Here I am (Again)


I am still alive, looking for work, keeping myself employable, and trying to survive (in spite of extreme difficulty – re: family relations & situational placement). I have a lot of things planned (for this blog and on my Youtube – see my media page for a link) and here it is:

  1. More recipes
  2. Booktube
  3. a blog overhaul (because its good to switch things up while keeping what works
  4. life living.
  • Adaora

The Cycle


My understanding of abuse is that its hereditary: like alcoholism, food addiction, or drug addiction (where you are unable to cope your history or know the limits of your own life) I say abuse runs in my extended family (its generational). Its up to me to make sure that my own family raises kids that don’t see things the way my birth mother and birth father do, and its up to my own family to ensure that our kids that don’t behave (under stress or otherwise) the way my birth mother and birth father do. I need counselling because, as much as I raised myself to see and feel and think differently than everyone else in the house I raised myself in, I know that I haven’t lived in a house that looks like the home that I was always looking for.

There are a lot of people out there who think that its OK to yell out their feelings, yell over, and belittle those people who they say they love; some people think its normal to push, shove, bite, grab, kick, beat, and say “I love you” to the same person (I’m here to tell you its not); some people think its no big deal to say that who they love is “too slow” or “not getting it” or “too fat” or that they have “ugly” or “rough” or “messy hair, and some people think they’re so big that they can do anything and everything better than anybody (especially those who they say they love). My father tried to make me submit his admission letter (written while pretending to be me) with my application to various universities in Ontario, Canada because he wanted to “make sure” I would get into university. He wrote up a letter, handed it to me (with a smug look on his face) and asked me to “read it” because he was so sure it was the letter that would get me into every university he wanted me to apply to. Some universities had the major/concentration I wanted (English), and some had the one he wanted for me (Social Work and then Law). I read the letter, thought it was arrogant and empty, and submitted my own letter (I remember it being pretty shaky) with my applications instead. Here’s why I did that: I felt that, considering the fact that university is about figuring out who you are, and given the fact that its me who would go on to sit in lectures and sit for exams, It had to be me to write my letter (in my own voice) too. I just want to say that its ridiculously abusive to try and take away someone’s voice (no matter how shaky it is).

Since leaving abuse I’ve done a lot of thinking (about who I am, what I want to happen at this point in my life, and where I’m headed) and the answer is simple: I want peace, harmony, freedom, and good people who want to be present with me.

– Adaora


The Unexpected Love

Me and my little brother Ike (old picture)

He will be 12 years old this coming weekend (I can’t believe it!), and it feels like I met him just yesterday:

Ike and my guitar (which unfortunately I had to leave when I left abuse)

Here are 12 Ike likes:

1. Writing

2.  Reading books

3. Sketching and drawing

4. Math & science

5. Eating mac & cheese

6. Friends

7.  Music

8. The guitar

9.  Dora The Explorer

10. Computer games

11. Home renovation and interior design

12. His big sister Adaora

Considering the age he’s about to be, I guess I can’t call him my little baby any more.

– Adaora

Why I left

There comes a time in your life when you get tired of abuse: the two who call themselves my “mom” and “dad” were so consumed with their own egos (re: “me me meeeeeeeeeeeeee”), and those who made them look bigger then they really are, that they couldn’t be the parents I needed them to be: when a decision had to be made (whether it was how to dress, what to eat, or who to spend time with) I had to advise myself. When I wanted to cry, I cried privately (so they wouldn’t see and yell at me for crying); when he wanted to go on vacation it was to meet my brother (who I love dearly); when she wanted to go shopping it was for her diet food (which never worked); when they didn’t like me questioning their dictatorship they tried to beat me down (not just physically); when they didn’t like me going out into the world, to live my life, they tried to stop me (and I refused): you can’t live your life in a choke-hold (physically or otherwise, as was the case with me) because it kills you one way or the other. You have to get more for yourself, and not let any abuser get in your way, because life isn’t worth anything if you can’t even wake up without fearing for your life.

Let me tell you all something (especially those of you just wondering or side-eyeing me for knowing what I know – when I have a B.A. in English from York University and plenty of courses in Social Work): we abuse victims have to ‘look’ long and hard to stay alive: if you don’t look (at what your abuser(s) are doing, or what their next move is), you might not make it. I had to look to stay alive, and so that I could live: I looked through his cabinets (a place where I was “not allowed” to go) to get MY social insurance card, MY health card, MY passport, and  MY everything with MY name or MY face on it. I did it because in order to move forward I had to have my government documents with me, and I did that kind of intensive look because I didn’t want him using my name for anything (I’m sure he may have tried to). I still don’t have my birth certificate (he took that before I could get to it). I had to look carefully: abusers ‘check’ to see if you’ve gone for your personal documents, so I watched how often he ‘checked’ his cabinet, and I took, packed, and left within that time frame (to be safe).  Can you see why I left? Why should I have to sneak into my abusers cabinets to get MY documents? Why should I have to realize that my abuser took MY birth certificate and did whatever he wanted with it? That’s what I had to do in order to leave, and I want nothing to do with that kind of lifestyle again.

I left for peace, freedom, security, and safety; I left to be alive (rather than to just ‘survive’); I left because I had enough of having to live with sick and twisted people who want to live a closed off, fake, suppressive, and demeaning lifestyle that doesn’t suit me at all.

There is one thing I want to warn abuse victims of, and its this: when you leave, whether with all the money in the world or just enough to replace your things, you will have the following troubles:

1. Address change – phone plan providers, banks, and everything connected to money and a payment want proof of where you life and what you’re doing with non-cash money: I went to get a cell phone (just yesterday) with cash in hand and they told me they couldn’t give me a cell phone because I don’t have a credit card or a picture ID with my new address on it (I closed my last account some time ago). Note: They told me to go to LCBO for an ‘age of majority card’ or to get a ‘valid drivers license.’

2. Contact people – keep your Facebook because its not easy leaving with your important things, and having to dig through your important things to find phone numbers (of people who may or may not believe you); its not easy having to figure out how to tell people “I just left abuse, and I’m ready to live my life but I’m not sure if you’re aware of how much abuse gets in the way of people living their life (or having people in their life) until you leave.”

Please leave abuse as safely as you can.

– Adaora

Here’s what’s happened:

1.  On May 19th I left abuse, called 911 (note: I am still waiting for the police to contact me directly and ask me any questions) and stayed at the Denise House. I am not embarrassed to have stayed at a place which offers shelter to victims of abuse: there is no shame in me being a victim of abuse, and, as I keep saying, I don’t care if Everyone Knows because I want to help somebody.

2. So we’re perfectly clear: I am anti abuse not anti man or woman; as a woman abused by a man and a woman, I could say “back away” but I know that (considering my diverse family) I am still open and able to accept people (as we all should be). Abuse didn’t take my openness and social nature away from me.

3.  From late May to late June something serious happened, and I have since decided to cut those responsible from my life (emotionally, and soon I’d like to put more miles between them and I).

4.  It turns out my abusers tried to claim that I’m mentally insane  (thankfully, I was proven sane and nobody can make those kind of claims against me again). I want to be clear here: I am sane, able, and happy to work; being employed (which includes writing, blogging, and doing other creative things like cooking, baking, and soon more bookish things on YouTube) is what gives all of us, as human beings, a sense of pride and accomplishment. My abusers tried to take my dignity away from me, and I hope prospective employers refuse to allow them to do so. I am a creative mind that needs to be stimulated.

5. I can do anything under any circumstances: let no naysayer get in the way of my right to write and be happy; though I’ve been through a lot of abuse in my life (while still trying to settle and connect with everyone who matters the most to me), I will keep fighting in spite of anything. Hopefully the employers I’ve gotten in touch with will consider my situation and response (applying before, during, and after calling 911 against my abusers)  to be something to my credit.  I am a victim of abuse: as is the case with all of us, despite what we’ve been through, we want to be accepted in the work force and treated like everyone else. I don’t need anyone to baby me or hold my hand ‘through this.’ Instead, I would prefer to be employed (in one way or another)  so I can live comfortably in my own home (post-abuse), and have a life that is as creative and exciting as I believe myself to be. 

In case you didn’t know, my main email is now (and I’m happy to give you a number you can reach me at via email).

– Adaora Asidianya

Dear Loved Ones

When you want to have a relationship with an abuse victim’s abuser, and you expect them to act ‘cordial’ because its supposed to be a normal relationship (and its not), you’re embroiling them in more abuse. I cannot (not for the life or me or for anybody) act as if its OK for me to have any contact with either of my abusers (my mother or my father).

They’re equal bad: I tell you every time he beat me she sat in the corner and watched; I tell you every time she called me fat she did it to make herself feel better (because she’s the one who could stand to loose more than a few pounds, not me). I tell you I am tired of seeing, speaking, or hearing of the face  of an abuser who called ‘family’ meetings to talk about how I’m not working (when I blog all the time – right here), and I am tired of seeing the face of the person who hosted ‘family meeting’s to see if I’m’overweight ‘again,’ (when I’m at a healthy weight for over 7 years now, and not pregnant – as ‘overweight’ or ‘getting heaver’ is code for ‘pregnant). I am tired: its going to take a lot of time for me to live with the vivid recalling’s (the memories) of being beaten, slapped, hit, kicked, choked, grabbed, and being made afraid to go ‘home.’ I’m telling you its going to take just as long to get over being made ashamed to be the size and weight that I am ( 5’9 1/2, 177 pounds, a size 8 dress, and size 13 pants); I’m telling you its going to take the rest of my life to make sure that people know I’m a victim of abuse and you better back away from me if you think its OK to tell an adult someone (when you’re not a doctor or a nutritionist) how much to eat, how to live, when to go to school (and for what program), or how much money should be in their bank account. I’m a woman (not a kid), and it took me a long time to realize how ugly my mother is on the inside (because of how insecure and angry with herself, and everyone else, she is). Her inner ugly is so damaging to other people (like a tornado): when she’s in a good mood (as is the case of my father) she needs you to sit and laugh with her. When she’s angry, she too yells so much the house shakes. When mother dearest wants to feel ‘in charge’ she comes in like the suffocating and debilitating negative force she is, and she sucks the life right out of you. I tell you I am tired: women can be just as abusive as men: I don’t care if you birthed a child or adopted one: if you choose to be a mother be to their credit (strength and happiness) rather than to their determent (a thorn in their side). I can’t forgive my mother or my father’s abuse because neither of them care to talk about it on my schedule (as a victim of abuse) and in a way that works best for me (as a victim of abuse). People in the family believe a woman can’t possibly be abusive, but they all need to know this: If I had my say, both my mother and my father would be in jail for domestic abuse (emotional abuse – that’s forcing me to hug them and say good morning and act like its all OK; psychological abuse – trying to make me question my worth in the scope of my career and my love life which I keep to myself; financial abuse – picking up my job phone calls and lying about me -to prospective employers – so they (‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’) can continue to humiliate me for being educated and  ‘not gainfully employed (when I am, I just need more cash flow),’ and for blocking my right to get help from outside of the Asidianya household; physical abuse – being slapped, hit, kicked in the legs, choked, my arms and ears pulled, and all else). I am tired. 

I have the right to be happy and I have the right to handpick whose face I want to see. Listen to me.

– Adaora

I need people to leave my posts alone (WordPress and otherwise). I have the right to a voice: you can’t shut me up or try to censor what I have to say.

We Have To Talk

I don’t know what people are thinking: my mother and father (who threatened before hand to do it) had me put in a mental health ward, in order to ‘prove’ me insane; they planned it before I knew it (perhaps in the kitchen across from each other) and they followed through with it. They said I ‘self harmed’ myself (wrong – I have scars on my arms and on my thighs from being burned with an iron by my arm – my father has harmed me); they said I can’t groom myself (when they smell and I’m the one who knows how to clean, look good, and blog about it). When I went, this is what happened: my father stormed into my room in my uncle and aunt’s house, said “come on now, let’s go” (roughly and as domineering as ever), and I said “no, you can’t force me to go with you…I won’t go anywhere with you.” Soon after that (minutes later) my mother came up the stairs, sat on it, and pretended to cry: “Adaora,” she said pitifully, looking at me, as if pleading with me to get the ‘help’ she and her husband (my father) so desperately need. I ignored her and went down the stairs to the living room. My father was nowhere to be found when I went down the stairs (that’s my abuser, a male who has almost beaten me to death, called me fat a million times – swearing and other wise, and a male who has tried to force himself on his own daughter (me). You tell me what about this is normal? Officers came in and I thought they were coming to talk to me about the 911 call I placed on May the 19th against my abusive father, but it wasn’t: In actual  fact, the 911 call (to my knowledge) hasn’t been looked into, and the person(s)I called 911 against (my father and my mother) were somehow allowed to lie to the point that I found myself being taken ‘voluntarily’ away from my things (important pictures, documents, and ID) by officers who perhaps were in on it with my mother and my father. Three weeks and a bit later and here I am. I’m still waiting for the cops to interview me about the prolonged abuse I’m a victim of (remember I’m an educated person and I have the right to ask questions using educated words and I have the right to know what went wrong in my childhood), and nobody explained to me “I am sending you to a mental health institution because your parents think you’re insane and this is going to take more than 72 hours – which they claimed was the deadline only when I got there – and we think it’s in your best interest to take all your documents (which were roughly looked through by who knows what).” I’m lucky I took my I.D with me.

Because of abuse, I’ve gone in and out of people’s lives: the one person I wanted and needed to see the most I couldn’t get in touch with before I THOUGHT I LEFT ABUSE; my father and my mother have abused me in a lot ways, to the point that neighbours look at me with pity and love, and nobody has asked me directly about it except for the one person I want to see. I go in and out of people’s lives, so when I was forced to go into a crappy mental health ward (which is made up of a bunch of incompetent nurses who don’t even have a doctor on call who is able to do a physical and check with my doctor – DR F. TAHIR) before injecting me with a medication I was told I don’t need to take (a medication which almost killed me), I clutched my I.D out of fear that if I died the one person I wanted to see (who very often has to drive by so I can see him) would be able to know I was gone.  Because I go in and out of people’s lives, when all this ugly happened, I had nobody I could trust around me and I was scared for my life alone. People only care when you die: that’s when they shed their ‘what could have been’ tears; they tell their friends how distraught they were are at such a ‘loss.’ On June 9th 2015 at about 8:30 pm, nurses injected me with a medication that almost suffocated me to death; In June 2010 my father tried to beat me o death; in high school my father choked me when my grades weren’t ‘good enough;’ I’m telling you I almost died a thousand times because of my incompetent father and mother, and most of those times people wouldn’t have known until it was too late. I just want everyone to know I am done with abuse in my life and I’m done hoping to be everything to everybody. I just want to be present for people who want to be present for me. I just want a happy now and forever without any parent abuse in it. Please understand how much this blog has been the thing that allowed me to stay sane, happy, and feel like I’ve been sharing myself and who I am (as I’ve grown) this entire time.

– Adaora