Life with the black demon. Sandra Pasic
dismiss any intention I had to complain to anyone.
Mum was free from work that day and everything she did, no longer made any difference to me. She entered the room and asked me to take off my underwear to see if I was still bleeding. When I took my clothes off, there was no blood, there was no severe stomach pain from yesterday.
She told me I had to be careful now. The first thing she emphasized was that I had become a “more mature girl.” A ten-and-a-half-year-old girl?
I thought to myself:
- Oh, mum, can you not really understand what had happened? Don’t you suspect anything?
Not a day went by without me crying. As I cried then, so I cry to this day. The only emotions I had were sadness, pain, shame and betrayal.
I became disinterested about anything. I cared for no one. I didn’t even ask when my sister and brother would be back. I just lived my life because I had no other choice. I was never aware that there is a brighter side to life.
He, my father, ruined my childhood. He ruined my life. He marked me for the rest of my life, even though only he, I and dear God knew about it. The rest of the world could not understand the pain. I had to carry a heavy burden on my young and weak shoulders.
My childhood was monotonous, there was no one I could trust but myself. I didn’t want to spend time with anyone, I didn’t want to gain anyone’s trust. I was afraid of people! I was afraid of everyone! I was afraid I would go through the same hell I already went through. I didn’t want to feel “the bite of the black demon”. I was constantly trying to be alone, running away from everyday life and reality. I thought I didn’t belong to this world or this family.
I never realised that anyone could hurt a child. Every day, I posed questions over and over again. Is there someone who could hurt their own child? Is there anyone who could permanently scar, mentally and physically, their own child?
The days went by, somehow. I don’t even remember. They didn’t matter to me. Finally, sister and brother came back happy and full of wonderful experiences. I was especially struck by the fact that my father hugged and kissed them as a sign of welcome, and also said that he missed them a lot. They talked, I sat and listened to them. There was no happiness or sadness in my expression, only coldness, contempt, jealousy, envy. I wondered how a parent could make such a difference among their children. Every time I thought about it, tears would fill my eyes.
I don’t remember ever being happy again as a child. My sister and brother teased me about how they spent the whole holiday with our grandparents, and I didn’t spend even five days with them. To be honest, I didn’t feel like going anywhere, I didn’t wish to be crowded by people.
I started to lose my concentration. I had a hard time establishing normal communication with everyone. Although I loved them, I was afraid to show any emotion. I was afraid that if we got closer, I would tell them the whole truth. I chose to sacrifice myself; I carried that heavy burden by myself. I loved them and that was quite enough for me, even without getting too close to them.
I enjoyed solitude. I lost my trust in my family. I loved my mum, but I also blamed her for everything. I know her hands were tied. She could offer us nothing but her immense love.
After that terrible event, I was disgusted by my mother’s hands, mother’s kisses and caresses. Every time she’d pay attention to me, I refused the attention because I didn’t like it, but at the same time I missed her. My emotions were mixed and unclear.
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