I don’t know why I’m here, maybe an urge to write my story or to share it to help someone.
I’m a 40 years old Lebanese man, with a unique story.
Lately, I started therapy with a CBT and was diagnosed with: Anxiety, severe depression, OCD and suicidal thoughts.
I come from a really poor and illetrate family. Ever since the age of 3, all that went through my life is being hit by my parents, public humiliations and physical abuse. I still carry scars on my body and face till now. Not only me, my 2 brothers as well, but the major hits was on me, the eldest. My mother wasn’t spared as well, disputes and physical violence was there too to complete the day. She started prostituting when I was about 7, the sick thing is my father used to drop her at the bar and picked her up when she finishes; of course with us in the back seat! I didn’t knew at that age what’s going on, later on, as I grew older I knew. The worst thing that happened is that I found a love letter from her to her lover when I was around 8, it turned my life upside down. She left us when I was at the age of 10 and life went downwards after it. My father made me work in summer time, while all the boys having fun, playing and enjoying life, I was at work!!! To make things even worst, I got sexually abused by my father’s friend, a sergeant major man in the army. Of course I didn’t say anything, I didn’t know what’s happening… What, how, why? I was such a stupid ignorant boy with a broken mentality, the only thing that I know is whenever I say anything, even asking how many spoons of sugar I should put in the tea, I’d be smacked.
At the age of 12, he took me out of school and put me at work. I’m still working ever since. I’ll never forget his words when taking me to that job: Education doesn’t put food on our table, a job does! He took me out of school for a 55$ per month salary.
At the age of 15, he kicked me out of the house because I talked back to his girlfriend! What a macho man! The surprise was what happened next, I had no where to go so I went to my grandmother’s place seeking refuge, she turned me down and slammed the door to my face, so did my uncle…no one wanted to do anything because of him. The next day, after sleeping on a building’s roof nearby our house, I got hold of my mother’s number, called her and she immediatly came to take me to her home. A mother’s love never dies, that’s why the first thing she said when we got there: if you want to live with me, you will pay me to stay!
It’s so nice to live with your mom, especially while you’re sleeping, she’d be having sex with her boyfriend on the couch near your head! It was a small one room studio…She couldn’t even wait till I go to work or to go out somewhere, noooooo, while in the same freaking room sleeping! I had to endure this filth till I was 18 and had my one year mendatory military service. I couldn’t work due to my service and my salary was 60$ per month as transportation fees only, she didn’t like it at all. Instead of supporting me just a bit, she forced me to support myself by this 60$ the whole month in terms of food, transportation etc. That amount barely covers the round trip, so I hitch-hicked the whole time, no one says no to military personel and the food I managed whatever I could spare from my barracks. When I finished my service, I needed some time to get a job, she couldn’t even wait 1 month on me, she threw my cloths off the balcony, I’m of no good for her without money.
I had to live on the streets for a month, swipping floors and throwing garbage in exchange for some money enough to eat, sometimes I had to eat from the garbage bin because I couldn’t find anything to work. Till I got the job that I’m in now, a jeweller. The man felt sorry for me, he helped me out as much as he can do. He got me a small room to live in and gave me a fridge and a furnace and a bed to get me on my feet a bit. When I started there, my job was only cleaning. Now I’m a master jeweller with 20+ years of experience, an excellent salary + all benefits. I self thought English and basicly everything I needed to keep up in this life.
I’m married now and we have a 3 years old boy. I’m over protective on everything about him because I don’t want him to experience anything bad. My only hope is for him to have a better life than I did. Maybe if I’m still alive when he’s grown, I could tell him my story.
Writing this was very hard. If this was a paper, it would be soaked by tears… Reliving each memory, every gesture and every phrase… Maybe it would be the last time I remember it as part of my healing process.
At the end, I thank you for reading it.