my beauty, I wondered. I didn't know.

Now, I'm sure I know what you're thinking: the vapid rich girl who turned into the ugly poor one got what she deserved. And you're right. I was proud and arrogant and spoiled. I did get what I deserved.

But this is only the beginning of the story. I told you it was a long one.

By the time I was 17, I accepted my pimples, and my crap hair, and the loss of my beauty. I learned that I actually had a personality.

As I began to gain back a slight bit of confidence, my mother lost all of hers.

She stopped working. She said it made her look bad to work as a maid for rich people, in houses that used to look like our own.

We got evicted, and became homeless.

My biological father lived in Scotland. He couldn't help us, and at the time, I doubted that he'd want to.

My brother got a job as a dishwasher in a restaurant. He's the one that truly suffered it all. He was a good person. Popular at our old school for all the right reasons. He was kind and intelligent, talented. Handsome. While my mother and I were both terrible people, he was an amazing one.

He barely made anything working. We slept under freeway underpasses. A far cry from where we used to live.

Men bothered me constantly.

Some wanted sex, others yelled at me, calling me pizza face and telling me to buy a mask.

I was assaulted on a number of occasions.

I cried everyday. I felt so sorry for myself. So embarrassed. I had Polaroids of my old boyfriends and I, of my old "friends" and I. I was stunning, and still, that's all I could think about - my loss of beauty.

I forgot about my personality for a while.

We still went to school. Everyone knew we were homeless. It was a moderately small town.

The owner of the restaurant my brother worked at allowed us to stay in his backhouse that was infested with roaches, among other things.

There was only cold water, and no electricity.

I learned to steal food.

This was in a smallish town in Georgia. Stealing didn't go unnoticed, and I got caught, though the police took pity on me and gave me a warning, referring me to a shelter.

My mother was a shell of who she once was. She would talk to herself and hallucinate. She would hit me and scream. When my brother tried to stop her, she would threaten him and say he was abusing her. She'd curse at us and tell us terrible things. This went on for months.

One day, she disappeared. The owner of the restaurant told us that some old man picked her up in a shitty car and drove off down the road.

My brother and I thought she would come back.

She never did.

Years later, we found arrest records of her online. She'd been arrested for heroin possession in Las Vegas, among other things.

I was 18. My brother was 16, when she left.

I graduated high school. I didn't attend the ceremony, I just picked up my diploma from the office and left.

I got a job at the grocery store near the house. The manager felt sorry for me.

I decided to try to get in touch with my father. I hadn't seen or spoken to him since I was 10, but I knew I needed to get out of Georgia.

My brother took a high school equivalency exam and passed.

I found him, and got in touch with him. I told him our story. He was horrified and told me he wished I would've called him sooner. He instantly bought my brother and I plane tickets to Edinburgh. The owner of the restaurant, out of the kindness of his heart, helped us get passports within a week. It was expensive, but he did it for us.

We took nothing with us. There was nothing worth taking.

When we touched down in Edinburgh, I felt hope, for the first time in two years. I no longer looked in mirrors, or admired myself. My vanity was gone.

My father met us at the airport.

When he saw us, his jaw dropped. The main reason, he told us, he hadn't kept in touch was because of my mother. It made sense, but he clearly felt terribly for leaving us with her and our step-dad.

We looked homeless. He stuck out like sore thumbs as we journeyed into Edinburgh.

People gawked at us. We knew we looked terrible, but we didn't care. I didn't care.

My father bought us new clothes. I chose cheap shorts and jeans and t-shirts and hoodies.

I was humbled.

He offered to buy me makeup and jewelry and pretty things.

I accepted his gifts, but never asked him to buy me anything like that.

My acne went away.

I maintained my hair well. I gained weight, losing my skeletal frame.

My father enrolled us both in university in Edinburgh.

I was anti-social. I'd forgotten how to be charming and sweet, I suppose because it was all fake back before everything had happened.

A boy came up to me and asked me what my name was. I couldn't even maintain eye contact with him, but he kept trying to talk to me. I couldn't to figure out why.

A few days after he initially approached me, I looked at myself in a mirror in one of the bathrooms at my university. For the first time in what seemed like forever.

I was….beautiful.

But in a different way.

Outwardly, I was beautiful.

But I could sense my strength when I met my own eyes in that mirror. I could see my humbleness, my courage, my power. I had depth. I had inner beauty. I saw what that was for the very first time. I saw who I was, and who I could be. I saw myself, fleshed out and raw and real, for the first time in my life.

I wasn't beautiful before at all. I was cruel and vapid and selfish and undeserving of my privelaged life of luxury and artificiality.

Now, I knew how lucky I was. I was in school. I had a home. I had my father who loved me, and my brother.

I walked out of the bathroom with tears in my eyes. And when that boy tried talking to me again, I looked him right in his eye and never looked away from anyone again.

I graduated university. Ten and a half years later, I'm 32 and I'm married to a wonderful Englishman whose eyes I never looked away from again.

And though he knows I had a "difficult" past, I've never shared this with him. I never have shared with him my step-dad abandoning us, our homelessness, the assaults I endured, the abuse, the pain, the anger, the sadness.

It still haunts me to this day.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like if my step-dad never left.

I would still be that ignorantly blissful beautiful girl with no substance.

I wouldn't know true struggle.

I wouldn't know true pain.

In a way, I'm almost glad this happened to me. It has made me appreciate life and what it has to offer. It has made me strong and humble.

I know I need to share this with my husband.

I suppose I'm afraid.

Not to tell him, because I know he'll be understanding.

I'm afraid to say it aloud.

I've never voiced it before.

I'm afraid that I'll look in the mirror and see that broken, pimply sad girl once I talk about her. It makes her real. I see her in shop windows sometimes, in rear view mirrors, and she scares me. I'm always afraid she'll return one day.

But she also reminds me of who I was, and who I've become.

Who I'm more afraid of is that beautiful girl, though. She scares me the most, and she's the most difficult to face.

I'm going to try to real this entire story aloud.

Maybe it'll help me tell him.

I don't know.

But what I do know is that this secret is my best kept and my worst kept one.

Best, because I never tell anyone.

Worst, because I never tell anyone.

A double edged sword.

Live goes on.

So it goes. You have to roll with the punches to appreciate the time-outs. You have to live in darkness to appreciate the light.

And how I do appreciate that light.

Edit:

Wow. I am truly stunned at the outpouring of love and support from everyone, I almost regret going anonymous! Thank you to you all, you've truly made me more confident in my story, and you've made me feel better about telling my husband the whole truth.

A few people have been asking about my brother, and the restaurant owner who helped us get to Scotland.

Shortly after my brother graduated college, he got hooked on cocaine. He spent so much time harboring the sadness of our past…he turned to cocaine to get him through the pain. It was especially heart wrenching because of how good a person my brother is. He suffered from severe anxiety and PTSD from what happened to us. He suffered more than I ever did. I watched him go through this and it made me feel even worse about the entire situation.

Even though we were in a better place, he still couldn't sleep or rest. He'd stay awake for hours and hours and hours. He couldn't make peace with the past. He relived it every single day.

Finally, my father and I took him to a mental health center after he accidentally fell asleep and woke up screaming. We didn't know about the severity of his drug use until after he was checked in to the center; we thought he only used marijuana.

He got better, and clean. He's strong. Today, he still has terrible anxiety, however he's learned to manage his PTSD, and he no longer uses drugs. He's been with his girlfriend for three years now, and she really helps him pull through.

He's better, but still broken. I think I was lucky to not be entirely scarred by the past. It's there, but I can manage it. He can't, and it's saddening to watch him wallow away right in front of me. He has panic attacks from going to the grocery store. He can't sit still. He's a far cry from the confident, popular guy he once was, but he's still an amazing person who overcomes so much everyday.

Him and his girlfriend are living in Ireland now, in town called Killarney. The reason I'm telling you the name is so you can look it up for yourself. It's truly a magical, beautiful place, and the only place I've ever seen him happy since all those years ago, before everything happened. He's content.

As for the owner, he died a few years ago. I found his daughter on Facebook and made contact with her in hopes of connecting with him again to tell him where Kent and I ended up. She informed me that she now runs the restaurant, and her father passed due to a heart attack. It was extremely saddening when we found this out; we never really got the opportunity to thank him, but he's an angel, nonetheless.

Anyway, I hope this provides some closure for everyone wondering where the others in this story are now.

Thank you again for taking the time to read this. I appreciate it so much.

Emilia
221.1k Views · View Upvoters ·

Who wan read this loooooong post
Make I bend

This one long pass Nairabet slip.

If I would not tell anybody in real life then why would I broadcast it in a forum?

okwabayi:
If I would not tell anybody in real life then why would I broadcast it in a forum?

Cos no one knows you here and no one give a Bleep about you.

the story is from quora....u didnt tell us something personal

xavieree:
the story is from quora....u didnt tell us something personal

No I didn't. Nonetheless, It is someone's personal story that anyone can and should learn from.

It's unfortunate that there are so many immature minds on Nairaland that any topic raised finds away to attract this set of people. Leaving people seeking solutions worse off. You would be surprised the type of comments, a topic like 'how do I stop watching porn?' would attract. And even Nairaland admins bring to front page, all sorts. To them, as far as it's trending ; it's front page worthy. If they are not to be socially responsible and disciplinary , it will just be better that the platform is restricted to political discourse. Anyway I don't see that happening. It's all about traffic, conversions and 'how much am I making'. But I do think there should be a 'dislike' icon... to indicate we have sensible and right thinking Nigerians within any topical issue.

written007:


No I didn't. Nonetheless, It is a someone's personal story that anyone can and should learn from.

It's unfortunate that there are so many immature minds in Nairaland that any topic raised finds away to attract this set of people. Leaving people seeking solutions worse off. You would be surprised the type of comments, a topic like 'how do I stop watching porn?' would attract. And even Nairaland admins bring to from page all sorts. To them, as far as it's trending ; it's front page worthy. If they are not to be socially responsible and disciplinary , it will just be better that the platform is restricted to political discourse. Anyway I don't see that happening. It's all about traffic, conversions and 'how much am I making'. But I do think there should be a 'dislike' icon... to indicate we have sensible and right thinking Nigerians within any topical issue.

You should start with your own personal real story, instead copying everything from Quora

written007:


No I didn't. Nonetheless, It is a someone's personal story that anyone can and should learn from.

It's unfortunate that there are so many immature minds in Nairaland that any topic raised finds away to attract this set of people. Leaving people seeking solutions worse off. You would be surprised the type of comments, a topic like 'how do I stop watching porn?' would attract. And even Nairaland admins bring to from page all sorts. To them, as far as it's trending ; it's front page worthy. If they are not to be socially responsible and disciplinary , it will just be better that the platform is restricted to political discourse. Anyway I don't see that happening. It's all about traffic, conversions and 'how much am I making'. But I do think there should be a 'dislike' icon... to indicate we have sensible and right thinking Nigerians within any topical issue.

firstly, I m nt against your topic ....it's interesting and cool datz why I clicked on the topic in the first place.
Secondly, I hv seen this particular answer on quora and I even gave an upvote.....I came in xpecting a personal answer/experience I can somehow relate to and mayb even motivate me to put mine down and not someone else's experience and then lastly I jus stated a fact (cos I didnt really get d defensive front u put up callin someone immature n all dat )..I wasnt trying to be judge-y or condescending

Interesting read.

xavieree:
firstly, I m nt against your topic ....it's interesting and cool datz why I clicked on the topic in the first place.
Secondly, I hv seen this particular answer on quora and I even gave an upvote.....I came in xpecting a personal answer/experience I can somehow relate to and mayb even motivate me to put mine down and not someone else's experience and then lastly I jus stated a fact (cos I didnt really get defensive front u put up callin someone immature n all dat )..I wasnt trying to be judge-y or condescending

.... Oh! Sorry if I came across as defensive... what you may have missed , is that your response gave me an avenue to write about these issues, though indirectly related. I quoted you but went off the curve with my reply. I guess that has been bottled up and was just looking for any escape.Anyway I was just pointing out that many people on the Nairaland platform have great stories anyone can easily be grateful for as well as learn from but due to the uncultured way some people go about reacting or commenting leave much to be desired. I think I have an example from this very topic.

The first sentence from the writer was to pre-informed the would be reader on the long read if he or she eventually decided to read the piece. Trust our "DNA" to repeat the obvious in the comment section. In your case , I understood you perfectly and you were right about the forum being Quora. And having read it before, understandably you prefer something different and hope for that to be within our Clime for a change. Again even when you thought I was being defensive, you didn't react (why can't people here be that way!). Thank you for that.

written007:
.... Oh! Sorry if I came across as defensive... what you may have missed , is that your response gave me an avenue to write about these issues, though indirectly related. I quoted you but went off the curve with my reply. I guess that has been bottled up and was just looking for any escape.Anyway I was just pointing out that many people on the Nairaland platform have great stories anyone can easily be grateful for as well as learn from but due to the uncultured way some people go about reacting or commenting leave much to be desired. I think I have an example from this very topic.

The first sentence from the writer was to pre-informed the would be reader on the long read if he or she eventually decided to read the piece. Trust our "DNA" to repeat the obvious in the comment section. In your case , I understood you perfectly and you were right about the forum being Quora. And having read it before, understandably you prefer something different and hope for that to be within our Clime for a change. Again even when you thought I was being defensive, you didn't react (why can't people here be that way!). Thank you for that.

Really got u well...thanks too