Letter to my best friend
|by Giusi Nigro|
During the night, in your loneliness, you are strong, not impotent like that evening, you announce victory, then you wake up in tears and the reality vehemently slams just in front of you impudently. Another shower delete, like to wash from your body that smell, those dirty hands which infiltrate between the underwear, and you leave the water running on the stolen innocence.
Many years of “why me?”, and why you? You will never find an answer, you will never understand, there is no why, it was your turn, everything just to dominate, like the savage instinct of somebody without breaks in front of the weak, like the temporary victory which gives you the title of a champion for a moment, like the forever losers which try to get even and act in group to recharge, to feel better, those sick in their head collecting trophies, fake trophies, imaginary, earned only due to the physics’ strength against a fragile person, and weaker. You were not the target but your skirt.
The suffered humiliation, and the silence, have been like a boulder for you, carrying it on your shoulders for many years. The judgement of people who did not know. Those severe accusations which yet resound: “she was easy!” told by who was not there but wanted to believe to the story of the trophy. The popular judgement of the small town there to protect the predators and strike the victim. You were young and innocent, afraid, defenseless, you could not know you were going to regret the silence, that if you had a guide, you could have sent them to prison. You believed the treats: “if you speak, you are dead! “and you were dead anyway.
Living without existing, feeling invisible and less than nothing, believing to be wrong, abandoning yourself to cheap thoughts, cowardly take the blame: “I deserve it, I trusted the wrong people”, I do not deserve anything good, I choose always the wrong because I am wrong, refusing the good things. No, you are not wrong, you needed that therapist to make you understand. You or somebody else did not make difference to them. Do not be ashamed, do not let them win, they have to be ashamed of their committed crime, those fouls ex-cons. You did not report them, not to be an accomplice, but for fear, for irresponsibility, because nobody teaches to a young girl in her early teens how to deal with these cases.
We are thought to be ashamed, to the mocking of the truth, in a small town where it is possible to perpetrate violence and they all will be from the side of the strong, even if the strong is not in the right side.
You cannot erase the past, I know it, and it will be your burden forever, but you can make this weight you carry around, as a good luck holder. Look at your inner side, you are not like them, you are a lot of more, you are sensitive, deep, and you are what they would like to be, you know how to dance, to dance under the rain, to look at the stars and shine with them, you know how to look at the horizon and create more joint lines, you can inspire. Look at them and ask yourself: “What are they good at? Who do they hang with?”.
You are the living success that you can heal from the pain. Look at your eyes now, shining, look at them inside, they are the reflection of a balance you asked from so long, they scream loud that the past is behind and need to move forward, they sum the price you paid, overpaid, but paid off. Now it is your turn to live, do it, do not hesitate, stand up to change everything you do not like it, stay far from pointless people, laugh!
Remember when you were laughing to void to cry? My dear friend, it will not be the same anymore, I see the light in your eyes, the strength of a healed after a terminal disease, the grit of a fighter winning against a bear. Their witch laugh which still echoed in your ears, is now your smile of happiness, calm, quiet, understanding that the torment is not a drug to be addicted of, but it is a victory against the pain, it is strength, it is putting the soul. The rest do not matter. He who laughs last laughs best!
I am so proud of you