Jess117Casual Contributor
My Story of Hope, Pain, and the Fight for Justice
When I arrived in Australia in 2016, it felt like a fresh start. I imagined a life here—working hard, finding my place, and building something meaningful. I threw myself into every opportunity: restaurant jobs, cleaning, serving at a community cafe during the COVID pandemic when people were struggling. I volunteered too, packing clothes for refugees, and paid my taxes, proud to give back. Even after losing my parents, I chose to stay, believing this could still be my home.
TW: Hate crime
But then, everything shattered. I was attacked, a victim of a hate crime, targeted specifically because I wasn’t “white enough” to belong in their eyes. The violence left bruises that faded, but the emotional scars didn’t. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and now panic attacks haunt my days. I couldn’t study or keep a job. With no health insurance, I’ve paid for every psychiatrist visit, every medication, and every step of my recovery myself until my savings were gone. I’m still struggling to afford the help I need.
I turned to the systems I thought would help, but they turned their backs. My pleas were dismissed as a “joke.” On top of that, a government department has threatened me—not just once, but so many times I’ve lost count. They use harsh, aggressive words in face-to-face meetings and over the phone, and I can’t shake the feeling it’s because they don’t want me to have written proof of their behavior. It’s like my suffering means nothing to them. But I won’t let their hostility break me—I’m not a criminal; I’m a survivor of hate, asking for fairness.
Still, I push forward. I’ve seen too much kindness—from charities that feed me to strangers who listen—to give up. I still love Australia and believe in its potential. I dream of a day when hate crimes are met with justice, when victims like me are heard, and when compassion shapes this country. The lack of medication leaves me in pain, and I’m tired, but I’ve found a strength I didn’t know I had. Hope keeps me alive—the belief that love can outshine hate—and I’m fighting for that better tomorrow.
But to be honest, I’m tired of being alive.
