I thought i was a love child, a person who could change the world, but I am no fucking different different than anyone.
“Every day I discover more and more beautiful things.
It’s enough to drive one mad.
I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.”
— Claude Mone
Countless times we hear the phrase “Until it was too late”, will this be said about me? A story about my mental health crisis and how mounting medical expenses make recovery unlikely.
My name is Endrit, I am 19. I have struggled without any assistance for two years.
Throughout my entire life I had always struggled with various forms of disordered eating, mainly being binge eating disorder. Consequently, these food habits put my body and mental health through a vast ordeal and meant that throughout my whole time in secondary education I had always maintained an extremely overweight appearance, and unhealthy lifestyle. Because of this, I was bullied both physically and verbally continuously throughout my school experiences, and everyday was a constant reminder of my size and the insecurities I felt, whilst also being blamed and punished by others simply because I was overweight. Despite trying to overcome these disordered eating habits on my own, the bullying ultimately made me feel so dejected and attacked that I would engage in binge eating behaviours to try and overcome this feeling - which ultimately meant I was constantly in a destructive cycle of putting on weight, being bullied for this, and as a coping mechanism continued to put on weight. The verbal abuse not only came from other students and people I interacted with, but from individuals you assume you can trust such as teachers and family. No matter the efforts I made to avoid the abuse, in every aspect of my life there would be someone calling me fat, if it wasn’t a teacher it was my sisters at home or someone I thought was my friend.
As the mistreatment was not just from being at school but also while being at home there was no environment available for me where I wasn’t reminded at all hours of my weight, and why this was something I should fix: Losing weight at a slow pace and eating healthy was a concept that I never attempted to even think about, as losing weight the quickest way no matter the method, would mean I would look skinnier and the bullying and harassment would end. Due to this, I engaged in restrictive eating, and progressively over weeks and months would eat less and less, starving my body to the point of severe malnutrition. I skipped school to spend all day at the gym, working out excessively while eating little to nothing. The bullying would always connect my weight with my failures, and so in my eyes, the only solution to my life was to be skinny, as quick as possible. This wasn’t exclusive to just school, but for the rest of my future, as I felt I couldn’t actually start living my life until I had lost all the weight and was no longer regarded as ‘fat’ by others. I had plans to leave my abusive home, to go into higher education and live my life independently, however these all relied on me being skinny. This opportunity to be able to live away from the bullying and abuse motivated me to starve myself even further, to a point where I was clinically diagnosed as anorexic.
My mental health has been damaged by my emotionally, mentally, physically and sexually abusive past and unhappy violent childhood as well as my dysfunctional family. My entire childhood consisted of me being beaten, screamed at and molested by my father and being told I was fat, worthless and stupid.
My father raped my mother and molested my sister and I, sometimes at the same time. He beat my mother, my sisters, and I. He would slap my mother, yell at her, pull her hair or dig a fork deep into her arm if she disagreed with him or refused to have sex. It was an arranged marriage so in a way sex was and continues to be non consensual.
Our house had only three rooms so my sister, my mother and I slept together in one room. I slept on a cot beside the double bed where my mother and sister slept together. I was 3 years old and my sister was 1. My father came into the room every night to rape my mother and the sounds would awaken me. She always said no at first, but then she got quiet, and my father talked about his day. The first time I remember this happening, I turned around to see if my mother was okay. My father shouted at me to turn towards the wall. This forced me into an unnatural sleeping position which caused me to get medical treatment for my neck which I couldn’t move because it was so swollen. Once I got older, the sleeping arrangements changed, but still on some nights I wake to find my mother missing and hear the sounds of rape coming from a locked room.
I live with my abuser. I have seen my sisters beaten nearly to death. I have been beaten so hard that on one occasion my father choked me to near death when I was 6. My neck was purple and red and when I went to school, I told my teacher about what happened. This was the first time the social services got involved. My parents, especially my mother, made me feel extremely guilty for trying to get help. They told me I was wrong and that I would separate the family. My mother would tell me to change my story and lie to say I fell off the bed or down the stairs. She was afraid of the repercussions because she could not provide for 4 children by herself. She still is. After all this, I was too afraid to tell anyone. My father molested me until I hit puberty. He would touch me for five to ten minutes, sometimes whispering sexual things in my ear. I’d see him molest my little sister. He would spank her thighs and kiss her stomach while she sat there paralysed staring at me across the room. I still remember the expression on her face. She looked petrified. My mother never did anything. She knew what was happening. She believes it’s normal and that this was just a way he was showing us how much he loves us. My uncles would molest me when they would stay at our house. They would touch me like my father did and invite me to sleep with them. I would go along and they would be half-naked and hug me. I saw it as sexual. Why would an old man invite a child to sleep with him? We all still live with our abuser today. I’ve been isolated for 9 months. I can’t work and I have no source of income. I rely on him to pay for my therapy but even he doesn’t have money and he is always complaining to me about it and blaming me. This is why I’m asking for help.
My family do not have the luxury of being able to afford private health care services or private medical insurance. They can’t take care of the medical expenses alone. My parents were aware that managing the costs would be challenging beforehand, but are desperate. I struggled without any assistance for two years, and the treatment I eventually received from the NHS was negligible so private health care is the best option.
Breaking down the financial costs
The cost of one to one therapy once a week for one year is roughly £5,760
The cost of monthly followup appointments with a consultant psychiatrist for one year is roughly £7,680
Total cost = £13,440
Your kind donations open the door for an easier recovery. Any and all donations are welcomed.
Your generous contributions allow me to continue attending weekly outpatient therapy appointments at Harley Therapy.
Please reblog and donate. I have a donate button on my blog which is linked to my PayPal.Please visit my fundraiser at youcaring.com/helpendrit for more information and pictures of medical reports. The fundraiser page accepts donations in any currency and from anywhere in the world.
Thank you,
Endrit
Basically reblog this if you want to save my life
Can you help me please?
Please help me. Please keep this circulating.
I have updated the gallery with all the proof you could ask for. If there is anything else you need to see please let me know
I just filed a letter to social services and will soon have my report and will upload it to my gallery for proof.
