This Is Me.

WARNING

This blog post contains sensitive language and content.

So I have almost touched base with mostly everything but one thing to complete the whole picture that I haven’t touched base on is Me. Who am I when I am not behind the screen? To be honest I have been delaying this post as it is the most personal; it exposes me; that could be good or bad depending on how you look at it.

Vulnerability: the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.

Oxford

Vulnerability is a feeling that is not acceptable to me because when I am vulnerable, that is when you can break me. I am Christian so currently we are in the Lenten season, a season of self retrospection. I have never really sat down and fought with my demons because I couldn’t bear the though of them. So what I’d do is push the thoughts far back in my mind and try not to think about them and continue with my daily life but ever since I came back home, the question always pops up: “Who am I when I am not behind the screen?” I am Lesedi Itumeleng Mashego and I am 18. Above all else I am hurt and I haven’t forgiven those who hurt me because I cannot comprehend why would someone do that to another human being so every year when I think about forgiveness, I never get past that barrier so I enter another year with the burden from the previous year and it gets heavier – I’ve been holding onto a load for 4 years now and it subconsciously affects me in a way that I can’t move on no matter how hard I try and I take it out on people who actually wanna care for me, who want to be there for me. I moved to the Western Cape in search of redemption but being back home brought me right back where I started and I just realized that running away done no one any good because what you running away from will come back to find you and you give it this power over you and you end up not being able to be in control of your own emotions and decisions which contradicts the very essence of mindfulness. I believe that a story is never truly yours until you take full ownership of it. It will still lie with the oppressor until you reclaim it. Reclaiming it is simply a process of taking the version portrayed by the oppressor and redefining it. There comes a certain power with finally taking something and affirming that it is yours. So that’s exactly what I am going to do: I am going to tell a story which has 3 parts: Acceptance, Release and Forgiveness.

Acceptance

I suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Syndrome) from the 5 years that I have been in high school. I feel like we all have those scary experiences in high school, difference is some of us recover from it whilst some of don’t, it just remains a permanent scar. It all started in 2016, my gr 9 year now for you to understand this part of my life; let me give you more insight about where I come from: I spent all of my developing years in the midst of a suburban town whereby the dominant race was white, I had white friends, from kindergarten till primary, that was pretty much all I was exposed to so of course one develops traits of the social group that they are exposed to; with that being said the high school part of my life was my first experience with an environment that was dominantly black, now you can already start imagining the details of the story: black kid raised among whites put into a school where black people was the dominant race: I was bullied because no one understood what a coconut was doing in their school, no one understood a black person who couldn’t communicate in a language other than English. My bullying experiences were different though, I could handle being made fun off and being called a coconut but for these 4 years of my life, I was bullied by the authorities of the school. So it’s first break and a teacher called me out from my friends and she said she wanted to talk to me; long story short: she believed that my own father was my blesser, lets try and imagine this scene: a middle aged black woman talking to a 15 year old girl, explaining to her that her father is seen an entity of sex and money. Imagine trying to convince a stranger about the parent who raised you, watched you grow, took care of you for 15 years is not a blesser. Her reasoning behind her allegation was the fact that I regularly got dropped off by different cars and my dad used to hug me before I got out the car. I see two underlying problems here: 1. Is it not an ordinary thing to have multiple cars within a household? Why is it such a cause for concern to see someone being dropped off at school with different cars? Or lemme rather put it like this: to some black people it is not an ordinary thing to see a black child coming from a family who owns multiple cars, which goes without saying that we still have black people amongst us that don’t want to see other black people succeed: they look down on you and you feel as though it is your fault for trying to make something out of life. 2. A simple gesture of affection was mistook. Don’t you get hugs from your parents? A good luck hug for an exam, a goodbye hug because you don’t know if you are going to see them again. A simple gesture of affection: can we as a black society not comprehend that? Now this was an adult, probably she also has her own kids; so what are you doing making someone else’s child a target? Did it not occur to her that maybe something like that could occur to her child? And when it does, what would she as a parent do about it? We lack empathy towards others and this lack of empathy makes us do questionable things, things which hurt us and scar us. 2017 was the year that really destroyed me. I was rebelling against my parents because I didn’t understand why keep me in the same school that thought my dad was my blesser, the year of my first suicidal attempt and my first confrontation with Anxiety.

Anxiety: Intense, excessive and persistent worry and fear about everyday situations.

Mayo clinic

Have you ever had to go to school, a place where you supposedly supposed to feel safe and feel nothing but danger and foreboding? I was afraid of being in that space. I was anxious because I didn’t want to be a target anymore. I just wanted to have positive experiences just like everyone else. So in 2017, someone started a rumor about me: I was giving head in the basketball changing rooms. This rumor got to my boyfriend’s friends who told my boyfriend and he believed it, imagine being called a slut, a hoe a bitch by someone who said he loved you. The 5th period, before second break, I was in physics; I got called over the intercom and got told to go to the school psychologist’s office, so I went there and I found her sitting by her desk waiting for me and she tells me to sit down. She looks at me and she asks: “Am I okay?” and I answered: “Besides coming down with the cold I am good thank you.” Then she looks at me and asks: “Is your father sexually abusing you?” and in my mind, it didn’t quite register to me what she was saying so she asked me again: “I have been told by the staff and students that you conduct yourself in a very sexual manner, given that you gave head in the basketball changing rooms and this is a cause for concern so is your father sexually abusing you?” Once again I was confronted with a situation where I had to convince strangers that my dad, who was pure and just, didn’t occasionally rape me. What shocked me was the fact that they assumed I didn’t have a mother and that made it possible for my dad to sexually abuse me. She looks at me and she says: “I have already called a social worker to come and investigate the case, she is going to come to your house and have a conversation with your dad.” I looked at her and told her that no social worker will be coming to my home and I left her office. I ran to the bathrooms in a very hysterical state and I called my dad, sobbing.

I remember this period of my life like it was yesterday. On the 12th July 2017, I tried to commit suicide by drugging myself with medication and I slit my wrists and ran into the night to die; I don’t remember what happened afterwards, I just remember waking up in a hospital, my mom looking at me with tears in her eyes and my dad sitting in the corner chair looking at me with disappointment. The reason why I did it was because I couldn’t take it anymore, going to a school I was afraid of, having an anxiety attack each time I walked through those gates. I was afraid and I didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

My dad ordered that an investigation be conducted in order to try and clear up the allegations. My psychologist, the school psychologist, my parents, some teachers and different people who were the root of the problem were involved. Now imagine this scene: It’s the end of the year exams and every day a different male gets called over the intercom, to an office and those people are asked: “Has Lesedi Mashego offered to have sex with you or displayed any sexual behavior next to you?” I remember staring at my maths final paper and not being able to pick up a pen, I remember crying during an exam and people staring at me with cold eyes, I remember how all the teachers that stood by me couldn’t even look at me anymore, I remember losing out on a bursary because they refused to associate themselves with someone who had a bad reputation at school. The investigation ended and the conclusion was that it was just rumors started by students and teachers and none of it was true. That’s all they said and did. No apology, no suspensions and no written warning, they just continued with their normal lives and left me to pick up the pieces that was my life in the same school – my parents never let me leave. In 2018 and 2019, I had this resentment in me, I hated everyone and I hated myself for it, I was angry, I was bitter and it consumed me to the point where I became my own detriment.

Release

I could never talk about what happened to me because every time I tried, it would hurt me so much. It was sensitive to me and I would hear people including the teachers making occasional banter about it as if it was funny at that time it occurred or as if in any way the story is humorous. I remember being in class and one of my teachers said “it wouldn’t be the first time that you popular, remember that story in the basketball changing rooms?” and I sat there having a recollection of the memories with the whole class laughing or I overhear conversations in the corridors and someone would whisper: “Remember when this girl……” and I hated myself for it. I wanted to hurt myself so badly that every time I got back home, I’d take a razor and start cutting myself and put a wall around me to protect myself from people when I should’ve been protecting myself from me. I sunk deeper into this hole and until this very day I am still affected by it. It affects my perception of life, the way I relate to others but you’ll never understand it no matter how hard you try because you weren’t there, you never experienced it. I could never talk about what happened to me until this year, until 2 – 3 years later and yesterday someone made me realize that it is time to let go and this time to let go of it forever.

Forgiveness

I forgive them for everything they have put me through. I forgive them for violating my right to safety and security in a learning environment. I forgive them for not being able to be there for me as a student in need. I forgive them for the hurt and resentment I’ve accumulated for these past 4 years. I forgive them for not helping me reach my full potential as a person. I forgive them for the neglect. I forgive my parents for trying to decide what’s best for me but not considering what it means for my future. I forgive my parents for not believing my cry for help. I forgive myself for the self hurt. I forgive myself for not being able to be strong enough to look past the hurt and resentment and letting it consume me. I forgive myself for not giving those a chance who wanted to do right by my side and I hope they forgive me too.

I am Lesedi Itumeleng Mashego and This Is Me.