I’m not good enough.
I have put this off long enough.
I wanted to make videos but I can’t stand looking at my face.
But I want a voice. I want to be heard… Not for sympathy. But to let that girl know she is not alone.
You are out there. Feeling like you don’t fit in anywhere. Not good enough for anyone or any group.
A girl, but not feminine, Scottish but not White. Coloured, but not Pakistani. Autistic, but not conforming.
That’s me. All 35 years.
Today I start writing. This is for me as much as it is for you.
This is about sharing my life because sadly it’s not unique. I would have taken consolation in the fact that my experiences are unique had they been. I don’t wish this struggle on my enemies.
This week I stepped up to help a sister who had suffered long enough at the hands of yet another narcissist. I listened and related to her, told her what to expect, the procedure, what happens now. When the chain comes off, the slave takes times to adjust to the newly gained freedom. Freedom to speak, move and think.
Not a unique experience, unfortunately.
“I did you a favour by marrying you…”
“I wouldn’t advice anymore to marry someone from a broken home/ with a child/ familial mental health issues / <insert degrading comment here>”
“If only you hadn’t <insert characteristic of individuality>”
“If only you listened to me”
“I suffered in this marriage. I have been kept back”
Wait, there’s more …
“I am your master as stated in the Quran”
“You’re purpose is to serve me first and foremost”
“What’s the point of a wife if I can’t have sex when I want?”
I began to view marriage as halal prostitution. Only called upon when my services were required.
I felt ashamed, but I still thought it several times this week.
She is lucky. I wish I got that swollen eye and bruised arm.
Maybe the police and domestic abuse support charity would then have accepted me as a victim.
You see, I am a master of masking and understatements. On the surface, I seem to be articulate, confident, and able. Nobody cares to scratch the surface no matter what is underneath. Kind of like looking into a glass window only seeing your reflection and not what’s behind it.
This is going to be a hard read but before I want to leave this world I want to share my story.
Why? Because if we can entertain ourselves with stories of all sorts, then why not mine?
The Female Autistic Scottish Pakistani Muslim who didn’t belong.