“I waited for a breath of fresh air”: My parents beat me
My family is a beautiful shell. But behind the traditional kebabs, smiles and hospitality hiding serious problems. At twenty, I recognized them completely.
I was the first child and up to the age of four I remember only the good: apparently, the children's memory denies pain. But then the second child was born, and all attention shifted to him. It cannot be said that it was difficult with me: for complete happiness I needed to read books and play board games. When I was five, I was sent to preschool class, friends appeared there. But I was not allowed to call up with them. After the birth of the youngest, my grandmother most often dealt with me, so already at the age of five I could easily make dolma and pies myself.
For the first time, my mother severely beat me when I was six years old. It was normal for our family - all relatives do the same, somewhere the children are beaten by the father, and somewhere by the mother. There are no words and conversations, there is only physical strength. In my life, the beatings did not stop until I moved to the eleventh grade. I was scolded for everything - even for an extra word during a feast. Once during some holiday I went to my aunt and told me that I really like the book with fairy tales that she presented to me. After that, my mother hit me - it turned out that it was impossible to speak with this aunt. My mother beat me with and without: did not finish the porridge - get on the face, did not fall asleep on time - endure the blows, wherever possible.
I grew up locked up: I could not walk. My grandmother took me to the shops with me, but my usual walks were strictly forbidden to me before my first year at university. While all my school friends went outside, I sat at home and alone dealt with the lessons. Learning was a fixed idea for parents. For them, I had to always study perfectly well, from childhood I was told that I would disgrace my family if I did not finish school with a gold medal, and the university with a red diploma. That is why I had a bunch of tutors from the third grade, and at the same time my parents never asked my parents how I was at school.
Mom practically did not leave the house, she had no friends - the result of father's prohibitions. He drank a lot and beat her - only now I understand what she has experienced. Mom devoted herself entirely to the youngest child, and I remained a supporting hero for whom any emotions could be thrown out.
At some point, the point of no return occurred: I realized that I would never have friendly relations with my mother. I remember as if it was yesterday. I study in the second grade, I have a classmate, let's call him Egor. He liked all the girls, and me too. Once I came home and told my mother that Yegor is beautiful. Mom hit me and severely beat me: she tore my hair, threw it on the tile — I hit my head and broke my lip on the edge of the cabinet. Then my mother left, leaving me on the floor. I cried, I was very hurt, my head was splitting. And I realized that I would never again tell my mother anything.
Since then, she has beaten me so many times: in the fifth grade because I slept until twelve on a day off, in the ninth grade — because I came back from school forty minutes later. But I didn’t feel the same way before. I was just waiting for a sip of fresh air.
The hardest time was from the fifth to the seventh grade. I wanted to die every day. It was just the time when everyone started to smoke, hang out and walk. But for me it was all very far away: I was not allowed anything. Mom beat me if I came fifteen minutes later than the lessons ended. Once I went home with a friend who smoked (I myself tried cigarettes much later, when I was an adult, and I didn’t like it). Naturally, the smoke soaked into the jacket. As soon as I entered, my mother felt the smell and beat me - she broke her lip and left a big bruise on her chest. Stories when my mother beat me to the blood, it became too much.
I learned about the female body, menstruation and sex at school. In the fifth grade, we had a lecture for girls, where we were told everything in detail. I reported this to my mother, she said that I learned about it early, and gave me a slap in the face. I was twelve. My mother forbade me to get rid of any hair: on my legs, on my upper lip, I was not allowed to pull out my eyebrows until the ninth grade. I could get a haircut only on her orders. In general, in my life a lot happened by her will or by the “recommendation” of her father. My mother also forbade me to watch all the TV series that were popular then: I remember how I became almost garbage among the girls in the classroom, because I did not watch Ranetok, and then I couldn’t turn on Daddy’s daughters.
When I studied in the fifth or sixth grade, VKontakte appeared. I remember very well the time when we wrote each other on the wall and sent music. For my mother, I was not on the social network - she, of course, forbade it. But I still got the page; Mom found out and demanded a password, so I had to delete my correspondence up to the ninth grade. Once she read a correspondence with a boy that I liked - we just talked, there were no hearts or kisses there. Mom read the correspondence at night: at about three in the morning she woke me up by slapping me. Then I beat her, and at the end she threw a phone at me with the words: "You are a shame of our kind."
From the fifth to the seventh grade, my eyes were always red and poised. I cried a lot, mostly in the bathroom. Mom did not notice, I was allowed to close the door when I went to the shower. But in the seventh grade, I found a solution so as not to cry. Scissors lay in the shower, I took them and cut myself. Not too deep for light scratches. It was painful and unpleasant for me, blood was flowing. But I felt that I did not want to cry, that I was drowning out the pain inside. It lasted for three years: almost every day I made two cuts. I did not want to die, but I wanted to feel nothing.
I didn’t like that I don’t have my life, that, according to my family, I should be a girl who suffers. I remember my grandmother even said that if my husband beat me, it means that I deserve it and I don’t need to do tragedy out of it. And I suffered. She suffered humiliation for thinking differently. Many times I tried to tell them all that I didn’t want to be a recluse, didn’t want to be only a mother, and didn’t want to endure the beating. But for these words, I received bruises and teachings: "You were born in a family that honored ancestors and family traditions. We will not allow you to humiliate the whole race."
My father always told me that I should marry an Armenian. If my husband is a man of any other nationality, he will refuse me and will not let me go. It was planned that after the eleventh grade I will enter one of the departments of the Moscow State University: economic, legal and federal state institutions. It would be ideal for a father, because it is in these faculties that Armenian boys usually study, and on economics - boys with rich dads. Dad dreamed that during my studies I found such a boy, fell in love, got married, gave birth to his grandchildren and cooked baklava with honey for the holidays.
But everything went according to his plan. At the beginning of the eleventh class, I stated that I would not go anywhere except for the faculty that I chose myself - and this was not one of the above. I dreamed of this from the seventh grade and told my parents about it. But they did not support me: my mother said that I would not learn any profession there, and my father said that I would not achieve anything. Therefore, seeing my determination, towards the end of the school I was sent to Armenia under the pretext that I needed to rest before the exams. I agreed, because I was very tired from tutors and eternal study. But there was a surprise waiting for me.
I almost got married. We went to the mountains in a small company: my sisters, brother and two children of family friends, whom I saw for the first time in my life. Caught in a small town in the mountains. I felt very good, I felt freedom: after all, before that I could not go somewhere with my friends. One evening one of the guys came up to me: "I need to talk." I replied: "Of course." Then he took me aside, got on one knee and said: "Marry me." I was shocked, did not know what to say. After five minutes of silence, he continued: “Why don’t you answer? But your father and I agreed on everything, he said that you will like me and you will not mind.” This phrase killed me completely, and I just left.
Such "dummy grooms" I have met several times. Dad accidentally confronted me with Armenian boys who seemed to be suitable for him, but I immediately made it clear to everyone that we would have nothing. Here you need to make a reservation and say a few words about these guys. They were all from well-to-do and traditional families: wives in their world do not work, they sit at home, cook, raise children. A husband can beat a wife, cheat on her, because he earns money. All the guys suggested by the father were like that.
Almost a year has passed since my life has changed a lot. Now I am twenty years old, and I can say that my parents refused. They don't talk to me. Every day - humiliation. My father says that he has spent a lot of money on me, that I am worthless and will never become anyone. All this is due to the path that I chose: for almost three years I have been making money and trying to provide for myself as much as possible. My father cannot forgive me for not becoming a person who corresponds to his ideas about life. That I lost my virginity at the age of twenty, before the wedding. It happened with my only partner, with whom we have almost two years together.
My young man is Armenian, good, and his worldview does not at all coincide with the views of my father. He calmly refers to work, to study, to the fact that I can go somewhere with my friends. For all the time that we are together, the crudest word that I heard in my address is “idiot”. I love him, and he me. But for the father of love does not exist, and he is against our relationship. Parents are against so much so that I had to hide a year from them that we were together. When they found out, they gave me a real terror. My father and mother shouted that I was dishonoring them, that I should part with my boyfriend and find "normal" for myself. It was very painful. The first time we had sex, by the way, several months after the parents learned the secret.
January 22 - on this day we had a row, I had a nervous breakdown, and then panic attacks began. I am treated by a psychotherapist, I drink pills. Parents do not know about anything, but continue to repeat that I am a disgrace of the whole race. Because I will not have a red diploma. Because I'm not a virgin anymore. Because I decided to leave the yoke.