To the girl on the floor

To the girl on the floor

I'm angry at you. I'm frustrated with you. I'm annoyed at you. I'm disgusted with you. You are vile. I'm oppressed by you. I'm furious with you. I hate you. You are a disgrace. I fear you. You make me shudder. You push all my buttons. You make me want to vomit, you are the bile the last and worst part of vomit. You are a decaying tooth in the mouth of mankind. You ignite a flame and I am a gas cylinder. I'm scared of you. You're dangerous. You are thorns; gnarled and dead but still capable of hurting. I'm sad when I see you. Jo calls to you as a black widow spider calls to her mate, waiting for the kill. I'm worried for you. I empathise with you.
Once upon a time you're body, mind, heart and soul were fledglings in this world. Naive and pure. Like a new born lamb trying to walk on its unsteady gangly legs, trying to find its place in the world but convinced in absolute there is one waiting for it. But some fledglings just aren't strong enough and the process of survival of the fittest takes hold picks up said fledgling, crumples its newly formed wings and then the end of life starts on the day the life has just begun. You survived that but for what? The fledgling parts of you got warped and twisted. So badly deformed in the living of a life that was meant to be even more special, because it was so nearly taken away, that they weren't recognisable anymore. The innocence that was once conveyed in you through your sweet temperament and good morals, got snatched away. You were robbed of it. And that sweetness became used as a facade, so in essence a false show of happiness to others. Never wanting to admit something was wrong. 'Please god don't let me put down that guard' you prayed, because it would fall so spectacularly like a wobbling tower of fucked up Jenga blocks made of titanium and concrete. So if they fell it felt to you like the world you and people you cared for lived inside, would be destroyed and it would be your fault. YOU messed up and what would your parents say 'well done dickhead you've done it again!'
So you became dead. Giving out the signs of life, you kept breathing your heart beat, but you were flat lining inside. Robbed of a chance, a chance of life you were born with every right to have. You soon became broken, battered, bruised, confused, used, abused, tired, ground down, fightless, wounded, injured, prideless, haunted, frightened and screaming. The things they put you through, the things you endured, the torment they inflicted soon began to tighten their grip on your fractured fledgling wings. The freedom in any aspect of your life was gone, discarded like an old shopping list. Only instead of groceries, written down were items of your life you weren't allowed anymore. Food, love, experiments, triumphs, help, virginity and feelings. Feelings, that word covers things in the emotional, physical and spiritual sense, if they allowed themselves to contemplate or entertain the idea that you had feelings, then perhaps half of the shit they put you through wouldn't have happened. You'd have become human instead of an object to play with a like a dog plays with a ball. It's picked up and put down whenever the needs have to be met, it doesn't feel or think hurt or bleed its an inanimate object. And when it's been used and has satisfied its purpose in life it's put in the rubbish truck and crushed by those monstrous metal teeth - that is you. To the girl on the floor listen to me!! That is what is going to happen and soon, you are already in the depths of an almost inescapable bin. It's bigger than you, taller deeper wider and dark. Very dark. Your eyes strain in vain for some light, anything to encourage you that there is a way out and which way you need to go, you've been down there on the floor of that bin for so long it seems there is no hope for you. When you listen carefully you can hear the torturously slow approach of the rubbish truck. You have no concept of time or space down in the lonely prison of the bin. So you don't know if the truck is getting nearer over a week or over an hour. All you know is that the impending death machine growls and grumbles, salivating at the thought of ripping your skin apart and the squirt of blood rushing down into its very empty and hungry stomach afterwards. For the first time in your life you are wanted therefore you start to feel this was your place in the world, like the lamb who was born confident that there was such a thing. You were perhaps made for the rubbish truck. Maybe there was a reason all along as to why your fragile wings were broken and crushed, why you were treated as you had been. You fulfil the truck, you were made for it. It needs and wants you. This is your destiny. It needs to keep fuelled so it can move onto the next bin with another broken person who awaits their own personal decision to take place. It wants you because it needs you. This is extremely alluring to you - the girl on the floor, you have always been the awkward one, the one who sticks out like a sore thumb, the girl standing in the corner of the playground ALONE. No one has given you a break instead they have shat on you more and more and you have taken it, but this time, THIS time something wants you exactly as you are instead of trying to shove you into a mould and force you to be what you aren't. It inspires hope and fills your head with promises that you'll be lifted up and just before those jaws crush down on your body you will be in the light again.
You are so torn by either trying to escape or by waiting for the rubbish truck, you end up stuck in the middle. In a limbo land where no definite conclusion is made and in no affirmative answer being given you are actually making one. You are staying still. Neither running nor waiting in which case your options are removed entirely and it's left to something or someone or perhaps fate to conclude what will happen to your life. Cant you see how infuriating this is for me? Seeing you sway gently on the spot you have kept yourself in wrecked, shattered, worn down and tired of life. This is what THEY wanted! All along they wanted you broken. Your handing yourself to them on a plate. For gods sake please PLEASE do something! Those men you are so frightened of will have you again and again. Push and pull you, position you and photograph you, rape you and ruin you.....please I beg to you girl on the floor, just try! If you try and it doesn't work well then at least then you'll have tried. You can't predict the future you play the cards you're dealt with in life and you just keep sticking. Take that gamble and twist. The gamble might just end up succeeding and you could become better off.
I however, just cannot forgive you or pretend I don't feel totally disgusted, let down and furious with you. I could say every word, speak every reason and I don't think I can get through. Maybe that's partly my issue because of the fact that they're just words. They can be shouted, screamed, whispered, spoken with rage, spoken with love - there are numerous ways in which words are used. The thing is you've heard them in every sense! You've had them spat at you hurtfully 'spastic! Cripple! Nutter! Freak! Ugly!' They have been spoken so you grant a desire 'I'll give you a cuddle if you touch me there smudge, do this and I'll give you drugs so you can forget, if you love me then you'll do this, if you want some dinner we want you to balance this book on your head for ten minutes, do this because WE WANT IT!!!!' You've heard words that were new to your virgin ears, words I will not write down because they are grimy, dirty, slimy, nasty words. Words that are only letters bunched together in different ways, but all the same they are the words that have sliced your mind open and crawled into the deep dark crevices that remain. Words you can't forget write or say anymore because they cast a dark powerful spell over you, you say them and you truly believe you will be sucked backwards through time and land in those horrific moments in which they were first used. Words can be begged. Oh yes you're familiar to hearing your voice begging those useless words 'please stop. Please don't. Please don't do that. Please let me go. Please go away you're hurting me. Please let me rest. Please can I do something else. Please let me clean myself up. Please leave me alone. PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU.......please can I have something to block out what has happened.....Please god, can you end my life? Please?' All useless and its vile to beg. You hear your whiney voice cutting through the grunting panting thick sex sounds uttered by the abusers. You begged. You don't even think your pleas were heard. The moments when they got you, had you captured and were ripping your legs apart, slicing your scarred vagina open once again.. In those moments they seemed to put your whiney voice on mute. You were screaming but you had been taken and placed into a silent movie. They avoided eye contact, silent as your voice may have been they wouldn't have been able to block out the agony, terror and blind panic your face would have conveyed. Muting your screams and begging would have only heightened those facial expressions. Him, the man you can't can't even name, you remember the words he said to you. The knife words weren't standing solo. Maybe these two simple statements are the words that numbed you to absolutely anything spoken afterwards. One day when he was dragging you into the bedroom you tried to beg. You had to do something, try something to stop him. You said 'Please, I can't go in there with you I haven't washed my hair, I don't feel like I'm clean so I can't do anything!' And what did he say? 'Well I don't need to look at the mantelpiece whilst I'm stoking the fire' and were those statements the ones that caused you to blank out any importance of any word after? Because begging is low you cretin and it didn't stop him did it?? IT DIDN'T STOP HIM. Why? Why couldn't you have found the right words, words with power and force, words that could have stopped them both? You didn't did you? Cretin! And now as I ask you to do something, something to try and help yourself away from that bin. Something that would hit home enough that you would start to try and escape the depths of it, give you enough artificial light so you can begin to hope you'll see the real thing. But not in the way you think, not before you are tipped into the wide deadly jaws of the rubbish truck. Not a brief glance before death, but a long life living in it. Life with light that never fades or flickers, light everywhere so there are no seedy shadowy corners to get lured in to. Light for you to see with your eyes and light that you feel in your heart, soul, body and mind. The thing is, now none of the words or the desperation and necessity that I emphasise them with make any difference. Your ears have been so battered and violated with taunting words. Dirty words. Words that have kept you walking the unsteady tightrope between life and death all these years so now it doesn't matter to you if the words are spoken as a threat or spoken with kindness. It's too late, my words are falling on deaf ears. Scarred ears that just don't recognise the difference between my urgency or someone's urges.
I know how you feel. I empathise with you. I know. I can lift up the trap door to the cellar your soul is hidden in and see it bared to me. Scared and naked and shaking in the darkest part of the cellar. I see it and therefore I see you. My anger towards you is not helping because now you're being crapped on by me. Will the list of people ever end? I wish I could forgive you. I can rationalise issues and reasons I have that stop me, but I can't find the part that goes 'click' and puts this mucky picture together so I can see it for what it is and therefore be able to forgive. Or at least begin to.
Will I see those fledgling wings heal and perhaps one day see you fly? Or will those wings be ripped off entirely? Only god knows. But he gave you and I free will so will there be a confident decision made?

If you escape from the bin run, run, run, RUN!!

If you don't, take comfort you have found your purpose on this earth.