By a 22 year old female from Boston, MA

I grew up with my stepfather. He was a violent, abusive pedophile. As a result, this damaged my self-esteem. I felt like nothing I did was good enough. I was the invisible kid in my class, because I really can live without saying a word for three months. I feel that I am a “good person,” and yet my mother hates me for not having a back bone. Anyone can make me do anything that they don’t want to do, and somehow I would be willing to do whatever they asked. Gradually, I got used to giving up and resigning myself to adversity.

In 2010, I was sent to the United States as a young international student. My mom decided to do so because my abusive stepfather was becoming more and more unstable. She did that to protect me. I was 12. I didn’t know what I was going to face. I didn’t know what it meant to be independent abroad. I went to middle school and high school in the mid-west. I went to a prep school that never took international students before so the management of the school was flawed. When there is a weekend or a holiday, the whole town becomes empty. Under these circumstances, some things happened that changed my life dramatically. An older classmate of mine sexually assaulted me and raped me for three years. Like before, I let things happen to me because somehow, I felt that this kind of behavior was justifiable. What he did to me is similar to what my stepfather did to me. Like before, I always resigned myself to adversity. However, paper can’t hold fire. Secretes have a way of coming out. I still chose to hide myself from reality. I transferred secretly, only wanting to have a place where no one knows me.

My life after transferring to my new school seems peaceful. Years of living as an independent international student shaped me from a girl with such low confidence, always timid of standing out for anything, into a young, extroverted woman that sometimes even seems a little bit too tough. However, deep inside I know that my stepfather’s shadow over my life never goes away. The experience of rape and sexual assault triggers episodes of acute anxiety even when something totally irrelevant happens. The only thing that I can do is grovel on the ground and try to recover from the choking feeling. The night I thought about killing myself, I am lucky I had a friend whom I really trust.

I sought help. I went to a psychotherapist. I did not talk to my mother about any of the things mentioned above, because I feel that she has her happy life now. She left the deformed “love.” However, while a good childhood brightens up your whole life, a bad childhood requires a whole lifetime of healing. I am a student in the healthcare field. I know that I can’t indulge myself in these episodes anymore. I also know that psychotherapy is my most rational choice.

Let’s talk about the reality of treatments. Nobody told me to go see a psychotherapist. I am lucky I knew a little bit about the psychiatry field. However, I understand deep in my heart that though seeing a psychotherapist is my best choice, I have the stigma that most Asians have with mental disorders: I don’t believe that a psychotherapist can help me, and I don’t trust them. However, I pushed myself to do it using my rationale above. I arranged all my therapy sessions online without ever opening the camera. Because I was afraid that once I open the camera and see their faces, I would no longer have the courage to say anything. My life goes on – having a mental disorder is a long-term journey. I am grateful that I am alive. Death is an easy choice but living brings new possibilities.

This story is part of a series for 心怡HARMONIOUS, a Chinese mental health initiative, overseen by Dr. Xiaoduo Fan for the UMass Chinese Mental Health Program. To share your story, please use the anonymous submission form found at https://projectharmonious.org/share/.