I am 32 years (old) and I have been married all of my life eversince I had reached the age for marriage. I was married twice to be precise and am currently preparing to try a third and Inshallah last time.

My frist marriage was arranged and lasted seven long years and God knows as good as it started the bad did it end. I laugh about this first attempt a lot nowadays, because looking back I cannot understand how I let anyone keep me that low. But I know this experience is something which made me grow to be this person today.

I was nothing but a dog back then and I can’t just say it was my ex-husband pushing me down. My mother had her part in all of it and his great wannabe muslim family wasn’t doing much better. I experienced backstabbing at its best from that whole tribe. I endured insults of the worst kind. Like God knows I was called a whore or had been threatened to be fucked by one of his cousins or uncles again and again. (Which didn’t seem too bad at this time since this kind of swearing was part of their culture.)

I was spat on.

I was beaten.

I endured times of starving cuz we wouldn’t have food.

The whole palette of everything to come up with once you google abuse. I used to be one of these wifes walking behind her husband in public because whatever made him the man. The list goes on.

Seven years like this is a lot.

I hadn’t even divorced that shit officially when I already met my second ex-husband. He had promised me the blue from the sky and I was getting drunk from it easily. That’s what happens when you escape hell. You see the first light and believe this is the sun. I had turned the world upside down to prepare our marriage because for once I wanted to be loved.

It only took months to discover the face behind the mask and he wouldn’t even hide the betrayal. For him I was damaged goods. Something he picked out of the gutter and had even granted a great charity with his act. How would he feel bad? From his point of view he saved me by draining me of my last. Like people believe to relief an animal with a poison shot.

Trust me it is not.

I wanted nothing when this one now stepped into my life. There was nothing left to believe. He would talk and I would just love the words. He would compliment my appearance and I would grant him the whole thing. No conditions. I did not trust nor did I believe. I didn’t fear and I didn’t care. I wanted to die and I wanted him to be my death.

But he wouldn’t take advantage like those before him did. Instead of crushing what was left he started mending it. Where in the past I had talked so much just to be ignored, with him – what I wouldn’t say he’d still be aware of everything. The ugly spots I had been hiding all life to gain affection without success, wouldn’t drive him away – they’d cause his fondness instead.

From my position of an observer who had been prepared to watch someone’s end, I became witness of compassion I would’ve never expected. I was hit and this relief felt like reward.

This is my husband now. He is mine from God.

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