I lost my aunt, my mother’s elder sister, a few months ago after a brief illness. She was laid to rest on the 30th of May. Since then, I have been plagued with bizarre nightmares.

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Here’s the thing: I lived with this woman and her children throughout my childhood. As I share this story, I can’t recall a single good memory. All I remember are the emotional and physical wounds they inflicted on me.

Honestly, my experience with them is the reason I don’t get along well with my parents to this day. I believe if I had lived with them, they could have given me a better childhood than the one I was forced to endure.

Although I’m not exactly where I want to be in life, I’m in a far better place compared to my aunt’s children. That’s the good part about my story. The not-so-good part is the fact that I struggle to maintain friendships and romantic relationships because I developed low self-esteem due to all that childhood trauma.

Naturally, people are drawn to me. I would be walking down the street and people would stop and stare at me. On some occasions, they tell me, “Wow, you are so beautiful, Miss. Can I be your friend?” Yes, I have gotten this compliment from both men and women.

This doesn’t get to my head in any way. In fact, I look in the mirror and ask myself, “What do these people see in me that I am not seeing? I can’t see the beauty they keep going on about.” I have convinced myself that I am not worthy of all the attention I get. I guess if you were humiliated the way I was, you wouldn’t see yourself as anything good either.

I lived in a compound house with my aunt and her family. I remember the day someone’s phone got stolen. Out of 20 people in that house, my aunt pointed me out as the thief. No one asked questions. They dealt with me like a common street thief, called me all sorts of names, and left bruises on my body.

After all that, they found the phone in her own daughter’s possession. To save face, she turned around and accused me of trying to frame her precious daughter for the theft. Imagine what that kind of disgrace would do to a young girl’s self-esteem.

I also remember the first time I got my period. The insults I received from my aunt and her children were unbearable. They went as far as telling people that I had been touched by a man.

She forced me to go to the market to hawk her goods while I had stained my clothes. Even I didn’t understand what I was going through. It was a kind woman in the market who gave me sanitary pads and explained to me what menstruation meant. “If the pads finish and you need more, come to me, okay? I will give you more,” the woman offered.

I was so overwhelmed by her kindness that I wept. Now, tell me—my aunt accused me of sleeping with a stranger just to get sanitary pads, and then seized the pads.

Mind you, I’m 25 now and still a virgin.

The most painful part of it all is how she kept telling everyone at school, church, and even in the neighborhood about my business.

At the slightest provocation, she would tell me, “As for you, you won’t amount to anything.”

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I ran away and found my own path.

Things are better for me now. I have enrolled myself in a tertiary institution. I am supporting myself with money I earn from my thriving business.

Despite all the ways my aunt treated me, when I started making money, I remembered her. I sent her money regularly till her unfortunate demise. While she was sick, I paid most of her hospital bills. Before and even after her burial, her children come to me for financial assistance, and I help them willingly.

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When she was on her deathbed, all I wanted from her was a simple, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” But I never got it.

On the day her body was put to rest, I cried my eyes out—not because she was gone, but because I kept seeing flashbacks of all the pain and trauma she put me through.

In the past, the flashbacks came once in a while. But since she’s been gone, I get them every day. Now, I am getting nightmares too. I am always tired because I don’t sleep well at night. The nightmares feel so real, as if I am reliving my childhood over and over again. It’s awful.

I just want to know if there are people out there who can relate to my story. How did you overcome the trauma and find your way to healing? I need to get over these haunting memories.

—Emma

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