"Depression and Abuse" : A Survivor's Story

Two months ago, precisely on January 3rd 2023 I tried to kill myself...Looking back on it, I don't think it was an instant decision, but rather a well-thought-out step that I was just afraid to take before. It wasn't just one thing that pushed me to the brink, but a culmination of a lifetime of trauma and suffering.

As far as my recollection of memories go, a lot of things contributed to my suicidal thoughts. From constantly being sexualized since the sixth grade to being sexually assaulted eight months ago and getting groomed by three different men when i was a teenager, life hasn't been very fair to me. I used to think that being a "woman" was the reason why I went through all of it in the first place but I was very wrong about it,it was men who were responsible for everything that i had to go through and not a part of me is even remotely liable for everything they did to me.Those moments in my life made me feel unworthy of love, unworthy of respect, and unworthy of the life that I was living

For a very long time, I felt that all those incidents defined who I was as a person, and that made me feel disgusted towards myself. From getting back to my nicotine addiction after being sexually assaulted to engaging in self-harming behaviors, things had been rough for a very long time. I had started ignoring my responsibilities, failing in classes, and being uncommunicative towards my friends and family. All of these only resulted in the downfall of my mental health. I was constantly fixated on how I looked and did everything I could to eat as little as possible because I thought that if I were able to change how I looked, I would no longer be the person who went through all the horrible things.

The only time that I felt genuinely happy was when I was hanging out with my friends or when I was in the company of someone who I really liked. I used to feel like I was drowning in my own thoughts, but having someone to talk to would give me a brief reprieve from the constant pain and suffering.

But the relief was always temporary. It seemed like no matter how much I tried, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being a burden to those around me. I felt like I was always putting them through too much and that they'd be better off without me. I know now that this was the depression talking, but back then, it felt like the absolute truth.

The first time that I got touched by a man was when I was 16 years old. I was going back home through Nepal Yatayat, and he kept on brushing his dick against my body. As I was travelling through a crowded bus, I thought that maybe it was just an accident. But then he started to put his hands on my thighs, and that's when I realized that it wasn't an accident. I froze, didn't know what to do but he kept on going and touched me in places that didn't belong to him , and I just sat there, praying for it to be over soon. When I got home, I cried myself to sleep, feeling violated and helpless.

I wanted to be 16 again, but this time around, I wanted to carry a pocket knife with me everywhere I go. I wanted to feel safe, and I wanted to be able to protect myself if the need arose. But deep down, I knew that even if I did carry a pocket knife, it wouldn't change the fact that men are a constant threat to my safety.

On a recent conversation I had with a friend of mine, I was explaining to him why I hated men the way I did. The conversation ended pretty quickly, mainly because he was a good listener, but what remained still was this undying despise I had for men around me. People usually painted me as this 'pseudo-feminist' when I tell them that I hate men.

But it's not that simple. It's not just that I hate all men. It's that I hate what some men are capable of doing to me and to other women. The thought of that is enough to make both me and other women constantly live in fear of getting harmed...