Since leaving my family home 10 years ago, I have dreamed about you on numerous occasions. Even after all this time, and despite being in my 30s with a career and my own place, I have not quite been able to shake off the fear and anxiety you have left me with.

I left after you forced me into marriage. It was a marriage that I had never acquiesced to, with a stranger from India. I had repeatedly told you and my father that I did not want this marriage, but you had forced me, often with the threat that you would take your life if I did not go through with it. So I did.

I have no memory of that wedding day. Though I do remember I was unwell beforehand and lost a lot of weight. Do you remember it? I was later diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder so, thankfully, my mind had somehow blanked out most of the memories that caused me such distress. I know that it was a huge affair in India with hundreds of guests and I wore an elaborate dress and the traditional gold of a bride.

Those 10 days in India, staying in the house, before I came back home to London, were the most horrible days of my life. It felt as if I had lost everything: my emotional, intellectual and bodily autonomy. Leaving the marriage, when I got back to London, saved my life.

It has been a long time since those days. I have survived 10 years and I have flourished with a lot of help, but there have been points of acute depression, self-harm and destructive behaviour. I still find it painfully difficult to maintain intimate relationships.

Even though I have unpicked your motives, with many therapists, your behaviour still astounds me. The biggest pain I have is feeling that you never loved or cared for me. If you had, you would never have put me in harm’s way.

I know that you were only 17 yourself when you got married to my father, a man who was emotionally absent most of the time. You held steadfastly to the culture and tradition you had come from in India. But why was there such a lack of love? Why was it so much easier to sacrifice your own daughter to keep community honour? I still don’t understand.

In the past few years, I have begun to campaign on these issues. I have written widely on honour-based violence and forced marriage. I wish I had known then that what was happening to me was such a grave injustice; I was far too scared to walk out, and quite naive. When I speak to women now, I tell them that the pain of estrangement is preferable to sacrificing yourself for your family. Marrying a man against your expressed wishes will harm you in ways you can’t yet envisage.

I cannot imagine any sort of relationship with you. Although I am a writer, with you I would be lost for words. I cannot imagine a world of casual phone calls or Sunday lunches. In fact, I have painstakingly rebuilt a life that was once shattered, so I don’t know if I could ever let you enter. After so long, I have come to accept that I am precious and that my life matters more than a family that could never really love or accept me.

From your daughter, a survivor