I am in deep trauma, been there too many times, but this need to faced with the will of a tiger.
I want to write to my memories of only true friend and lover.
She died from an OD when I was 17, when she was also 17.
We were soulmates, we were in and out of each of madness and war to survive.
But I don’t know how to grieve.
I start by speaking to who she was to me, although it mostly full of silences where my mind cannot show our deep love for each other.
I don’t remember or know how we meet, only know in a flash we could not be torn apart – only all the time prostitution and drugs was ripping us apart.
I was deep in sadistic indoors prostitution, at the beck and call of any punter who wanted to do torture with no consequences.
She was on heroin, trying to come out that life – with predators knocking at her door to sell her more.
We were a dangerous couple, both on the edge of death, both beyond caring what the outside world thought of us.
But somehow, from some deep place we found we could love.
We decided we could sleep together, but no sex coz we had too much anger and violence in us.
We had had brief moments of being lovers – but our deep love became hugs and quiet crying.
We were wild, we had no interest in people pleasing.
Our pain, our anger, our frustration went into drink, into refusing to sleep, into being a general pain in the neck.
But our pain was ignored, was made to our fault – so how could we care what others thought as they did nothing as our lives were running out.
All they saw was a drug addict and a prostitute.
They refuse to see why we drown ourselves in heroin and violent sex.
I knew she was escaping violent sexual abuse from her father, and the memories she did not want to know.
I try so hard to stop the predators selling her drugs.
I would refuse to let them in the flat, but I had no power or energy to save her.
I help her when she try so hard to come off drugs.
I held her in bed as she screamed at me.
I yell back at her when she thought I was her father about to rape her yet again.
I was there as she cried, sweated till I thought she may melt.
I was there, coz no-one else cared if she lived or died.
I was there coz that was I knew love was.
But still she died.
How do I grieve?
She died because her father found her, and rape her back to the place with no hope, no exit and no love.
I was away for that weekend, and came back to find her body in our bed.
I went numb – I refused to believe she could be dead.
So for that night, I lay by her till I could accept the truth.
After that, I have many blocks and silences.
I know I drunk heavier, I know I a huge anger – I know I did not know how to say goodbye or cry.
I had to hear women who could of supported me say – it is you who should be dead, she was so much stronger than you.
I know I was banned from her funeral for being drunk and screaming –
Fuck you – none of you did anything for her when she was alive!
I knew she would be proud of me speaking for her, and not going with their fake grief.
But then, we were crazy, we were beyond the acceptable.
Like when we got drunk and smashed up a sex shop.
We did this out of fury, but also coz we sick of the constant chat and no action about how awful the sex shop was for women.
Our action was unwise – we were chased away by the shop owner with a machete, and only made safe by being pick up by the police.
I cannot much time where we were sober, where we were not in a pause between prostitution or drugs – but our love was real.
This post is written from that love.