Realisations of common knowledge lurk around us like shadows in the darkness.
Don’t close your eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn a corner too quickly. It’s just the wind. It’s not the same car. It’s too big of a city to find you.
Dear authorities, what are you doing to help?
People from generations before mine have raised their children to be hateful. They have taught them that if they don’t feel like respecting people, they shouldn’t and won’t. I’m sure you’ve guessed this next one, but they’ve let their children get away with a smack here and a smack there to those who don’t obey their every demand – and even to those who do. But I am not the only one. I am not the only unlucky punching bag to experience the hatred of someone much older, more mature, wiser and certainly, not just a kid. Is that it? Is that why you let him go? I was four when it started and fifteen when it ended. To you, that’s a child. Children don’t know much, do they.
Dear authorities, that’s where you’re wrong.
I was four when it started and if you think it stopped at fifteen when my abuser walked out, think again. It never fully stops, not yet. I am nearly twenty years old and I still flinch if someone holds out their hand for a handshake or raises their voice just a notch because they’re a little out of earshot and I needed them to repeat.
Dear authorities, I can’t live because you won’t let me.
Oh, you like Budwiser? Corner Gas, the T.V. show? Do I smell steak? Potatoes baked on the BBQ? You need a plumber? Handyman? Oh look, you’re wearing red. Do you think I appreciate being reminded by the stupidest things, that my abuser is out there? Why is that? Could it possibly be because nobody has bothered giving the man any possible discipline?
Dear authorities, I’m tired of being told, “it’ll be okay, it’s not that bad.”
People after people have continuously told me to go talk to someone. I’ve seen multiple counsellors, doctors, talked to teachers, specialists, friends and family. But what are you doing to help? I moved away from my mother and siblings, in fear. Fear, because every time we moved anywhere the lawyer told us we had to give our address to the abuser. We could not deny him access to us, we could not cut off communication with him. I had to leave, as an attempt to protect myself and hide in a big city with lots of people and hopefully I could blend in.
Dear authorities, you have failed me.*
Stop telling me things will be okay, when he is out there and things only seem to matter when a death occurs.
Dear me, you’re not dead so authorities don’t care.
I originally posted this on my blog & today decided to post it on here as well. If you'd like to see the original on my blog, you may view it, like it, share it or comment on it, at https://onebigmilestone.wordpress.com/2017/03/07/first-blog-post/?preview=true.