That is what I was called. That is the name that I lived by for many many years. Caught up in a life filled with ups and downs, love and disappointment, hurt and joy. The never ending tides that swept through my life seemed to wash away and bring back different experiences to me, that eventually created in my mind a vision of what I wanted and an absolute knowlege of what I did not want in my life.
As I plodded through my teenage years filled with anger and hate, bent on destroying much that was on my path, I did not believe for one second that I deserved to be loved. I had after all, suffered at the hands of a rapist and an abusive father. Life taught me that I had to be weary and fight for what I wanted. I learned to protect myself in the most physical way possible. I was a fighter. Physically and emotionally. No-one could touch me or come near me for fear of my temper or quick moves.
I grew to view the world through very angry eyes. I also became determined. Determined to mould my life the way I needed to survive. I hurt every night, wondering what it felt like to have a normal life. One filled without guilt, fear or disappointment. I wondered what I had done wrong to deserve this pain too. None of these thoughts ever did me any good and I slowly began to move away from thinking to doing.
I began to write down my experiences. This was the start of a journey towards healing my badly torn heart, as each page turned became the salve needed to smooth over the pain that had ripped through my earlier years. There was only 1 person that I trusted in my life. A teacher who guided me through Art and Photography. I began to see the beauty of life again. His gentle guidance taught me that there was an entire world out there waiting to be embraced. More than that, he gave me something more powerful - Hope.
Through those camera lens, I could create, mould, chop and change what I wanted to see - Reality! Mother Nature healed me with her beauty, her endless sunrises and sunsets, her thunderous storms and then glorious abundance of colour, texture and delightful sounds. I was enthralled, enraptured, in love.
I slowly began to embrace the healing power of Mother Nature far more than I had given her credit for. Taking drives late at night, I would sit at the top of a hill overlooking the twinkling lights of the harbour and sit there mesmerised as the pain slowly subsided in my heart. The rain gently washing down the sides of the window, mirrored the way I was bleeding inside. No-one could see my pain. It was mine alone.
Music was the other love that I embraced with all of my heart. It soothed and guided me, bent with my mood, lifted me up when I needed it, crooned with me when I felt down and rang out with joy when I was overwhelmed.
The blues, jazz, classical, rock, RnB and golden oldies saw me through my rebellious stages in a way that every mother would hope to guide her child towards a gentle life. Mother Nature and Music was my salvation, my hope and my saving grace. I spent many a night under the stars contemplating the vast, endless complexity that was the universe. I never quite understood it. Decades later and I am only now coming to appreciate the true unconditional love that is a pivotal part of this universe of ours.
I am on a journey filled with change right now. But I need to tell you more and as you get to know me...really know me, then many will understand the complexity that is me.
So I will update this specific story as and when I feel inspired to continue. Until then...
There is a part of my life that I think that I need to just get out of the way. I thought about it a lot in this last few days. I also thought about the people who would be affected by it and I have decided, that in order for me to move forward with this story..it is something that needs to be done. I apologise in advance to all the people who read this and take offence. I do believe though, that it is my story and my experiences and it has to be told with utmost honesty.
So without much further ado...here goes.
I will start off with my earliest memories. The one pivotal moment that changed my life in a most profound way. I cannot remember much as my mind has completely blanked out the years before I was 7 years old. But from what I remember, a few things stand out. I will always remember my mum baking shortbread biscuits and other yummy delights. To this day, I can create the most delicious creations in the kitchen, but I will not bake. It took a long time to link that piece of information together. The other thing that I remember vividly, is my father cutting his nails. Even now, I cannot be around anyone using nail-clippers because it still strikes fear into the deepest part of my soul. I cringe even now as I write these lines.
It was a fairly normal day as any I suppose. As a family, we were all in our home watching a movie when my father (who was cutting his nails at the time), asked me to get some of the baked goodies from the kitchen for him. Now I remember my mum saying that she would go, but he insisted that I do it. At 7 years old, it was my absolute pleasure to do as my parents asked and so I willingly ran off the kitchen. Looking back now, my little brain did not comprehend anything amiss. When I got to the kitchen, my father arrived a few minutes later and gently steered me into the bathroom and closed the door.
Now, at this point..all I can say..is that he did unthinkable things that should not have been done to a 7 year old. As I write this, my heart still aches for the little person who did not know what was happening and I still feel the pain, horror and fear etched into my memories as if it was only yesterday. Needless to say, my mother arrived and was horrified at what she saw. She screamed at him and he ran. In retrospect...he ran like the coward that he was.
My parents had one of these love/hate relationships. My mother adored him, he hated that she was beautiful and got a lot of attention from people around her. He was insecure, possessive and controlling. Their relationship was one of many facades. On the outside, the world saw his generous heart and giving nature. Behind closed doors, he was abusive, controlling and mean. He may have put a roof over our heads, made sure that we always had food on our table and never wanted for anything material. In exchange?? We lived a life of perpetual fear. Never knowing if he would come home drunk and hit my mum until her face was unrecognisable.
He was the most amazing gentleman on earth. He opened car doors for her, brought her fresh bouquets of her favourite flowers everyday and stocked the house with every luxury we ever needed. He loved her in an obsessive way, that only grew into jealousy, anger and hatred at the drop of a hat. She was not allowed to leave the house without him. He had created a beautiful prison for us and no one knew about it. See, in our cultural upbringing, wedding vows were a permanent binding decree that was taken absolutely seriously. That meant that families would not interfere in any relationship woes, would turn a blind eye to the obvious abuse and pretend that her black eyes and bruises did not exist when we pitched up at family gatherings.
Now I tell you this, because those experiences moulded my life to where I am at right now 36 years later.
Back to the incident in question, all that I can vividly remember about that night, was that my mum's brothers arrived and hit my father, well as much as they could, since he jumped out of the window and ran for his life. If that was the end of this incident, life would have been bearable. But that was merely the beginning of more trauma to come our way. As a single mother now, my mum relied on family to assist without the support and income of my father, who never allowed her to work.
To add insult to injury, we were sent off to live in different homes. My brother at 8 years old was sent to my mum's brother . I was sent to a relative's home. I do not know where my mum went to, all I know is that I was sent to the hospital for an endless round of tests, sat at police stations with a crying mother who braved the condescending looks and words of many who blamed her and then over to the Welfare Societies to get a cheque to tide us over. I went through numerous rounds of Court cases and psychologist meetings. I was lorded over by teachers in a new school who watched my every move as if I was a wounded animal that could infect the children around me with my mere presence. Back at my relative's house, I was treated like a pariah. Made to do all the menial jobs no one wanted to do, used like a domestic worker and threatened or hit everyday if I did not do what was expected. I was told that all of this was my fault and from that day on...the seed of pain, anguish and guilt was firmly planted within my mind.
I was told continuously that if it was not for me and my filthy ways, my father would not have touched me like that and that my mother would not have lost her home and we would all still be together. I received beatings with belts, shoes, sticks and even threatened with a shotgun. I was only 8 at the time.Thinking back now..I think that the adults who told me this, did not know how to respond to a situation like this which normally had a huge stigma attached to the entire family and was reflecting on all of them.
She always took him back. I never understood that! Years later, after many emotional conversations, I have learnt some very valuable lessons. Family encouraged and demanded that she take him back. I was merely the pawn in a culture of people who professed that life was beautiful and nothing bad happened ever!. That of course was bullshit. Incest, rape, sexual abuse, physical abuse and bullying was happening everywhere.The Indian culture and family structure is one where the truth is not always what it seems. Just to create an impression of the perfect family, no one stands up against bullies, rapists, wife batterers, adulterers and abusers. It was whispered about, but never openly spoken about or any action taken to stop it! That way, all of the abuse remains hidden to some extent. People know and can see what is going on, but no one wants to interfere.
Fast forward over a year later, my mum and dad got back together. Go figure. In my world, I did not know what was in store, all I know is that the fighting had ended, he never touched me again and life went on as if nothing had ever happened. Until the beating began again. He would beat all of us. At 6 foot 3 inches, he towered over all of us. The fact that he was a mechanic and worked hard all day, meant that he was physically stronger in every way. The pain of the beatings, watching my mother being physically thrown across the room, him wrapping her long hair around his hand and then lifting her up and slamming her face into the wall was more than I could bear.
We tried to stop him. He just beat us up and threw us across the room too then locked himself and my mum into a bedroom and continued hitting her until she was unconscious. I started to become angry. Angry that she did not tell anyone!! Frustrated that we could not help her. Angry that people around us just turned a blind eye and kept pushing her to go back to him as our culture decreed. When he finally came out of his rage and drunken stupor, he would become the epitome of remorse, rush her to a doctor and threaten us all not to say anything. I heard my mum say that her broken ribs, bleeding face and many internal injuries were due to her falling down stairs or whatever excuse he demanded she use. He would turn on the charm and the doctors would blindly suck it up.
Growing up, my mum had not been allowed to work as my dad had always been possessive. Oh, he was the perfect gentleman to outsiders looking in, but to live in a home where we were terrorised on a daily basis was another story. He used to hit my mum just because the food was slightly hot, not very hot. He would hit her if there was a pot on the sink. He would beat her up if she looked too beautiful.
He would drink profusely and sleep around with other women, then hit my mum out of guilt and make it her fault that he was an adulterer. He would throw food at her, up turn the table so that no-one else could eat. He would force us kids to eat, so that people would know and acknowledge him as a provider. Whenever there was a fight, he would beat her up and then take her to a doctor, threatening our lives if she dared to tell them the truth. That was a daily, if not a weekly occurrence.
I lived in fear, knowing that whilst she healed....he would use me. He took my 8 year old brother to brothels and bars to pick up prostitutes, so that he could learn about the joys of women. When my mum finally took us away, he kidnapped us. Threatened to take his life, cried outside the door for hours begging to be taken back. Apologising, lying, sweet talking her and making more promises which he always broke.
My dad had been away from us off and on for a number off years and he still came into my room randomly. This time, with threats that if I did not do as I was told, he would unleash all of his disgusting attentions onto my little sister. I was horrified. I allowed him to do whatever he wanted to me as long as he left her alone. I began to fall into a deep depression wondering where this famous, all knowing, all seeing, all compassion God was. You know..the one that is supposed to save us from evil and deliver us with good?? Yeah...the same one!
Anyway...He threatened and I complied. My self worth started to take a dive, I was getting bullied at school and my only saving grace now, was sport, music and books. I immersed my life in fantasy through books and soothed my pain with music. I would sit outside until the early hours of the morning, watching the stars, praying for Aliens to descend upon Earth and take me away. Well...nothing happened. Go figure!
Now, I had not told my mum that my dad had been continuing his sick behaviour. The reason was that he had bought her a home, was not hitting her as often, he was seen as the perfect gentleman to the world at large. He looked after our family in every way that a man would. We had a restaurant, an apartment in town, my parents were both public figures, we had 4 cars, status, money and everything that our little hearts could desire from clothes to the latest toys. And everytime he wanted or needed his cravings satisfied..he would threaten me that if I did not comply, then all would end. He would kill my mum and burn us all alive in the house. My fear for my 3 brothers and sister was a sick reminder everyday that their fate lay in my hands. All I had to do was shut up and do as he asked.
Finally, the day arrived when all of this horror came to an explosive end.
I was 13 and my father had arrived home again in one of his "Moods"..one that I knew only too well. There was something different about him though. I could not quite place my finger on it, but knew that something dark and sinister was brewing. He screamed for my sister to come to his room and I was horrified. I ran, literally ran to her and threw her out of his way and insisted that he take me instead.
Well...my mum arrived much later that afternoon and I told her what had happened. I was tired of playing this filthy game with him and was scared that he would do this to my little sister if I was not "available" for his perversions to be pacified.
My mum immediately phoned the police, family, social workers and they took action within a few hours. We were all removed and put into a home of Safety - Orphanage. Now let me tell you, if you have ever experienced an orphanage first hand - you would know that there is a hierarchical system there. We were fresh meat ready for the picking. We were confused, shocked and scared out of our minds. We arrived there, only to be stripped of all of our clothes, told that we no longer had parents, were given second hand clothes from a basket and then told to follow the rules or else.
That was the adults. Now the real orphans were another story all together. They descended upon us like vultures seeing food for the first time. We were beaten up, had our things stolen, jeered, tormented and ridiculed. My heart bled for my brothers and sister. I had brought this upon them with my selfishness again. If I had just shut up, then they would all be at home with my parents. Not here in the middle of a mini hell.
I made a promise that day that I would never let them down again. After the weekend, we were taken back to my mum. She had worked tirelessly with the authorities all weekend to get us back. I will never forget her resilience.
This too, also instilled more of the Rebellious streak in me. Knowing that what was going on was not right caused me to keep fighting for the underdog.
But, my story does not end there. I cannot say that this is the beginning of a beautiful journey of healing...no...the horror was about go to another level of disgusting proportions. My father was sent to jail for 3 years. We lost the beautiful home, cars, restaurant, apartment, money and worst of all, my parents got divorced. My family was torn apart by the stigma attached to us by the words - "incest", "sexual abuse" and "divorce". All the taboo words that were whispered about as if it did not exist and me of course, the centre of all evil. The one who had brought this on the head off our family. We were taunted, laughed at and destitute. It also turned out, that my dad had been misappropriating funds from the business and had left all the debt on my mum's name.
More guilt, more to take responsibility for. Another reason that I vowed to look after my siblings and make sure that they never wanted for anything. Whilst all of the trials and painful sessions of doctors, probing, questioning and investigations were going on, many family members deserted us and would have nothing to do with us. Most support disappeared. All the people who enjoyed the benefits of my family being wealthy, were no where to be seen in our time of need.
We were stripped of our dignity, lifestyle and above all, our lives. To add more pain as this drama unfolded, a relative began visiting us under the pretense of "being there for us". Something felt off about him. My intuition was revving at the bit with a sixth sense that I must stay away from him at all cost. And with good cause too.
This guy was a policeman. He started visiting randomly and would insist that I served him. I did not think anything of it, but hated the creepy vibe he gave off. One particular weekend, I decided to take my little sister to the library. He pitched up again as we were leaving and insisted on taking us. I refused. He went to my mum and told her that we were safer as girls, being taken by him as a policeman to town. She immediately agreed and demanded that we go with him, when I kept refusing. I eventually evaded him and took a bus to town. Hindsight is always the best, right?
Well...how do I put this subtly? That is the day, I decided to kill myself. My first and last attempt on my life. I jumped off the pier and some poor, brave surfer decided to rescue me..I was pissed off!!! So getting back to why I did that.. This policeman relative followed us and waited outside of the Library in town and insisted that we jump into the car with him or else. He had two other policemen in the car him. They took us to another part of the suburb and picked up another girl. They then took us to a secluded nature reserve where they proceeded to rape her.
I was paralysed with fear when they came for my little sister. I pleaded and begged him to leave her alone and to take me instead. He just laughed in a very odd way. His eyes were glazed over and he looked almost maniacal. He finally conceded and took us home. But at the last minute, just 1km away from my home, he veered off to my high school. He parked on the school grounds and ordered us out of the car at gunpoint. I begged him to leave my sister alone. She was only 8 years old. He finally conceded.
He dragged me by my hair and walked up towards the buildings. When he was satisfied that he would not be caught, he fisted me and hit me with his gun continuously then raped me. I silently said prayers in gratitude that my sister was safe and just blocked out what was happening to me. After all, I was worthless and deserved it. He kept telling me that if my father could do it to me, then I must definitely be enjoying his attentions. Through the pain, I realised that he was strangling me and meant to end my life right there.
I promised him that he could use me anytime he wanted to. I begged and pleaded yet again. He eventually let me go and marched me back to the car at gunpoint. He threatened me again to reiterate the fact that I would be responsible for the safety of my sister if I dared to tell on him. I promised I would not and grabbed my sister out of the car. Maybe the phantom God out there was looking after us because the 3 policemen just drove off and left us there in the school. We walked home very slowly and when I reached home, I just collapsed. My mum saw the state that I was in and called the police immediately. All the while, I kept thinking - Not again!!
The long and short of this story is this...at the trial, my own lawyer told me that I deserved everything that had happened to me. He told me that I had enticed them with the way that I was dressed. Yes, my jeans and baggy t-shirt had apparently been too sexy for him to resist. So yet again, my self esteem took another hectic knock. Was I destined to be used by men at will? To fulfil their filthy needs, their desires, their perversions?
From that day on, my life became a depressive state of survival. On the outside, I smiled. On the inside, my soul died a little everyday. I became very clever in the way I presented the various facades to the world at large.
At school, I quietly went about life and became a people pleaser. I thought that if I was absolutely good and kind to everyone then I would be loved and acknowledged a person who was worthy of living. People just took advantage as human nature is prone to. Find a person that behaves like a victim and use them. I said yes to everything. Fetch this, do this, help me with this, babysit for me, cook for me, clean my house for me, scrub the toilets, wash my car, do my homework, carry this for me...those are only some of the things that I did on a daily basis to feel worthy. And yes, people happily used me some more and now I realise, that I was sabotaging myself. I was allowing people to use me so that I could be on the receiving end of how I really felt about myself. Used, worthless and rubbish.
See, people are simply human. Predictable. If you allow them to use you, then they will. If you allow them to bully you, then they will. If you allow them to abuse you, then they will. The same goes for, if you allow them to love you then they will. If you allow them to respect you, then they will. If you allow them to honour you, then they will. Human beings are creatures of habit. What you expect is exactly what you will get back. But this I learnt very late in life. I allowed myself to be used in every way by every person who felt that they could. Bottom line...I accepted my lot in life.
I thought that I was on track but the signs were there.
But the problem with that is that all of this pain that was hidden, had to come out sometime. All this pent up anger, frustration, worthlessness...And it did. I took up karate. I thought that I was doing it to protect myself. Ha! What a lie!
All of the anger I felt, after 2 years started to show. I used my karate skills not to protect me but to punish. I hurt people. I became a bully. I hated seeing people being taken advantage of. If a younger child was being bullied by older kids during lunch breaks, then I would storm at them and beat them up. I took on any male who hurt someone in school. If I found boys smoking, I beat them up. If a girl cried because she was pushed by a boy, then I beat him up too. If a guy asked me out and then tried to touch me inappropriately, then I beat him up. I dated only guys who were older than me. I became known as Hell's Angel and Mob Boss. No-one could touch me. I had built a wall. One with a strategic defence system that kept everyone afraid and me in control.
In retrospect and much internal observation, I realise now, that I was trying to regain Control. Control of my own life, my own decisions, my own thoughts, my own emotions, my own happiness. No-one would EVER take that away from me again!!!
See, the continuous abuse from my father took away my Trust, belief, hope, love, laughter and control and put into place - fear, hatred, self doubt, anger, frustration, negativity, sorrow, depression and sadness. Being raped at gunpoint by a maniac just sealed my belief that I was not worthy.
I lost a lot. From my childhood to my innocence. My belief in a respectful, caring, nurturing family unit. None of this existed. I was stripped of everything that should have been there always. Many people suffer from hopefulness when their Core beliefs are shattered by the negative behaviour of people who do not care about the impact they have on their families.
All of this came out during those years when I became violent and rebellious. I never understood it back then, but I guess hindsight stills works. That is where my name Rebel became entrenched. So, life went on and my mother did her best to look after 5 children by herself.
When I was 16 years old, my father was released from prison and true to form, he came begging to be allowed back into the home my mum had finally managed to purchase after many hardships. It was HER home now. I thought that would make a difference. Another fallacy much to our detriment. My brothers and sister welcomed him with open arms and much to my chagrin, so did my mum. I was horrified. I left to live with my best friend whilst I finished school and only commuted home on weekends. I put as much distance as I could between myself and my father. I still showed him respect in making sure that I did all that a child should. I listened, greeted him, served him, went to family functions and smiled. I had forgiven him and in my mind, I let go of the anger I had within my heart.
We settled into a routine where we lived as a family, where the boys learnt the skills of being mechanics with my father, they travelled with him on call outs, played spanner boys and generally enjoyed having a father figure around them again. My sister craved the need to have a father in her life and she revelled in the time spent with him. He tried to entice me a few times to catch me alone, but this time, I was prepared. I was determined that he would never ever again touch me. I was now older and wiser. This made him angry.
He began to revert to his old ways again. That tranquil very false homely life came crashing to an end. He started to drink a lot and became violent again. He started hitting my mother again and she let him. The boys were helpless to do anything even though we were all older. But that was about to change too.
One evening, he stormed into the house, reeking of alcohol and cheap, nasty perfume. He locked my mum into their room and beat her up. We banged on the door and screamed at him to leave her alone. He steamed out of the room like a bull, knocking us over. He threw her into the car and locked her in. He came back in and told us to say goodbye to our mother and then locked us all into the house too.
We watched, terrified, as he drove out of the yard and sped off down the road. We watched through the windows as his car careened up the hill and stopped. I was horrified. I had had enough. I grabbed my older brother, my mum's gun, a bush knife and a butcher knife. We bust out a window and ran to our neighbours house. He refused to help us, so I threatened him at gunpoint to drive us to where my father was parked.
As we neared my fathers' bakkie, we realised, that he was trying to push my mother out, over the edge of the hill. He planned to kill her. All I know, is that a haze of red washed over me and adrenaline started pumping through my veins, pushing me into action. My brother and I screamed as we jumped out of the car and ran towards the bakkie. My father saw us coming, pulled my mother back into the vehicle and took off. We barely managed to jump onto the back of the bakkie and were getting dragged behind, whilst trying to climb in.
He began weaving the vehicle in an attempt to get us off, but there was no chance of that. Not with the anger pulsing through our veins. I pulled the bush knife out of my belt and broke his window. I began hitting him through the drivers side window whilst hanging on. I used the butcher knife and stabbed him a few times, whilst screaming at him to stop the car and let my mother out. My brother pulled out the gun and shot at him through the window too.
All of the anger I felt came out in the most horrific way. I wanted him to hurt in the same way that he had hurt us for so long. I slashed at his arm and my brother aimed and this time, shot him through his arm. My father in all of this weaving and trying to avoid being hit by me through the window, had ended up driving the hospital. He stopped right in front of the emergency entrance and screamed that he was shot. We jumped off the back and at that point, doctors and nurses were pouring out of the hospital to find out what the commotion was all about.
I was still in a rage and dragged him out of the vehicle and hit him. No one could stop me. I hit him with the bush knife and when that was pulled out of my hand, I kicked him and punched him even as they brought the stretcher. I now had a number of people holding me back. As he was laid onto the stretcher, I managed to get away from the people holding me down and launched myself at him, managing to stab him again. It was chaos.
One look at my mother, made me come back to my senses. Her face was a mess. She was hurt really badly. Whilst my father was taken to emergency theatre - apparently one of the bullets went through his arm and stopped just short of his heart. The police who were there, did not even charge us or take us to the police station for all of the violence that we had unleashed on that day. Instead, they organised for us to be driven home, whilst my mum was sorted out too.
Life changed after that. We did not see our father after that. But then again, with the sporadic love that he brought to our lives, he also forced fear, hurt, anger, guilt and neglect on us. What he gave to us in small doses, he took away with huge doses of mistrust.
He went on to re-marry and lived happily thereafter. My siblings still craved his attention and would stay in contact as much as possible. But he continued his manipulative ways by making them believe that he was never wrong and that he was forced to do the things he did. He still maintained that he was innocent and framed of all that he was accused off. He continued his alcohol abuse and whether he hurt his second wife or not, none of us will ever know. He took on her family and poured all of his love and attention on them whilst ignoring my siblings who desperately craved it. He promised to attend all of my siblings weddings and never pitched up. They all still waited in hope. Hope that was always shattered by his broken promises. They never learnt. He eventually died nearly two years ago.
I went to the hospital and sat at his bedside in the hope that I would finally get closure. And as per usual. He gave me exactly what he had gotten used to giving our entire family - Nothing!!! As he rasped his last words to me, he still blamed me and told me that everything was always my fault. I walked away that day knowing that I was not to blame for a man filled with sickness. A sick mind, with sick intentions and sick thoughts. His sick actions had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. His filthy incest based behaviour, wife beating, children abuser, alcoholic ways had NOTHING to do with me. He was the person in charge of his own life and choices always.
On that day, I finally forgave me!!! And that healing has led me now to make the most life changing decisions ever. My life has now made a full 360 degree turn around and I now know how I will impact the lives of millions of people. I now see all of my life experiences as lessons that were there to guide, grow and move me to become who I am right now. I am still learning. I will never stop.
All of those lessons have led me to understand and FEEL people's pain at a deep level. It still hurts me to watch abuse of men, women, children and animals. I still cannot allow it continue. I am still a Rebel. Always will be. The difference though, is I am not using my fists. I am now using the power of positive words, writing and speaking to inspire people to a different way of thinking. I am now on a path of immense growth that will help to change the way we allow ourselves to be abused, to taking back control of our own lives. A life filled with powerful choices and change.
So I thank you. I thank you for reading about the most pivotal parts of my life that led me to the realisations I have now.
I pray that whatever path you are on right now, you know that you are worthy! You are loved and you deserve to have a life filled with positivity, love, gratitude, care, compassion, laughter and joy. Above all, you deserve happiness!!!
Until the next time,
take care and have fun!