Achter gesloten deuren - Mieke Van Liefde


‘Achter gesloten deuren’ is een waargebeurd kortverhaal van blogger/auteur/ghostwriter Mieke Van Liefde.

Achter gesloten deuren laat Kim u binnenkijken bij de rijken.

Als 14-jarige vlucht zij weg uit huis omwille van seksueel misbruik.

Weglopend van het incestgebeuren belandt zij op het plaatselijk politiebureau.

Na een intakegesprek stuurt de jeugdrechter de tiener opnieuw huiswaarts onder het motto: ‘weggelopen uit luxe’.

De start van jarenlange verkrachting en seksuele intimidaties binnen de hoogste kringen van de maatschappij.

Foto: Pixabay , in het boek getekend door de Knutseljuf Ede.  

INHOUD: 

Inleiding

*Het begin

*Haar eerste baby

*Een agressieve Don Juan

*Dominante oma

*Dure villa

*Twee prinsesjes

*Glamour van korte duur

*Klein lelijk eendje

*Een mooie zwaan

*De badkamer

*In mijn blootje gezet

*De inhoud van een mannenonderbroek

*De vlucht naar veiliger oorden

*Het grote herenhuis

*Eindelijk veilig?

*Opnieuw verkracht

*De angst

*De eerste job

*De intimiteiten

*Bestempeld als maîtresse

*Het eerste vriendje

*De naakttapes

*Het tweede vriendje

*De alcoholverslaving

*De therapie

 

Verklarende woordenlijst

 


Quote

Inkijkexemplaar: 

  'Achter gesloten deuren' -Mieke Van Liefde 

 

Mijn mama was in het dorp waar zij als tiener woonde een bekend persoon. Niet omwille van haar talenten, maar berucht omwille van haar uitspattingen.

 

Anno 1963 werd dit soort probleempjes snel en resoluut opgelost achter gesloten deuren, vaak een hoge kloosterpoort.

 

Maar mama straalde wanneer haar baby door de verpleegkundige in haar armen werd gelegd.

Ik denk dat dit het laatste mooie moment is geweest in het leven van de vrouw die mij later het geboorterecht zou schenken.

 

Regelmatig verloor mama een pluk van haar lange haren of liep met een zonnebril rond tijdens koude winteravonden. Maar zij wilde niet luisteren toen ze door haar strenge moeder werd gemaand de relatie te verbreken. 

 

 

Om terug te keren naar de plaats waar het volgens hem veiliger was. Het huis van de strenge, dominante en narcistische oma.

Gelijk had hij. Het was daar beter en veiliger dan de plek waar ik achtergelaten werd.

 

 

Het beeld dat op mijn netvlies is blijven hangen, zijn die blauwe ogen, na enkele dagen uitstralend naar paars. Het lijkt alsof mama sommige dagen een ganse poederdoos op haar ogen uittestte, in werkelijkheid lag de make-upkoffer die zij als vrolijke muzikante ooit overal met zich meezeulde, al jaren op de vuilnisbelt.

 

….

 

Oma had geen greintje medelijden. Haar sterrenbeeld ‘steenbok’ koppig beamend, bleef ze bij haar mening. ‘Je hebt het zelf gezocht. Je wou met die schurk trouwen en trouwen is houwen’.

 

 

Ik denk dat hij dat nogal letterlijk opvatte, toen het lelijke, kleine eendje snel opgroeide tot een mooie zwaan en hij zijn geile blik niet van mijn opgroeiend lichaam kon houden.

 

 

Ik weet niet op welke leeftijd het begon, maar ik had nog niet eens borsten toen hij regelmatig de kleren van mijn lichaam rukte.

 

 

Mijn moeder liet het allemaal toe. Niet dat zij erdoor in extase geraakte, absoluut niet. Ik denk dat zij verstijfd van angst zat en al blij was dat zij intussen van de gruwelijke geweldplegingen op haar eigen lichaam was verlost.

 

 

Voor het eerst in mijn leven zag ik de inhoud van een volwassen mannenonderbroek.

Het deed pijn, heel veel pijn. Ik huilde en smeekte te stoppen.

Veertien was ik toen die bruut mij mijn onschuld afnam.      

 

 

Daar werd ik niet seksueel misbruikt, maar wel gepest.

 

Blijkbaar was het kapotmaken van mijn ziel en het beschadigen van mijn lichaam niet voldoende, want ik werd onmiddellijk weer naar huis gestuurd.

 

 

Eigenlijk werd het probleem gewoon van kamer verplaatst. Van de poepsjieke villa naar een groot herenhuis, met het verschil dat de spiegel een sprong van het hoge plafond naar de ruime muur had gemaakt.          

Het doel was hetzelfde gebleven.

 

 

Veel zin om strakke rokjes of jurkjes te dragen had ik niet meer.

Ik liep liever in huis rond met een slobbertrui, jeans en een paar sneakers. Ik voelde mij veiliger in een sportbeha met wijd T-shirt en hoge coltrui dan in een stijlvol bloeze die mijn zandloperfiguur tot zijn recht liet komen.

 

 

Wat eenmalig gebeurd was met mijn zedeloze vader had blijkbaar zijn sporen nagelaten.

 

 

Daarna was het de beurt aan broerlief om zijn lusten op mij te zegevieren.

Ook door hen werd ik het zwijgen opgelegd.

 

 

Een kind dat door een vreemde gemolesteerd wordt, kan naar huis lopen voor hulp en veiligheid. Een slachtoffer van incest kan dat niet. 

 

 

Ik zette het op een lopen, maar hoe sneller ik liep, hoe sneller hij de versnelling van zijn auto opdreef.

Compleet in paniek sprong ik het hekje van het kerkhof over, hopende dat hij de wagen niet aan de kant zou zetten om me te voet te achtervolgen. De adrenaline steeg me naar het hoofd.

 

Het gebeuren zorgde voor nachtmerries. Ik droomde dat een vreemde man schoolmeisjes ontvoerde en samen met mijn vader en stiefbroers hen in een louche cabardouche misbruikten.

 

 

Meneer Martens raakte mij vaak aan. Een hand, mijn schouder, een arm, …

 

 

Tot hij op een avond een collega wat vroeger naar huis liet vertrekken terwijl echtgenote Marianne afwezig was. Heel toevallig kwam hij daarna fris gewassen en naar aftershave geurend de burelen binnen.

 

 

Ik was totaal overstuur. De angst om ontslagen te worden overmande mij. Ondanks het feit dat ik mijn job echt niet kon missen besloot ik zelf mijn ontslag te nemen.

 

 

Nu weet ik dat je zulke zaken op kantoor kan doorgeven aan de preventieadviseur. Destijds was ik van een dergelijke mogelijkheid niet op de hoogte.

 

 

Daar waar er eerst enkel sprake was van psychische onderdrukking ging het al snel over op slaan en gewelddadigheid met verwondingen tot gevolg.

 

 

Dag in dag uit probeerde ik mij in allerlei bochten te wringen en mij netjes te gedragen zodat ik hem minder boos zou maken.

 

 

Het huis diende steeds kraaknet te zijn, ook midden in de nacht.

Van mij werd verwacht dat ik hem in een prachtige avondjurk vriendelijk verwelkomde en nooit ging slapen voor hij daar behoefte toe had.

 

 

Dat leverde mij een blauw oog, een gebroken rib en een gescheurde lip op.

 

 

Toen ik vroeg of alles oké was met mijn baby ging men aan de slag met onderzoeken. Er was sprake van vasoconstrictie, een toesnoeren van de bloedvaten met hypoxie, een acuut zuurstofgebrek bij de foetus tot gevolg. Hierdoor zou de foetus defecten in de ontwikkeling van organen kunnen hebben, waaronder microcefalie, een groeiafwijking in de ontwikkeling van de hersenen.

 

 

Op een avond stelde zij mij voor aan Koenraad, haar knappe buurman. Een harde werker, zachtaardig, geen vrouwengek, kortom: een droom van een man en bovendien vrijgezel.

Mama deed er alles aan om ons gekoppeld te krijgen.

 

 

Ik genoot van de liefde en keek door een roze bril. 

Beetje bij beetje werd ook Koenraad agressief. Ik begreep er niks van.

Dit was de tweede man die mij sloeg. Zou het dan toch mijn eigen schuld zijn dat ik slaag kreeg? Ik besloot beter op te passen en het hem nog beter naar de zin te maken dan voorheen.

 

De poppen gingen aan het dansen. Om eerlijk te zijn, deze drank maakte hem zo dol als een rode lap op een stier.  

Hij was zo agressief dat ik het telefoonnummer van zijn zus intoetste en de gsm door de ruimte liet slingeren waar hij mij intussen als een boksbal behandelde.

 

 

Zij gaf aan dat ik in mijn kinderjaren een onveilig hechtingspatroon had meegemaakt en blijvend dergelijke partners zou aantrekken als ik geen aangepaste therapie zou volgen.

Een klacht indienen tegen een van deze mannen heb ik nooit gedurfd.

Van lotgenoten in praatgroepen hoorde ik dat dit geen nut heeft. Meestal komt de dader er gewoon mee weg en in het beste geval krijgt hij een zeer lichte straf. 


...


Alle namen zijn pseudoniemen. 

 

Tekst: Mieke Van Liefde

Slachtoffer: Kim

Coverfoto: Pixabay

Tekeningen en scheidingen: De Knutseljuf Ede

Pseudoniemen:      

·       Alle persoonsnamen

·       Alle plaatsnamen

·       Alle bedrijfsnamen 

Citaat incest: ‘A child molested by a stranger can run home for help and comfort. A victim of incest cannot.’ - Heidi Vanderbilt

 

© 2018 Mieke Van Liefde

 



'Achter gesloten deuren ' is tevens ook Hoofdstuk 2 van 

Ik werd doodziek door jou!

'De verwoestende impact van destructieve relaties' 

Het debuutboek van Mieke Van Liefde

 

 

Achter gesloten deuren is verkrijgbaar in pdf-bestand en telt 32 pagina’s.

Het kan gelezen worden via een pdf-lezer, maar is ook print klaar.

Wil je de volledige versie lezen?

Neem contact op:

Als Yoorslid: via PB

Sociale media: via  facebook

Email: miekevanliefde@outlook.be


De online versie kan je lezen door  HIER  te klikken

#AchterGeslotenDeuren







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Requiem: Chapter 1
- I'm orphaned looking at the two silver-grey urns on the steel plane in the lawn. It sings, but I don't really notice. The drizzle mixes with my silent tears and flows past my grief face. I want and will keep me strong, but nothing is more difficult. My soaked hair sticks like a snail in my neck. Wherever my parents may be, in these urns or as an immortal soul in some dimension, my thoughts are with them. I am neither an atheist nor a convinced pillar biter, but the longer I walk around this globe, the more I doubt the existence of a Supreme Being. Some call this creature God, some give Him a different name. “If “He exists and has power or influence on our world, if He has any power to intervene, then such a thing should not happen. Shooting images through my head. An afternoon in the snow with my father where we made a giant snowman with all the trimmings. The beautiful black hair of my mother that I liked brushing as a little child. The many ways of life I got from both my parents. A God who allows this, I don't want to know today. The person responsible for this is all the better. It is the only creature that possesses the ability to decimate, rape, slaughter and quartering its own kind without remorse. The only living creature that kills his own kind in an instant and goes on without looking back, without even dwell on his irreversible act, just as if nothing had happened,. The remains of my parents, twice a few handfuls of ashes, descend silently into their respective urns underground. A small copper-colored plate, not so large, on which in small letters their name, date of birth and death is printed, automatically slides across the space and takes their place. It seems to me like a misplaced magic trick: now you see them... then no more! In my heart, however, they will never disappear. Arturo Mitsukai and his wife Sachiko Matai had died a violent death. Violence is, of course, an unmistakable fact from the beginning of the existence of mankind. The survival urge that is embedded in our genes is difficult to cut out as a tumor or a tumour. It is peculiar to our society and burned in us as a mark. Both in humans or in society there is one rule, one law that is still valid. The law of the strongest! Sometimes the result of this law is directly proportional to the use of the power of the person using the force. Unfortunately, there are people who only know this answer, who only listen when they feel a hard hand. Another time, the aggression used is so excessive that the majority frankly disapprove of it because it passes its goal. But when that piece of perverse brutality touches you personally, it changes you forever. It's a cancerous tumor that keeps growing and at some point breaks open like an overripe pimple. With all the disastrous consequences. It crawls into your brain, it nests like a virus in your mind, a worm that does irrevocable harm. Friends and acquaintances of my parents, some of whom I had ever seen, people from the accounting office where I work, other completely strangers to me, have just expressed their condolences in a silence that is fraught with the way my parents literally and figuratively from life-carved. I just can't imagine it, I have to try to push my thoughts away in a separate corner where they may slumber in quiet grief.. That's where I'm going to keep them for a while until the time is right. Then, the moment it's necessary, I'm going to reenepen these feelings.. I will never forget what was done to my parents, never will I forgive the unsub! My name is Yukiko Mitsukai and today I promise retribution for these murders. I appeal to this blood deed. It is the revenge, the retribution that is the only exception to the peace-loving doctrine of the Akai. If it is not possible in these circumstances, if this promise is not at the moment, then I say that there is no reason for the existence of this use in the Akai. Exceptional circumstances require exceptional measures, you taught me that. As true as I am your daughter, I will find, and hunt your murderer wherever he may hide. If I have to search on the other side of the world or in the deepest pits of hell, he will not escape me. Even if that search lasts until I die myself or people kill me. In the course of that process, I will try to use all that you have taught me to achieve my goal. Because so much that's mine now comes from you. What you have given me is priceless. Something for which I must be eternally grateful and also am. My hands and feet will become my weapons, my mind will be tougher and sharper than the steel of a sword. I hope my vengeance can give you both peace of mind. The death of your murderer will not compare anything to what he did to you. That and nothing less I promise! Actually, I ' Akai' am at heart. ………. Arturo Mitsukai cut a leaf from a beautiful flower arrangement.. Arturo was in the winter of his life. His age, hard to estimate, could hardly be attributed to him his seventy-five years. Arturo was still as straight as he used to be when he was a proud and proud young man. His step was still confident and fixed even now. Maybe a little slower than before. His short cut white-gray hair was a natural pointer to the many years he counted. The wisdom that shone from his eyes, and the serenity in the words when he spoke of something, testified to years of experience but also to a well-founded knowledge of matters. His physical condition was tiptop, there he took care of himself every day. Arturo Mitsukai walked a little five kilometers every morning, outside when the weather was nice and otherwise on the treadmill he had purchased years ago. He also regularly cycled quite a bit of distance on his bike or stationary bike in his hobby room. A healthy mind in a healthy body was certainly not an empty phrase for him.. His greatest passion, however, was his greenhouse with exotic flora. Arturo had a large collection of flowers and plants. From dozens of species of orchids, including the hybrid species Cymbidium, Vanda and Phalaenopsis to bromeliads of different genera such as Billbergia, Guzmania and Aechmea. Yuccas and other tropical plants adorned his spacious greenhouse. In the beginning, when he started with some plants, he sometimes had a hard time distinguishing one species from another. Now after all these years of searching and working with them every day with passion, he knew them by their folk and Latin names.. Orchids, he sometimes told friends, thrive in high humidity. Therefore, they perfectly match with plants with a large leaf mass. He also told them that orchids are epiphytic, which means they can grow on other plants. Therefore, they are bound to a bark with a special substrate. To achieve a natural effect, one can make a kind of tree of it yourself and then combine it with, for example, the bromeliads he grew. Greenhouse building and its applications had few secrets left for Arturo, and sometimes he walked over to a random visitor with enthusiasm. He was forgiven with all understanding of the passion for his life's work. A layman in the profession would not understand what he was doing now. Why with tenderness and love he was still removing fresh green leaves and sometimes a flowering flower — pieces representing life — from a flower arrangement? One might think that this was an act of useless mutilation, a destroying a piece of natural beauty. Why he put the green petal and the cut flower separately in a bowl with tenderness would seem strange? He would soon find a suitable destination for this collection of cut flowers and removed plant parts. These leaves, flowers, meant new life. Fertilizer for another flower or plant. Their cycle of decay was part of the circle of life of another plant or flower. This was one of the roads that the Akai wandered. Akai or red in Japanese stood before the sun on their flag Hinomaru . This meant solar disk and they still coloured their national banner . For the Akai, that sun was the source of life and growth. The strength and aesthetics of a flower should not be subordinate to the quantity of the blossoms and the green of the leaf. Depending on the number and size of the leaves that were different for each type of flower. Thus grows and blooms a flower, a plant in all its splendor. Waste was a sin against the rules of nature. This way of life of the Akai brought balance, balance and peace of mind to the plant and flower world, as well as to the flora in the conservatory of Arturo Mitsukai. This way of thinking could be extended in a number of cases for some human life values. Sometimes one can develop certain qualities better by converting his known weaknesses in oneself into positive forces. The power of a man is only as strong as his greatest weakness. By going and working this way, man improves himself as a whole. By working on its lesser good sides, one strengthens the overall picture of oneself. When the door of the conservatory opened and the chill of the evening blew his fresh breath over the back of Arturo, he did not look back. The smell of jasmine tea met him in the person of Sachiko Matai, his life companion.. Like him, she was dressed in a sober black and white ensemble that extra accentuated her light skin. A skin like silk he knew so well, a body he still coveted. His love for Sachiko in the last season of his life was no longer marked by the bright colours of passion or by the impetuousness of youth. Now their relationship knew the gentle depth of control, a trait peculiar to their old age and the knowledge of their unconditional love for each other. Proof of this they have been providing for so many years, so many days together in prosperity and adversity. It goes without saying that one achieves such a thing only after a long time. To be able to walk the way of life together is a privilege that one can rightly be proud. It is indeed an adventure of trial and error, a process of learning and understanding, of giving and taking. Periods of happiness and disaster alternate as in every human life, but each time one helps each other back on top of it. That was the core of their love. It was not always an easy road, but it eventually led to the daily enjoyment of the deep affection between a man and a woman. With a loving smile as a silent thank you, he sipped the hot jasmine tea she had brought for him. He preferred this kind of tea, not only because he thought it was the best fragrance tea, but also because the tea was made by laying jasmine flowers among the leaves of green tea. He found that symbolically in balance with his hobby, with his hundreds of flowers and plants he grew in his conservatory. Actually, the tea he drank was of Chinese origin where they used ten kilos of jasmine flowers to obtain about one kilo of jasmine tea. The tea at Arturo had a calming effect and worked relaxing. It also promoted his digestion, which at his age was indeed important. Therefore, he was always grateful for the jasmine tea that his wife prepared him every day without fail. He still found Sachiko Matai attractive and slim, although she was barely five years younger. On several occasions he told her that. True love and affection is expressed in words and deeds. Sometimes after years of silence or blindly accepting an established fact, that self-evident affection disappears with a little bit and at a time it's gone, one day it's completely gone. Sachiko allowed to color her gray hair black at her age. Sachiko did this to please her husband and not out of personal vanity. That would be a sin for an Akai. Arturo had once told me that if he met her for the first time, it was her black long hair that he first noticed.. He fell first for her black shiny hair, then for her silent smile that always shone in her eyes and when he really met her as his future wife, he fell for the wife Sachiko herself. It was so long ago. Times gone by and then she was such a young and ignorant child. Now, as a grown woman, she put her hair up in a bun, but at night, in the intimacy of their bedroom, she loosened it and caressed Arturo with the same love and affection through her raven-black long hair before kissing her goodnight. Sachiko had never used anything of makeup in her life. By the way, her husband always said that she possessed some kind of natural beauty, still blushing every time after the little complement like the young girl she had once been. Even before Arturo drank his cup of tea, the light went out in the conservatory and several things happened at once. Arturo and Sachiko were both surprised, both by the darkness and by the strange smell of the spray that came out of the nebulizer nozzles. Shocked, they wanted to run together to the exit of the greenhouse but their feet refused duty after a few shaky steps. The world began to turn in front of their eyes like a blurry image and they remained staggering, seeking support together. However, those last steps that removed them from the oxygen-rich and liberating evening air were no longer awarded to them. The delineated perimeter of the conservatory door disappeared into an ever-darkening fog before their eyes as they both fell unconscious among their orchids, lilies, bromeliads and other exotic plants that shared their love every day. ………. Slowly, the world came back in varying degrees of pain. It was beating like a nagging banging in the back of his head, a moping in his teeth, a dry throat begging for water, and his old bones that were apparently bruised in several places. It was an extremely tormented feeling all over his body that woke up from the anaesthetic. Arturo moaned softly when he opened his eyes. The light was too bright, flashed painfully like the sharp of a knife through his mind so he turned his head very carefully to the right. To his great dismay and fear, he saw that his wife Sachiko was in the same circumstances.. Like him, she was with both hands and feet tied to a chair. She sat next to him within reach. If he wasn't handcuffed, he could touch them like that. So close and yet so far apart. Tagged with a dirty cloth she too was slowly reeling and looked around her amazed and anxious. A surprised and troubled look appeared in her eyes when she noticed Arturo. Then the first musical sounds slipped through the space in which they were tied. The tones sizzled like glowing hot coals through their awakening bodies. Both Sachiko and Arturo, who could taste a piece of good classical music in different circumstances, regained consciousness on the sounds of a gloomy Requiem. That's a Mozart piece, it shot Sachiko in the head, almost at the same time as her husband recognized the piece of music. The familiar words sounded to them, but a throbbing headache prevented both from amazing at this music . Facts mixed with their tormented feelings. The Requiem of Mozart was the last and unfinished work of the Master, composed on his sick bed. It had been figuratively and literally his last composition, his requiem. One of those futile facts that shot through the spirit of Arturo. Something that barely mattered right now. He knew that Frans Xaver Süssmayr had composed this unfinished composition of Mozart into a legendary polyphonic piece of music. Why Arturo was thinking about that, he didn't know? Just a neurotransmitter that passed some information through a synapse into a human's head. A chemical reaction at a time when other things were much more important in their difficult situation. They heard the sounds and words of Lacrimosa , the sixth part of the Requiem of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart from various corners of the walls threatening to flow on them. Lacrimosa Dies Illa, In terms of Resurget Ex Favvilla Judicandus Gay Giant, On that day of tears To which the guilty man From the ashes will rise To be judged A theatrical figure dressed in a wide white robe entered the room and suddenly danced like an unreal ghost with swirling gestures around them. Arturo and Sachiko followed the creature with anxious eyes. In every tone of the death song he waved a samurai sword around them, between them, and finally hit them during that macabre dance occasionally with surefire blows. The shining weapon reflected light at every move and at every stroke. Flashing blows to injure, not yet to kill. As a conductor's measure, the white spirit used the razor-sharp weapon on the sounds of the song, like a master he felt and shielded to the rhythm of music. Lacrimosa Dies Illa, Cutting and carving. bumps and twists. The gag choked in part the screaming of pain, their begging for mercy. However, the blood flowed with every note, more and more in a gloomy crescendo, in a menacing climax. The white dress their executioner wore turned red, soaked with blood on the sounds of gloomy music. The song led to an inhumane tragic but certain death. And death danced like a devil around them! In terms of resurget Ex Favvilla Judicandus Gay Giant, Huic Ergo Parce Deus Pie Jesu, Domine, Dona Requirement Requiem. Then be merciful to him, Oh, God.! Dear Jesus, Lord, Give them peace. The life of Arturo Mitsukai and his wife Sachiko now flows very quickly into streams out of them. Their bodies had been torn and pieces of skin were hung up unmaterially on their bodies. In their blood-filled eyes there was no hope, almost no light left. Just a sputtering pilot that threatened to extinguish every moment. Dona Requirement Requiem . A plea! Give them peace! The white-red nightmare, which unfortunately was not a dream, straightened up in all its strength, ready for the last notes. The sword raised high above himself, and on the word 'Requiem' he pulled out with all his power for the final blow, beheaded his two victims with a smooth movement in one stroke with the razor-sharp Nihonto.. The final sung word of the Requiem shouted the form even louder than the voices of the choir several times, while the heads of Arturo and Sachiko rolled on the ground in front of his feet as a final release from their suffering. His ultimate satisfaction, their forgiveness in death! 'Amen, Amen, Amen!’ © Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere Requiem: Prologue or Chapter 1 - Requiem: Prologue - Requiem: Chapter 2 -
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