You're Not Alone

By Aana Mila Bella

Author Aana Mila Bella grew up in a small Bosnian village surrounded with green forest, rolling hills, meadows, mountains, and lots of fresh air. She felt freedom, and everything seemed to be perfect. But when she turned six years old, Aanas life became a living hell. In You are Not Alone, she tells her life story against the backdrop of continual sexual abuse from her father.

In this memoir, she narrates how she endured her fathers abuse until she was almost eighteen years old, how she was robbed of her childhood, how she prayed for someone to help her, and how she wished many times that she could die. She suffered from depression and anxiety. But after attending a Jehovahs Witness Congress, Aana focused on keeping her thoughts happy and positive in her everyday life.

You are Not Alone narrates how Aana found the perseverance to survive both the repeated abuse and five years of war in her country. It tells how she overcame a host of challenges through her relationship with the heavenly Father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504300469

Aana Mila Bella

Aana Mila Bella was born in Loznica, a small city in Serbia. She endured years of abuse at the hands of her father. Married, Bella now lives in Melbourne, Australia, and has a daughter.

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YOU'RE

NOT

ALONE

Aana Mila Bella

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Copyright © 2015 Aana Mila Bella.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-0045-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-0046-9 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/03/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 My Village

Chapter 2 Early Stages of My Life

Chapter 3 Something Went Wrong

Chapter 4 Bozo Comes Back from Switzerland

Chapter 5 School and the Flour Mill

Chapter 6 1991: The Beginning of the War in Bosnia

Chapter 7 I never gave up on prying

Chapter 8 War, Immigration, Our New Home, and Our New Life

Chapter 9 Who Was He?

Chapter 10 Life with My Uncle and Aunty

Chapter 11 Marko

Chapter 12 1996. Coming to Australia

Chapter 13 1997: Running Away from Home

Chapter 14 Broken Soul

Chapter 15 Nana

Chapter 16 Confronting Reality

A LETTER TO MY ABUSER

Your intrusive hands, fingers, lips haven't only molested my young body but also my heart, mind, and life.

You didn't give me a chance to love you; I started hating you so very early in my life.

Every day I tried to forget the awful things you had done to me, and you never answered me when I asked, why, why, why?

You touched me in a place where you shouldn't have ever touched me, without my permission.

You wanted more from me and my young body, more than a child could ever give, you monster of a man.

Why did you cause me so much pain?

Have you ever thought about how I felt and what the outcome would be in my life, not just physical but mental scars too?

You were laughing and enjoying my screams and cries, seeing pain in my eyes.

How dare you force yourself inside of me and force me to perform oral sex and steal my virginity when I was just at the age of six?

You damaged me so badly that sometimes it is so hard for me to be a normal wife to my husband and a normal mother to my child, to my only daughter, whom I love so very much.

How dare you put that gun of yours against my innocent head, time after time?

I don't remember one good thing we had together.

Why haven't you ever admitted what you have done? You know what you did.

I am not okay. No matter how hard I try to forget and forgive, it's not over yet.

Most of the time, I felt like giving my body away to any man out there out of disrespect for my own self, and I thought that was normal.

I don't know why I would ever tell you this; you won't care anyway.

I felt dirty.

I let myself be abused by several other men, not knowing how to fight back and protect myself. Sometimes I thought I had to do what they wanted me to do, just to feel accepted, wanted, and loved. I was looking for love in the wrong places with the totally wrong people, thanks to you.

You're such an intense man.

I always struggle with lack of respect for my body.

You were not there to inform me or protect me; rather you exposed me to these situations.

My loneliness is the wall that I have built around me.

I am so afraid for my daughter, as I am constantly looking for signs of abuse that I experienced from you, evil man.

I am this way because of you:

Damaged.

Depressed.

Mentally ill.

The good thing is, instead of giving up on my life, as I felt like so many times, I decided to fight for my life, be there for my daughter, teach her well, be a good wife, be a good woman in the community, tell my story, and be a voice to other kids, women, everyone who is in a situation like I was in---to let them know to speak up.

I don't ever want to think about your being so messed up.

You come to my thoughts, haunting me every day and attacking my thoughts just as Satan is attacking this world.

As God is going to put Satan in his place when the time comes for that, so too he will put you in the place you deserve to be at his appointed time.

Matthew 11:24: But I say to you, it will be more endurable for the land of Sodom on Judgement Day than for you.

In all these years of abusing me, were you ever afraid of a higher power such as God?

Have you ever heard of that word before---God?

Yes, you have heard, but your translation of the word God was Bozo, yourself.

Glad to tell you, once more you were wrong.

What is going to happen to you?

You cannot just hurt people and expect everything is going to be all right.

Wait a bit longer, as your day of judgement will come sooner than you think.

On that day, everything you have done to me will cross your mind.

You will feel the fear of life.

I hope you cry, scream, and feel pain greater than what I had to go through. It will be painful.

LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

My beautiful girl, there are not enough words to express my love for you. You are my joy, and the day I had you, my life changed for the better. You are my blessing.

You made me a better person; you gave me life and something to live for. On my hardest days, I needed only to look at you and know that I had to get up and keep going.

Thank you for always being there for me; even though you might not think so, you are my biggest motivation in life.

You woke me up from the darkness I was living in. You opened my eyes to see a brighter future, which I knew was there but didn't have the strength to pursue until I had you, Mummy's little girl.

I am so proud of the young lady you are becoming. You are so caring and thoughtful. I will never forget how every time I wasn't feeling well, you would bring me a glass of water and ask, Mummy, will you be okay? You would tap me on my shoulder and touch my forehead in case I had a temperature. You are one of a kind.

You always try your best, no matter what you are doing.

I will never forget when you would do something and so suddenly you would say, Mummy, kissy, kissy. You would run towards me and give me the biggest kisses ever.

You are full of life, always happy, but you are very quick to get upset if I tell you off, even if it is a little thing.

I am the luckiest mum in the world to have you as my little girl, and you will always be my little girl, even when you grow up and when you have your own family.

Your heart is the size of this entire universe, filled so much love and purity. You are my biggest gift.

I love you very much, so much that I can't express my love with words.

You are mummy's best girlfriend ever. I will always be there for you and protect you, no matter what.

I love watching you grow up into the young lady you are becoming.

Keep up with your good work. Be positive and bright as you are, knowing you will always have your mum and dad by your side, no matter what.

I love you, my little girl.

Your Mama

CHAPTER 1

MY VILLAGE

I grew up in a small Bosnian village surrounded with green forest, rolling hills, meadows, and mountains, a region that was bordering a Muslim village.

So much fresh air that your lungs couldn't inhale enough---you felt the freshness of the grass and aroma of hay mixed together, the best fragrance you can smell.

I felt freedom.

It was always nice to wake up to the running and flowing river, which ran through the small village.

Very inviting to fish and, in some deeper spots, inviting for a swim too. It gave extra life to the surroundings.

As a child, to dig your hands in the mud, make mud cakes, to throw rocks at the frogs ... You could simply do what a child would do: enjoy.

With early sunrise, one could hear the beautiful singing birds and nearby animals---sounds of dogs, cows, roosters early every morning.

The village itself didn't have many households. The population was very small. The village itself had no more than six hundred households.

Mind you, everyone knew each other.

No matter where you would go, the custom was to say good morning, good day, or good evening to everyone. This was a sign of respect, especially towards elderly people.

The village was very popular because of its natural gift of nature. It was covered with green meadows and many different kinds of fruit trees.

The biggest beauty was mineral waters coming through the hills and mountains. And each spring was good for something, whether for the eyes, stomach, kidneys, or just to drink every day. The waters were healing.

Within all surrounded beauty, the waters were one of the biggest attractions for tourists.

I remember in the mid-80s, we had many tourists; the local citizens would open their homes and stretch their hospitable hands to host them.

My family was different in every way, and this was one of them. We never invited so-called strangers to stay over---not because we couldn't afford it or didn't have space; in fact, we were one of the more materially stable families and were well off. But my father was always very protective against outsiders. He always would say that no one would be around his girls; he would protect them and not let them be hurt by anyone.

You can't trust anyone!

People of Serbia, where my background is from, in general are known as very warm and giving people.

Feisty, strong, and very beautiful women.

The men, on the other hand, are considered the main providers for the household.

In the nation, our men are known as handsome, tall, strong-headed leaders of the family, not to mention stubborn and aggressive; there is something in their blood.

In my village, though, women didn't have a say; they were more inclined to follow what their husbands would tell them---rather, command them---to do. Again, I am writing based on what I remember and what I have seen.

If you are a single woman in Serbia, you need to listen to your father or older brother. No matter what way you turn, you need to listen to men; mums and wives are in most senses invisible.

For some, it sounds like a very strict or abnormal culture; for us, it was a very natural and normal way, as we didn't know anything different.

Still, it was a free place to move around, a happy environment with lots of joy and livelihood.

Overall, there was no violence, no hatred within races and neighbours. The majority of citizens were Serbian and of the Orthodox religion.

Kids would play till dark---well, most kids; I wasn't so lucky, but others were so. I was happy for others to enjoy their childhood.

Everything seemed to be so perfect.

The main forms of transportation in the village were your own legs or the bus. Most people did not own a car or know how to drive one. Women didn't have the privilege to learn how to drive.

The bus would go from the village morning, lunch, and evening, so if you needed to get somewhere, you had to be on time and even be a few minutes earlier to the station to make sure you got to your destination.

In winter, most of the time the buses didn't work, as the snow would cover everything and freeze the roads.

Mind you, the roads are very narrow, so there's no chance of overtaking; if you were passing other cars, usually one of them, the more humble driver, would stop (well, if humbleness existed within Serbs, as they are more likely to be full of pride).

Living in the village, we were not very familiar with shops, as each household grew their own fruit and vegetables.

Almost everyone had chickens, cows, and pigs; if you were more advanced, you would have sheep.

The happiest days would be when our mum would go to the nearby city and buy things that they usually didn't have in your local shop.

Those days needed to be celebrated because Mum would bring home all sorts of treats and goodies.

In our whole village, only a few women got their driver's license, and one of them was my mum. As I mentioned earlier, many of them didn't have the privilege, but Mum was lucky to be independent in that way.

Again, we were advanced to have a car, and if there was an emergency, we would always have my mum as a backup.

It is a little bit funny, but if you had a car in the village, it was considered that the whole village had the car. Everyone would rely on you to help them in times of need, and everyone who had a car felt this was right.

Helping others was never something we felt we must do; it was the nature of our tradition and the way people are in my village (and I am sure in many other villages too).

At the time, we didn't have phones. If you needed to send someone a message, you would walk, ride a bike, or pass the message through the other neighbours.

One never made an appointment to visit someone.

If you wanted to visit someone, you would go to his or her place. If you found him or her at home, it was great; if not, well, maybe you would have better luck next time.

No matter how much people would have or not have, our custom was always to bring something as a gesture on visits---as much as you could, even if it was just a lolly for the kids, as long as it was from your heart.

Many people would make such a fuss about getting bigger and better presents, but I think as long as it came from heart, it was a true gift.

The days in the village would start very early: four, five o'clock in the morning.

People would be in field working. Early-morning animals would need to be fed, cows had to be milked, chickens needed to be let out from their cages; for all of that, the day would always start with coffee. However, not in our household, as we didn't drink coffee, but the majority of people would do so. I think even if Mum would have liked to drink a cup, she wouldn't have been allowed.

My father said coffee was a drug, it gave you cancer, and we simply mustn't have it.

No matter how hard people would work, they always had time for each other. Again, in our household, things were a bit different. We worked so hard. Work was in first place; second place was work again; and the third was more work. Even though we worked so hard, day after day, month after month, the future didn't look so financially secure in my village. There weren't ongoing jobs that you could have to support yourself and your family.

In order to be more successful and earn more money for their future, many people left the village and worked in nearby countries, some of which are about a thousand kilometres away.

These days, a thousand kilometres does not seem like much, but back in the 1980s, it was a very long way. Sometimes it would take twenty-four hours to get from A to B, and today it would take you that long to go from Australia to Europe, which is about 24,000 kilometres.

There were borders that you had to cross. It seemed they were so strict, to the point that if you crossed the border, they would thoroughly check all the things you carried across.

My parents were lucky to get work in Switzerland, Dad as a builder and Mum as a waitress. The money they earned would all go in to building our beautiful house in Bosnia (now called the Republic of Serbia).

At that time, there was no such a thing as getting a loan from the bank and paying it off bit by bit. Every month, in fact, you would earn more money and then build as much as you could. It was something like stop and go and then stop and go.

Today, you can find so many unfinished homes in the village. They start with big dreams, having in mind a big, beautiful home, but as soon they put the roof over their heads, somehow the rest never gets finished. In most instances, no one lives in the house at all.

All that matters is how big the house looks from the outside. I think that tradition is still on: good cars, big houses, good labels of clothes, but you will be choked with debt and not have a meal the following day. It is all about the looks from outside.

We had a beautiful place to reside, very spacious, unique, and comfortable. Our back yard had so many pear and apple trees. We also grew strawberries and plums. Every day, we had vegetables; we certainly didn't lack in variety of fiber.

There wasn't such a thing as takeaway food places; that would have been a joke.

Again, serving meals in our home was different from what is was like in others; with us, if we sat down to eat as a family, we knew our seats. We had to wait first for my father to start eating, and then we could dig in.

In most families, the kids would be served first. Kids would be the priority. Well, as kids, we had priority in working so hard, especially myself.

My father was a big lover of milk; this was a bit unusual, as the men in my country are known for drinking plum brandy (called sljivovica) instead. Some would consume brandy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; for my father, that again was a drug, but he believed in this drug as a medicine for colds and flu and as an anti-inflammatory painkiller.

Either way, my dad's word was first and last, so what he said, we followed and believed in. Well, at least you can tell he wasn't a drinker.

Milk always had to be served first on the table, on the left side of his seat, not in a cup but a pot. Everything needed to be served for him, as he couldn't ever help himself.

Just as well that he had my mum around, otherwise he would live off air.

Another rule was to never serve salt on the table, just because my father didn't like salt; he would eat his meals rather unsalted.

That meant whatever he didn't like, others were not allowed to eat either; we had to eat the way he ate, what he ate, and there wasn't another way.

Well, in all of this, we seemed to have everything, and no one complained. We were content with what we had; we enjoyed our freedom and made the most of it in our perfect world. Life was good.

My mum met my dad very young; she was about seventeen, and Dad was about twenty-five. Soon after, they married.

As Dad was already working away from home, he decided soon after he got married to take Mum with him. Their married life pretty much started away from home, where they worked in Switzerland.

They were seasonal workers, which means you work nine months straight and then you had a break. Usually, the longest holidays would be over winter time, and there was a shorter one over the summer.

Not long after they married, my mum got pregnant, and nine months later, a bundle of joy with beautiful green eyes, brown hair, and a square head was born: me.

CHAPTER 2

EARLY STAGES OF MY LIFE

My name is Bella. I was born in March 1979 in a small city in Serbia. Although I am Serbian I got Macedonian name.

The city was right on the border between Bosnia and Serbia; only the Drina, a long and sparkly blue river, divided these two beautiful cities (now so-called republics or countries).

Like all children, I don't remember the very early stages of my life, but my mum later told me that I was buried in kisses and hugs as a baby. My mum didn't leave sight of me; she didn't leave me for one second. She cherished that precious time with me, her firstborn baby. What a special and memorable time that is for any new mum.

But in fact, that joy didn't last for very long; sadly, my mum had to return to her work. There wasn't any maternity leave or sick leave that she could take, so our joyful time finished after only seventeen days. Not seventeen months---you read it right: seventeen days.

In those days, if you wanted a job, you had to work hard for it. There was lots of work and not much time off, but everyone was thankful that they had work.

Mum was very thankful that she had a few days off to give birth and at least to spend some days with me; the situation could be worse, so it was better to look at the positive side of it.

So two and a half weeks later, in the middle of April, we had to say our goodbyes and part for some months.

I was very well looked after. Just before I was born, a woman who lived in the village next to ours told my mum, If it's a girl, I will look after her for the time you are away. So after I was born, my mum kept thinking about what the lady said.

One day, Mum approached the lovely lady and asked, Do you still want to look after my daughter?

Without any hesitation, she replied, Of course. She and her husband agreed on terms and regulations, and soon after, they adopted a new baby Bella (me).

So I had another mother and father and a big brother and sister.

The father was a photographer, so I was able to have so many photos taken as a baby, and my biological mum found so much relief by watching me grow up by the photos. She saw pictures of my first smile and