Bullying, harassment and torture" topics like these merely people try their best to ignore but why? Have you ever thought of those who suffered it. You can't imagine that torture. By parents you all will think it's an unrelated topic but not everyone's life is the same. In the hushed corners of my own home or wait home is the place where you find peace but I didn't and still call it home, a haunting melody of pain plays out, echoing my silent cries as I survived through path of harassment, bullying, and torture at the hands of the very individuals I once believed would protect me. How did the refuge of my family become a battleground for the destruction of my spirit?
I breathe here as a soul battered by relentless verbal assaults, wondering when words meant to uplift turned into weapons aimed at my heart. Imagine living with the burden of haunted memories and still suffering with it in your present and how one knows what you are going through until it ends up with suicide. Suicide? yes those moments and memories can not let a human survive and this is not selfishness a person before committing suicide thinks millions of time and at last lose the battle.
Bullying, a term I associated with distant schoolyards, has taken residence within the intimate spaces of my own existence. How did the ones meant to nurture become architects of emotional torment, turning my home into a realm of perpetual fear and insecurity?
Torture, not in its physical form but through the insidious art of emotional manipulation, has become my daily reality. How did the gentle reassurances of childhood give way to a twisted dance where reality itself became a shifting mirage, leaving me questioning my own sanity?
As I bear the weight of wounds unseen by the outside world, I ask myself: how did the walls that were meant to protect me become a fortress shielding my tormentors from accountability? How did society become complicit in its deafening silence, allowing this cycle of despair to persist?
I have suffered this heartache but won't let anyone else suffer it silently, I yearn for a world that recognizes the signs, that refuses to turn a blind eye to the suffering hidden behind closed doors. I ask, not just for myself, but for every soul ensnared in this web of familial cruelty: When will we break the silence? When will we stand united against the darkness that infiltrates homes, masquerading as love?
This is not just my story; it is a plea to a world that must confront the uncomfortable truth that cruelty thrives within the most sacred spaces. Until we collectively challenge the oppressive silence, the whispers of despair will persist, drowning out the cries of those trapped in the shadows of their own homes.
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