Red Letter

I know what they think of me. I have heard the words second hand dripping a venomous judgement that they have no right to. I know what I have done, and how my stature has grown weak and dingy, despite the suffering heaped upon me. I know how you see me. I hear you call me whore. I know, and I knew. Yet I smiled politely and tried to take part in surface conversation as my insides burned. My anger and and my anxiety bubbling up in my throat with and acrid taste. Still I nod and offer small talk. Those are my instructions, I follow them and shift is quietly as I can in my chair. I mostly listen with ears trained to for any hint of distaste, because I know what you think of me. Do you know what I think of you? Or am I such a low creature that you do not care or consider it?

I think of you and your side daily. I think of the sadness and the loss and the pain most of you have suffered. I think of the stories told about you and the kind words showered upon you. I see the forgiveness offered you again and again. Forgiveness that you can not return, and neither can they. Distaste painted over with social niceties and plastered smiles. But I still know. You have not fooled me. I know about the phone calls and the texts. I know about the “best friend” and the tales told. I know, but you have not pushed me into a lower space. I know your lows. I know your lies and you grudges. That red letter that you have branded me with speaks not so much of my choice, but of yours.

This low creature with the red brand was there when you were not. I cleaned up the mess, I gave up everything to help him, to heal him. I paid the bill, in all ways. You were not there at the depths of hopelessness. Maybe because you could not swim that same deep water, maybe you were afraid. Or maybe your surface judgements hold no sway over the realness of another human, one which you have forever branded. Where were you at two a.m? Where were you when the hospital was the only choice? Where were you when homelessness loomed? Where were you at the peak of pain and sickness that threatened to destroy all? Where were you and your god that you claim speaks of love? Where were you when that god turned his fickle back and let you all suffer? Where? I do not know, because it was me that was there. It was me that gave up my home, my bank account, my security to be there. It was me that gave up sleep, and furniture, and routine and comfort. It was me that gave up health and stability. It was me, this low branded whore that gave you back your brother, your son. It was me. The one who saw your god turn a blind eye and became useless as soon as he was called upon. The one who swore he died for me, and loved me..yet led my body to slaughter and my soul was shattered…yet he did nothing. So I went to the dark and survived; and because I did he is whole. I am less than because you were not there, I am sick because you were not there, I am lonely most of the time because you are not there. You pray and you mumble scripture and think it absolves you and gives you the right to judge. But you see, I see you. I know. I wear that letter with pride, and not shame because I have earned it. When you are starved of love and safety and attention, perhaps you will know. When you are afraid to be in your own home, perhaps you will understand. When your womanhood is questioned again and again, perhaps you will understand. Perhaps.

Maybe you were not there because you always had a choice. You had somewhere to go and others to give you attention and love. Perhaps you chose because it was difficult, and because it was uncomfortable. Perhaps you left me with the mess because you just were not strong enough. So you judged. You ignored. You branded. You justified. You hid. I gave everything and you still decide what I am, who I am. The worst thing is that you are right. The worst thing for me is that I am too.