Let me tell you a story

The police in this town have begun an operation they want no one to know of, but the story is not theirs to tell.

‘operation antigua’ and the idea they are on the side that survivors of I and other young girls who were forced through the mill of abuse this town perpetuated inhabit is a publicity stunt at best, and a liability at worst. The irony being that being a suicidal victim of child sexual trauma makes I and others ‘unreliable’. Perhaps we are, in the sense that we don’t know if we’ll be here from day to day due to the carnivorous nature of post traumatic stress disorder and all that it brings.

I fully admit that I am both a victim and survivor of psychosis, but it doesn’t change what happened during the near decade of depravity and death I witnessed before fleeing to Europe: a decision which proved to be as near fatal as the events that transpired in this town and have done so for decades since I was born. The repercussions to linger long after.

That is neither here nor there however, so let me tell you the story of a small English town that fell to the advance of a shit religious cult, chapter by chapter. It includes all the aspects casual readers live and love for while they reside in a comfortable bubble: murder, betrayal, suicide.

Never to be felt in reality of course, but consumed by the masses nonetheless. There wasn’t a day I was homeless in the capital and didn’t see someone knee deep in some literary work of misery porn while prowling the underground. Did I pick your middle class pocket? Sorry, not sorry. The difference is of course, that this won’t be the handmaid’s tale: this is no work of fiction.

Consider your wallets fair payment for those the Jesus Army kidnapped from the streets and fear not: we’re buckled in now. Even should the local police force, who have proven themselves consistently untrustworthy in the form of officers who care more about projecting an alpha male personality before justice or equality, in the form of an aunt who was part of their ‘safeguarding’ team and left me to die on the streets.

(by the way, does it hurt to know I had a firearm sticking out of my yoga pants when you came calling that day?)

The fact is, even after the Jesus Army began to fall girls were victimised in this town. We were preyed upon like cattle; we were the person left to wander alone while the man eating lion did his job.

It begins with love and ends with blood.

It begins tomorrow.

If the police force are listening, I will not be silenced. Those far beyond your jurisdiction and corrupt hand are willing to tell the story. Why don’t you huddle under stained duvets the way we did, praying for help?

Suck it, this isn’t your tale to tell.

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