May 2017
Let me tell you a story of a real monster among us.
When i was born, i was told that i wouldn't be able to fully grasp my environment nor lead a normal life. My parents were quick to give up on me and i was dumped in a religious orphanage where abuse and manipulation were part of our daily menu. The abuse that occurred there wasn't limited to verbal insults and beating for not finishing your meals which looked worse than what you'd feed to pigs but some of us, including me, were used to satisfy the ****** needs of our teacher.
Being as young as we were, we didn't have a complete understanding about it and the ones that had to go through with such traumatic moments, were considered the chosen ones. It was inserted in our brains that these acts were a will of god and there were those who were jealous enough to make fun of you for that, to an extent to even exclude you from their groups. My favorite part of those days was painting. I always got praised for my pictures because they appeared so mysterious, yet interesting. That's until we were asked to portray our view about the life in heaven. The way i visualized that world was very unusual and twisted, even as a child who hadn't experienced half of the cruelty yet to come, my art was deemed as a message against god and from that instant i wasn't allowed to draw anymore. One time i hid a piece of chalk in my pants and took it to bed where i would doodle on the edges under my mattress. As you would expect, i was caught in action by the kids who disliked me for the privilege i didn't ask for. They didn't waste their time to tell our teacher about it. My scars still get itchy thinking of the punishment i received. It was also common for some of those chosen ones to go missing. We were told that god had bigger plans with them and that our time would eventually come as well. I couldn't wait for that line to reach me to get out of that horrible place. Even if i know the actual meaning behind those words now, i still wish it had happened but it never did and when i turned thirteen, i managed to steal the gate keys and escape. I ran as far as possible. It took me few days to reach a town where i was looking for a nearest dumpster for food which wasn't as bad as you would imagine, considering what i was used to. The next period in my life consisted of trying to survive on the streets while accepting any donations for my drawings, made with various tools i gathered up. Around a year later i met this lady who was very fascinated by my images. She asked about my parents and where i lived which ended up with me moving in her house. She was single, yet a gorgeous woman. She was a poet. She let me read some of her creations, i was surprised. They reminded me of my own art a lot, i had a strange connection to her. She treated me well and i felt as she was the only person in the world to understand me. I didn't mind that she used me for her desires as i had already experienced most of it but unlike what i tolerated in the past, it was much more gentle and passionate, i was glad to be useful.
I looked up to her as she was my savior. To me, she was the god i was always described and taught about. She told me these wildest stories that were like dreams out of this nature and could only exist in her head but i found myself relating to them, she really knew everything. She had secured me a position at the nearest art museum through her contacts.
I was pretty excited to work around something i loved and become more helpful to her. After few weeks of being employed, i got fired, without any investigation. All i was told is that they had received a call which gave reasons to believe that i'm not fit for the job. I felt so bad, i let her down. After everything she had done for me, i couldn't even perform a simple task. I went home with the worst feeling ever and what came next, was a very gruesome sight. There was a lot i still wanted to ask and learn from her but only one question i saw.
Where is your god now?
When i was born, i was told that i wouldn't be able to fully grasp my environment nor lead a normal life. My parents were quick to give up on me and i was dumped in a religious orphanage where abuse and manipulation were part of our daily menu. The abuse that occurred there wasn't limited to verbal insults and beating for not finishing your meals which looked worse than what you'd feed to pigs but some of us, including me, were used to satisfy the ****** needs of our teacher.
Being as young as we were, we didn't have a complete understanding about it and the ones that had to go through with such traumatic moments, were considered the chosen ones. It was inserted in our brains that these acts were a will of god and there were those who were jealous enough to make fun of you for that, to an extent to even exclude you from their groups. My favorite part of those days was painting. I always got praised for my pictures because they appeared so mysterious, yet interesting. That's until we were asked to portray our view about the life in heaven. The way i visualized that world was very unusual and twisted, even as a child who hadn't experienced half of the cruelty yet to come, my art was deemed as a message against god and from that instant i wasn't allowed to draw anymore. One time i hid a piece of chalk in my pants and took it to bed where i would doodle on the edges under my mattress. As you would expect, i was caught in action by the kids who disliked me for the privilege i didn't ask for. They didn't waste their time to tell our teacher about it. My scars still get itchy thinking of the punishment i received. It was also common for some of those chosen ones to go missing. We were told that god had bigger plans with them and that our time would eventually come as well. I couldn't wait for that line to reach me to get out of that horrible place. Even if i know the actual meaning behind those words now, i still wish it had happened but it never did and when i turned thirteen, i managed to steal the gate keys and escape. I ran as far as possible. It took me few days to reach a town where i was looking for a nearest dumpster for food which wasn't as bad as you would imagine, considering what i was used to. The next period in my life consisted of trying to survive on the streets while accepting any donations for my drawings, made with various tools i gathered up. Around a year later i met this lady who was very fascinated by my images. She asked about my parents and where i lived which ended up with me moving in her house. She was single, yet a gorgeous woman. She was a poet. She let me read some of her creations, i was surprised. They reminded me of my own art a lot, i had a strange connection to her. She treated me well and i felt as she was the only person in the world to understand me. I didn't mind that she used me for her desires as i had already experienced most of it but unlike what i tolerated in the past, it was much more gentle and passionate, i was glad to be useful.
I looked up to her as she was my savior. To me, she was the god i was always described and taught about. She told me these wildest stories that were like dreams out of this nature and could only exist in her head but i found myself relating to them, she really knew everything. She had secured me a position at the nearest art museum through her contacts.
I was pretty excited to work around something i loved and become more helpful to her. After few weeks of being employed, i got fired, without any investigation. All i was told is that they had received a call which gave reasons to believe that i'm not fit for the job. I felt so bad, i let her down. After everything she had done for me, i couldn't even perform a simple task. I went home with the worst feeling ever and what came next, was a very gruesome sight. There was a lot i still wanted to ask and learn from her but only one question i saw.
Where is your god now?
