Dear... Monster
I remember you hurting me. My body hurt where you scorched me. I was terrified and lonely. It was dark around us, and so cold. Yet my cheeks burned from shame and embarrassment. You had my shirt pulled up and the cold wind against my skin made me feel frozen, weak and insecure. You kept saying my body was so beautiful. I hated that. I hated how I felt. I felt so dirty. Everything felt dirty. You were squeezing me and hurting me. You kept saying how much you loved my body. I hated my body. You wanted to touch me and I hated it. I was so scared that someone would see. I knew what it meant if someone saw. I would be at fault. I would be the reason the family breaks up. I just wanted to be somewhere else. I hated my parents because I told them I didn’t want to come to that stupid family party. I knew if I came, I would have to go through your terrifying hands and it made me feel sick. Sick and angry. I couldn’t escape you no matter how hard I tried. You sucked my nipples until they were raw. You squeezed my breasts until they hurt. You sucked on my tongue until it swelled and hurt underneath. You said you would always be my first. I was scared that no one would want me after you were done destroying me. You kept saying that we were secret lovers. I hated it. I told you that I wanted you to stop. But you said that we were so good together. You tried to say nice things to me, but everything that came out of your mouth made me sick. I remember bits and pieces, being drunk out of my mind while you and your grown friends touched me. I was barely 10 years old. I remember being in your car on a rainy night. It’s a blur but I remember lying on the seat. I remember being on the sand on the beach and your monster friends watching us. I remember being against the wall behind a house. It’s all a blur, I don’t remember how it started or how it ended, I just remember being there at those points. I remember how all your friends would all take turns to touch me. I wonder what you told them. How do grown adult people tell each other it’s okay to molest this little girl? Did you tell them I was easy to hurt. That I would let you hurt me. Did I allow it to happen? I didn’t want to be hated anymore than I was already hated. I didn’t know how to escape you. I hate you for all the times you hurt me. I hate you for taking away my innocence. I remember you telling me that a man will always be a man, but once a woman is used, she’s no longer a woman. I was 13 years old when you told me that. I was barely a woman. You made me believe I was a whore. You made me believe that I was not, or ever would be, worthy of love or anything good from a man. I believed you.
I was a vulnerable little girl; I don’t even remember the full details of what you did to me. Maybe my mind blocked it out to save me. Maybe you made sure I was so intoxicated that I wouldn’t remember. You thieving piece of shit, you saw the opportunity to steal me. Parents who didn’t care enough. A child already broken. Fuck you. You horrible pathetic old man. Fuck you. I will live to see you suffer. You fucker. I don’t remember every time you fucking hurt me. But I know my body has never recovered from you. Every time I think of you or hear your name, I feel my heart tighten, my eyes well up, fear grips me, and suddenly a burst of anger flows into my veins and then hate... I just see hate. So fuck you. I will always survive you after each episode of torment... but one day... one day, I will see you, AND I WILL NOT FEEL FEAR. I will see you and feel pity because you will be dying and I will still be a survivor.