Living Hell - Chapter 5: The Other War

Chapter 5: The Other War

As if everything wasn’t enough, I had a very strong allergic reaction to a pomade used to heal something — I don’t even remember what. I had to miss school for fifteen days and take medicated showers. My whole body was red and itching. I still remember my mom giving me a shower in a big basin in the hallway. I had to stay in that water for fifteen minutes each time, two or three times a day.

Before I missed school, I was very quiet. I would only play if they asked me to. I was always observing or distracted, as my attention would constantly drift. Don’t ask me how I learned. I still don’t understand. Maybe my subconscious mind stored the information? I don’t know. I’m just wondering.

I wasn’t expecting the reception I got when I returned to school. Don’t get emotional or start celebrating. It wasn’t welcoming — quite the opposite. It was the beginning of another war I would have to fight for many years ahead.

People started looking at me and saying I had lice. They laughed, mocked, and bullied me. They even used the fact that my mom wasn’t very clean to attack me. Sometimes I ignored them, but sometimes I had to defend myself — especially when they encouraged a boy to come and beat me up. Thank God, I could defend myself, and he ended up being mocked for getting beaten up by a girl. He started it — I just defended myself.

They mocked me for everything and anything. I remember one time when my parents bought new clothes — the same outfits for me and my brother. I was a girl, and the clothes were supposedly unisex, but they weren’t my style at all. I looked like a boy, and I hated it. Why would my parents think I wanted to look exactly like my brother, especially as a boy? If they had truly asked me and wanted to hear me, they would’ve known better. Unfortunately, many parents think they know what’s best for their kids without ever asking. Let kids make some decisions. Let them have a voice — a choice.

On top of that, my mom accepted free clothes from people in our hometown — which was common — but many of those clothes were for boys. I’m not against anyone who likes those clothes, but they weren’t me at all. I was ashamed and tried to hide myself when wearing them.

They called me a tomboy. I remember having a thick denim jacket. I couldn’t have felt more like a boy than I did in that jacket. Still, that didn’t give them the right to criticize me. No one deserves to be put down. I was already struggling at home — and now at school too. Everything kept getting worse.

Bullying must be taken seriously. It can easily lead to suicide or even homicide. Teachers and everyone responsible at school should be held accountable. If bullying exists, it’s because they allow it. They don’t educate their students. And inside the school, the staff represents authority. Parents aren’t there. I was already being neglected at home, so I had no one to protect me.

Despite the bullying, I still preferred being at school to at home. School was my refuge. I loved learning, and I was used to being alone anyway. I had maybe one to three friends at most. Sometimes that changed, depending on the bullies’ approval. Yes — some only talked to me if the bullies allowed it. If someone fought with me, no one would take my side. No one ever spoke up for me. I felt like a contagious disease no one wanted.

The environment at home was worse. Family is supposed to take care of you, protect you, and teach you. Instead, I had endless battles and an infinite war. I was left alone to figure out how to live, what to do, and how to survive others’ attacks — including those from my own family.

Sometimes, because of the time change during winter, my brother and I had to walk to school alone. It was still completely dark outside, like the middle of the night. My mom stayed home. The streetlights were on, but some of the smaller paths we had to take didn’t have any lighting at all. Still, she let us go alone. We would walk for about 15 to 30 minutes — and we were still in primary school.

I became close to a classmate. She invited me to her house, and since I didn’t want to go home, I happily agreed. We had a good time despite our struggles.

I began to understand why we connected. Her family was also struggling. She, too, had access to adult content she shouldn’t have seen. She also had one brother. But she was luckier than I was — and I was genuinely happy to see that. She thought her brother was controlling, but their father wasn’t around, so he was trying to protect her. If you have someone like that — someone who cares and tries to stop you from making harmful decisions — you have no idea how lucky you are.

Sometimes, after leaving her house — or even just after school — I had an unexpected encounter. There was a straight shortcut path that connected the road near the school to the road below, leading to my house. It was very old, made of stone, with vegetation and vineyards on both sides. Trees surrounded the path, making it a hidden road.

One day, she couldn’t walk with me because she lived in the opposite direction. As I passed the path, I suddenly heard someone running behind me. That was the first of many times.

I won’t tell you what happened or what I saw, but I can assure you — never leave a child alone. It doesn’t matter how small or safe a town may seem. The moment you let your guard down, something can happen. Children cannot defend themselves. And though I understand how hard it can be — especially for single parents — your child will be vulnerable and unprotected.

Even though there were houses not far from that path, everything looks farther and scarier when you’re a child. Our perception is different. And when you’re frozen in fear and being silenced, it’s even worse. I didn’t scream, yell, or call for help. I was too afraid.

If you’re a parent or caregiver, remember this: you are your child’s only chance at safety. Life is unpredictable, but neglecting a child’s safety is not acceptable. Leaving a child alone should be considered a crime.

Despite everything, I still went to her house. I couldn’t bear staying home.

He — the man who chased me — appeared again, sometimes at the upper entrance, sometimes at the lower one. Sometimes before school, sometimes after. There was no way out.

I didn’t trust anyone enough to talk to. My family had too many problems. I didn’t think they’d care.

One day, something gave me clarity. I was walking home from her house. She had two cousins with her that day to walk her home. When she saw the shortcut path from a distance, she stopped and refused to walk any further. I asked her to wait for me to cross that part — just to watch me from a distance. She refused and went back.

And once again, I was chased.

That day, I realized something. He knew I would be there… because of her. Years later, I would understand why — but I’ll explain that later.

She had come to my house once before, but I don’t think she told her family. They got upset, and she never came back. After what I realized that day she left me alone, I never went to her home again. I didn’t tell her anything. She knew what she was doing.

Somehow, my brother found out what was happening. I guess he scared the man away. Despite his age, my brother was strong and feared. Maybe his friends found out, or maybe he saw me in that situation at least once. I don’t remember clearly. But that man stopped coming.

Don’t start praising my brother. You’ll see later — there’s no reason to.

Unfortunately, massive harm can erase any good deeds.

Even walking home from school, I was bullied. Two boys would trip me with their umbrellas. I had no moment of peace.

I wasn’t really living — I was stuck in a constant state of suspense. It’s like being aware of the present but never allowed to drift anywhere else. Not if you wanted to protect yourself… not if you didn’t want to get hurt again.

Still, I couldn’t avoid the pain. It kept finding me. A chain of suffering that seemed impossible to break — an endless cycle.

Please remember this: I was being abused at home, bullied at school, and chased by a pedophile. I was just a child — trying to survive and stay alive.

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