Dear ----,

I used to love you. I was so excited when you would come over to our house. I would beg you to sleep in my bed, let me do your hair and makeup. I would talk to you about everything. I wanted to make sure you were as happy, as you made me. You were the cool aunt, I didn’t ever want to hurt you, so I let myself suffer. I never told you about your husband. I never told you about what he did to me because I cared about you more than I cared about myself.

It started in third grade and stopped in seventh. I was fine in eight grade, but ninth grade the flashbacks started to consume me. I would wake up feeling anxious. I couldn't do my school work anymore. I went to school one morning, and I couldn't stop crying. Accidently telling the counselors about the bottles of pills I forced down my throat with hydrogen peroxide, they took me out of school. I had to leave school for three months, stay in a psychiatric facility. When I came back to school, I lost friends, I had rumors spread about me. I missed months of school, because of your husband. I never told you why I left. I never told anyone.

As I grew older, I realized I needed closure. I was sick of living in the dungeon, while he lived like a king. I knew I had to tell someone I could trust, someone who'd support me.

When you came over, we went on with our normal routine; hair, makeup, green tea, and gossip. I remember that night we talked until three in the morning. As time when by the conversation started getting intimate. I thought it was the perfect time to let out what I’ve been holding in for nine years. I was nervous at first, hesitant almost. I went ahead and told you anyways.When I told you, your husband sexually abused me for four years you seemed unfazed. You hugged me, and I felt a sense of comfort. I didn't regret telling you. You hug filled my eyes with tears of joy. Then you broke my heart.

I went on to tell you what he did to the eight-year-old me. I sat there waiting for you to say something, and when you finally did you said:

“Oh honey, I don’ think what he did to you was as bad as your making it out to be”.

I didn’t know what to say, I was shocked and I agreed. I don’t know why I agreed, but I did. I trusted you because you knew me better than my mother. I thought you had my best interest at heart, or maybe I preferred the comfort of your hugs rather than your support.

I’m writing this letter to tell you all the things I wish I could have told you. All the things I've kept in for the past couple year.

When I had my period, and wanted to use tampons you told my mom not to let me use them. You told her it was because they could affect my virginity, and we all know how “important” that is. I wanted to tell you that no tampon would hurt me the way your husband has. A tampon will not take away my innocence like your husband has. Don't you dare worry about my virginity.

I started to act out. I wasn't a "good" Muslim anymore. I started to rebel away from my religion, and my culture. When you told people I was rebellious, I wish you knew the only person I was rebelling was you, your marriage to a rapist, a pedophile, and child molester. I didn't want anything in common with you. I was ashamed to share the same religion as you.

Then you started to reject what happened to me. You told people you hoped your daughter never turned out to be like me. I hope your daughter never has to go through the same things I’ve had to go through. I hope you daughter doesn’t turn out like me either.

When I wrote you a 528-word text message, begging you not to come to our house for Thanksgiving dinner this year, you refused to listen. Your repose was nothing but another disappointment.

“We have had a long relationship with your family and we are not going to end it just because you don't like us. So like honestly stop with your white trash talk. I don’t know what your problem is but you need to stop or maybe make appointments with a psych again. I don’t care how my husband is, it's my family and I will deal with it myself. Don't fly so high that you don't know how to get back to earth. ”

I didn’t ask you to cut off relationships with my family, I just need more time to heal from the abuse, and betrayal you and you husband left me with. I just needed more time before I could face him again. I needed time before I could even look at you again.

Your response felt more like knives than words. You tried to insult me by telling me to make an appointment with a psychologist again. In a culture where mental health is rarely accepted, you tried to insult me. I have struggled with my family for the past five years. I had to beg to see someone. I had to lie about school, lie about work. I had to take taxis, buses, ask friends to take me to a psychologist. I haven’t stopped seeing my psychologist for the past five years, but thank you for your “concern”, I appreciate it.

I told you how much it hurt for you to use the mental effects your husband’s sexual abuse has left on me, against me.You weren't going to look out for me, but I told you to look out for your daughter. She's your own, she means more to you. I told you to look out for her, because if he did it to me he could do it to her.

“Yes, probably because 96% sexual abuse happens within the family, all I can do is to educate her better and prepare her to protect herself. You're not the only victim in the world so I pray that you move on because you have to live with this your whole life. You can start abusing him with your texts, you are an adult I don’t have to fight your battles”

I stopped replying after that because there isn’t a right way to respond to that. Your statistics are incorrect, interfamilial sexual abuse rates are in the high teens, low twenties, not as high as your number. I know I’m not the only victim, I’m just a victim trying to deal with my four years of abuse. I'm a victim who tried to look for closure in the wrong areas.

I’m angry, but I’m also sorry. I’m sorry you feel the need to teach your daughter how to protect herself from her father. No daughter should have to protect themselves from their father.

I hope your wishes are fulfilled. I hope you daughter doesn’t fear for her life when she’s alone. I hope your daughter doesn't wake up in the middle of the night screaming. I hope your daughter doesn’t have to sleep in her grandmother’s room because she’s too scared to sleep alone. I hope your daughter can sleep without a night light. I hope your daughter doesn’t take 3-hour showers in the middle of the night, scrubbing herself until she removes the feeling of someone’s hands on her body, to try and wash a man's filth off so much she starts to bleed. I hope your daughter doesn’t constantly feel like she’s being touched. I hope your daughter doesn’t feel disgusting every second of her life. I hope your daughter doesn't find comfort places that provide no comfort.

I hope your daughter doesn’t turn out like me.

Sincerely,

The girl your daughter should never be.