I have been crying, crying that I was never a teenager.
I have written about this before, but I can never write out the pain. I speak to friends, discovering words that fit that time – but nothing addresses the fear and confusion.
I do not know what I was as a teenager.
I was not a child, I could not feel angst, I was not wanting to grow into more years, I had lost interest in discovering my own world.
I was nothing – nothing but what others told me I was or made me into.
I had known I was a fuck-toy since the first time my stepdad made me bleed by finger-fucking as a young girl.
Before than, there must have been a time when I was young, when I had innocence – when freedom was not a delusion.
But as a teenager I had forgotten that time, or chosen not believe I was ever that safe.
When I was to be 12, I had become a girl who no longer care, could not dare to care.
I was slowly becoming a whore, for a whore is a sex-toy that any man can manipulate, used up and throw into the trash.
A whore is made non-human by losing hope, by having hate surrounding her, by her every action being made into sex or pauses between the endless sex.
As I enter my teenage years, I was putting on the clothes of the whore. And ignoring the poison that was killing me.
I do not remember being 13, and that truly scares me.
I know at 12, I was a robot for my stepdad, I know at 14 I was embedded in sadistic prostitution. But 13 is a blank, with occasional vicious flashes.
I see me slowly cutting my arms. Cutting inside a zone where nothing matters, no pain can enter me. I see blood, but cannot imagine it has anything to do with me.
I see me in the bath with my stepdad, not caring as I rub his penis, not caring as his fingers hurt my cunt – just noticing the water is getting cold.
I see me looking at bruises, cuts and marks on my neck, and always forgetting where they came from.
I see me in pubs drunk as usual waiting to pick up by any man, any man that had a bed – knowing I didn’t want to go home.
I see me in bed with my body that I didn’t want to know, see some man hurting that body – and all I can do is not to know.
I see, I see and really look and see I was young, I was a child.
And my heart was being smashed to pieces.
So the only way to live, to survive, was to learn fast to be hard, to not give a damn.
By the time I 14, my heart was young no more. It knew too much.
I look back at that young teenager, and now I hold her, I cry for her.
I want to heal every injuries place in her body, I want every man who used her to be in jail, I want her to rest without fear.
I want her to be young.
But I cannot do the impossible.
Just fight for other young girls, and maybe build a world where teenage girls can be free, can be innocent, can discover themselves and can dream without fear.