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The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.
We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.
Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous.
This is her story.
The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.
Back as a ghost writer. I have a story on this site already, as myself but I’m back to tell a story I cannot tell the world.
Tired, very tired. Of everything, tired of being tired. Tired of hopelessness, pain, cheating, adultery, faithlessness, repeated patterns, stealing, acting fine.
I have no name, this is my story.
A twisted story.
I grew up sheltered, somewhat sheltered. Parents always monitoring. I’m lost in this lonely world, begging for love, always begging in one way or the other. My shoulders are always high, my smile always bright. My tears invisible with a broken heart.
I came to bring peace to my family, reincarnation of my grandmother in everything that’s important, my mum said my first words were ‘please’, polite little fucker and all y’know.
My first memories of my childhood were my mum and dad fighting, exchanged words, heated arguments, my mum lost her tooth because my dad hit her, outside he was so calm and reserved, the nice man, I can’t say what he was called or you will have hints of whom I am. I’m tired, too tired, this story is draining me as I write it.
My mum went to university with me, so she’d teach me in between her classes, I grew up with mature minds, I guess that’s why I look at life, like this, it’s useless here when people hang on too much.
I started using my dad’s phone in grade 2. I was extra smart, I found out he had girls on the side. He had pictures of them naked and even videos of them touching themselves, filthy things. I was heartbroken, so sad, I couldn’t show my mum because I am a peace maker, I hate people breaking up, they were fighting too much already, I was hurt, really hurt, the man I looked up to as my dad was a sadist, a wicked heartless cheat, how would you swear to love and protect a woman and then betray her like this, I can swear on my useless life that my mum has/had never thought of looking at another man but my dad didn’t just look, he went the extra mile.
Urggghhh, you should see me, I’m tall and pretty, I have dimples and my smile is beautiful, with my long hair and perfect teeth. The perfect belle with my perfect accent, I’m known really good in my school too, at least half the population knows me.
Anger is a bad emotion, my dad was a fucking adulterer who got me angry almost everyday, I was just a child and there was no way to get back at him, so I started taking his money, little bits, then more, I never used it, I didn’t want to touch his money, the dirty man. I gave out the money to beggars on my street and my school. I kept on stealing his money, he grew up poor so he was money conscious and I loved it, anything to get back at him. He noticed the missing amounts. Him not giving me money just made everything worse, little princess who didn’t have money, I was a bloody straight A student for Chrissake.
It’s like he didn’t love me, I still wanted that love, as twisted as I might seem, I did everything to make him love me, I needed love, I need love. It wasn’t forthcoming, my sisters found out about his girls and I discovered porn.
The first time I touched myself, I was crying, it became a routine, get angry, sad or depressed and masturbate, what kind of girl does that ? I’m dirty, very dirty, lool, little Christian in church acting all holy, all was good on the inside, but was hell on the inside. Praying for forgiveness and still committing sins.
Bad enough, my sister hates me and I found out she’s been sexing different men, people who send her money. My mum just looks for reasons to shout, I can’t blame her, we all need an outlet for our pain. I hate my home, I keep praying to die but I guess I’m out of prayer requests. Now my family is together living a life that is fake, no one wants to be seen as an infidel y’know ?
I’m scarred, I can’t love a boy, I can’t love anybody because they will betray me, in one way or another, they will show their true colours after a while, i’m done with this story, it’s draining me. You’re draining me. I want to be alone, I’m tired of begging for love. Johnny walker has walked into my life and I’m falling in love with him, Mary Jane has my back, a pen and a paper. My blood as ink. I write of my pain and fear.
I’m tired of the pretense, the lies, hatred, disgust, momentary pleasure, stealing, lovelessness. Will I ever get married ? With this fear in me ? I don’t trust anybody. I have so many friends still. When people say things to me, I just look and smile, nothing touches me yo, I’ve gone numb, no pain again, no feelings, I don’t know what love is, no heart again.
In school, long strides, shades on, smile on, earphones in, with my cocky attitude, fuck what you think, fuck what you heard, you think you know me ? Think again. You think you know my story ? Guess again.
This is my life, this is who I am.
Good luck trying to figure me out.
• • •
Don’t just read, say a prayer.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?
N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXV’ by an Anonymous writer
You can still send in your own true stories to email@example.com
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