A Deep Sadness

As I woke to hear the news, hearing the horrors unsurfacing in Jersey, my stomach is crying with grief.

I have no tears. Only my body aches in pain as I can’t cry. Instead I cough. Sometimes I am sick.

I have always know how men that hate truly depise women and children. But this last week of too many murders and tortures of women and children has finally broken a huge part of me.

Before I know but I was so detached from any emotions. I was frozen.

My body and mind could not allow the truth in. I had to not care.

Now, as I am grieving what I hear on the news. As I remember Ipswich, as I think of Jersey, as I grieve West London. I grieve the stealing of all those women’s and children’s futures.

As I grieve I can remember the women and girls I lose through male violence and hate.

I had a best friend at nine.

My stepdad hated anyone being close to me. He know that I may tell of his sexual violence. He feared I would be believed.

I love my friend with all my heart. At nine I could still remember how to love and I could recieve love. At nine, I just hanging on to being a child.

My stepdad hated our closeness. So he destroy it.

He told her parents that I had “raped” her. Said I was hurting her.

She disappeared from my life. And I became silent.

When I was 14, I thought I had a friendship. I did not know how to be friends, as by 14 I was too emotionally damaged by the constant sexual and mental abuse I had at home,

Our friendship was of two highly damaged individuals, each determined to prove we care about nothing and nobody.

It was with her that I enter the world of prostitution. She know of the club where I ended up “working”. She know it was dangerous and that was what attracted us to go.

I remember with such sadness that time. I want to stop time and make that neither of us enter the club.

I see now two furious 14-years-old. They think they such rebels, so hard. They imagine that they are in control.

I see them, and I want to say it is just a story. Only I know it is true.

It hurts so much seeing the “beginning”.

My friendship was destroyed by the sex trade. As the violence increase for me, I had to have someone to blame.

When I saw her taking the money and not having sex. I blame her and cut her out my life.

This I grieve now. For I know she was as damaged as me. I know she needed some power in her life. If “selling” me was what she had to do, I cannot anymore feel angry.

She was 14. She had no power, just money.

I have lost her, but I would like to know her and say it was not her fault.

She did not rape me. She did not torture me. She did not try to murder me.

She was used as much as me.

When I was 17, I let love into my life. I was wild with love.

My love was platonic, because sexual violence had made me hate sex.

But it was full-on love.

She was a survivor of extreme violence from her father. The memories and pain of that had her to driven to hard drugs.

When I meet her, she was fighting to be clean.

We were a strange couple. Me “addicted” to violent sex and alcohol, her addicted to drugs. We meet when we both wanted a change.

We both were beginning to imagine a future.

We were crazy with anger at the violence in our lives. We raged through many nights at how men rape us and batter us.

She saw where I had been strangled and she hug me.

I would hold her tightly as she had withdrawals.

Then her father found her. She never said what he did.

The last time I saw everything was dead in her.

Then I told she had overdosed.

I feel it was not suicide but murder by her father. He destroy her love of life. He murdered her belief in the future. He made her his property again.

After she died, I could let love in my life again. I could not give so much away again.

I became dead inside.

These are a few of my losses.

When I see news of women and children being tortured or murdered, I can now feel my heart breaking.

Men who hate steal the hopes, creativity and the ability to feel of the women and girls that they choose to abuse. Whether or not they kill in the physical form, they always are destroying the uniquiness of the women and children that they abused.

If you are lucky enough to survive their violence, the aftermath is very hard.

For when you feelings back, you can remember how much of your life was stolen.

I do remember the women and girls I loved and lost. Now, I will hold them in my heart and honoured their strengths.

Please remember all the women and girls that have lost to male hate and violence.

3 responses to “A Deep Sadness

  1. Yes the aftermath of having endured a man’s or men’s sexual/physical violence is a very hard to face. The casual sadistic violence so many men inflict on women and children and still the deniers and apologists don’t want to hear or read the truth. When emotions and feelings re-awaken after being dead for so many years is a truly horrible experince but a necessary one. It shows that men have not succeeded in dehumanising women totally. But there are women who do hear and understand despite immense efforts to silence women’s voices.


  2. Yeah, Rebecca, I grieve all those women’s and children’s lives that have been lost too.

    To bad so few people care (or do not know) about the consequences for those who are trapped in systems of prostitution.

    I wish people would face the facts of prostitution and violence against women.


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