The Uncivilised

**Disclaimer: As per instruction from management we have been asked to please inform you that the letter below could purely be a work of fiction, so if anyone gets their undies in knot, we are not talking about anyone you may or may not know depending on how much jail time they have had. this is an almost fictional letter from the head of a woman who may or may not have been abused as the evidence proving or disproving the events sits with two people and one of them will deny this to the grave. the other may or may not deny depending on what mood you catch them in. So this is purely possibly a work of fiction but the possibilities are low very low.

By Order Management**

Dear Uncivilized Brut,

As, I write this I am not sure how to greet you, in fact I was not even sure how to address you, but after a day long battle in my head, I settled on Uncivilized Brut. I could have said ‘Dear Ex Lover’ or ‘Dear LLF’ or even ‘Dear Abuser’, but those titles would not really encompass all that you are, I needed to make sure that in one line you understood exactly how I felt about you and although ‘Uncivilized Brut’ may not truly sum it all up it comes a close third and yes I said third…

I wasn’t going to write this letter, I had not planned to, but for the past year it nagged me because it wanted to come out – I had / have so many questions about the things you did and yes, I have sat for an entire year and tried to answer them myself and only yesterday did I realize that you are the only person that could answer for all those things that happened, because you are the one that did them after all. I often wonder if you think about the things you did as much as I do. At some point I really thought I was the only one that had suffered the way I did at your hand but I realized after meeting people from different walks of life, that somehow you managed to ravage a few women’s lives and not to mention the poor, lost, low self esteem woman who you continue to mentally and emotionally abuse. SMH

So, I sat for days and wondered how I would start such a letter, the one that asks you why you would think that it was ok to walk all over someone tell them they are worthless and when they have nothing else to offer; them spit them out like toothpaste after brushing those beastly teeth of yours. How do I ask the person I feared so much for so long why he terrorized my very existence, most of all how do I admit to myself that for a very long time I allowed myself to be the victim of daily torture and vicious malice, how do I come to terms with the fact that I may have allowed you to treat me that way in the name of love.

Well here it is.

I remember the day I ran into you after not seeing you for at least six years, in fact I almost didn’t remember who you were. That day I had rushed out of work on my way to SARS, I was almost certain that I was having a really bad day, I took an early lunch – for some reason I decided to walk and leave the car in the parking lot. As I walked I thought about my shoes and how walking ruins shoes (cheap pretty shoes). I walked looking down at the pavement, I was on Long Street in Cape Town. I walked past a shop called Journey and promised myself that as soon as I was done with my errands at SARS I would come back and take a gander. I walked all the way down to corner of Wale Street and Long Street. The Robots were red, I waited. That is probably when you noticed me, I was wearing a green Tommy Hilfiger vest, a yellow cardigan, black skinny jeans cute little white pumps with flowers. As, I was crossing the street I did not care to look, but clearly you did because you grabbed my arm. And there you were – Tall, Caramel skinned with a dust of freckles spread over your cheeks, a croquet smile, the teeth that were supposed to be your front teeth faced to the side. You wore a black and white hoodie with a block pattern, black cargo pants and black Superga’s. You smiled gently and said hello, I was hesitant but I said hello back.

Now when I think back to that day, I sometimes wish I had left the office earlier or later. I wish I had walked on the other side of the road or even better, had taken my car. What made you stop me? What made you think that I was the perfect victim for your skeems, could you not let me pass by and let me have a peaceful life at least? Of all the women you walked past that day was I the only one that looked like I would be able to handle the bullshit you put me through? I am sure there was someone else who was more equipped to deal with you, but still you chose me.

You spent thousands of Rands coming on trips to Cape Town – to see me. You told me that everything about me was exactly what you needed – when I look back I see that it was exactly what you needed to break down, to make you feel better about your almost insignificant existence. You did everything to get my attention, you told me stories, wooed my friends, you even convinced me that I was the most beautiful woman you had seen in years. I fell into your trap, albeit slowly I fell and when I did there was no turning back. Whatever wall I had built to protect my heart had crumbled down, like the walls of Babylon. I was yours, to do whatever you pleased. I had given in, with no reserves, no protection I handed you all I was entirely.

As, I began to love you more, you used me to your advantage, I moved cities, came to the Jozi lights and for someone who had moved for a lover, I struggled to find a home, my way around and people I could lean on when this city got the best of me. When your friend felt sorry for me , tried to comfort me, you spewed venom about him, you told me that all he wanted was to stab you in the back – maybe that is what you deserved. Maybe if I had listened to the blessing of a friend I would not be writing this, I would not be working through the intense trauma that you put me through.

On New Year’s Eve, when you moved house I wanted to be the to help you, you shut me out and told me that you would get your ex to help you, maybe you were training me to accept your bullshit, but I didn’t understand. I went to visit you that night, so I could help you unpack, as I looked through your book collection I saw books that I was unfamiliar with and well frankly would never imagine anyone reading and so I commented that I would have never imagined you would read these. I am not sure if you had planned that to be the beginning of your physical abuse regime, but I remember you dragged me out of your house by my right leg on a rainy evening, I spent an hour in the car crying – you couldn’t have been bothered what I was doing. The next day like a wounded little animal, you came back with your tail in-between your legs, but not before you blamed me for how you acted, I took you back with open arms. Is that when you decided that you could do whatever you wanted?

I worked my ass off day and night at my new Johannesburg job, you bothered me about trivial pictures of my ex that you found on Facebook. You wouldn’t let go, you claimed I never looked at you like that in pictures. I wondered if this could not wait until I was at home or at least came by to see you, but you continued. You never let me have peace, each week it was new drama. I wondered if it had to do with the fact that you were unfaithful, I knew, but never asked you… I was already afraid of you, of your wrath of being dragged by my leg outside again, so I agreed to everything you said. You even barred me from attending a friend’s wedding (I was a bridesmaid). I went to the wedding, but when I came back you pulled stunts and you broke up with me. I was more confused than I had ever been. You enjoyed seeing me cry, you smirked I saw it.

When you got arrested for drunken driving, I searched around Johannesburg, looking for where they held you. I did not know the city. I woke people up at 2 in the morning. Frantic asking where I should go. I lied to the police that day. I told them that I was your lawyer. They were kind to me and let me see you, they let me sit with you when everyone else was in a cell, I only went home to brush my teeth, I did not sleep. Yet, when you got home that day, you told me you drank because of me, that the reason you were arrested was my fault, you carried on to tell me that I was worthless and you were going to cheat on me, as if I had not heard enough, you called a string of women, whilst I sat there dumbstruck and tears silently streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to die. You were laughing. I wanted to leave you wouldn’t let me and then as per usual the next day you apologized. I forgave you. I didn’t think twice, I wrote it off as your were just stressed. Little did I know that this was just a buildup.

Every time a male friend called and you heard the phone call I knew we would fight and you would call me names, I would tryi to explain, but for that week I would be known as a lying whore. Just as I was getting used to the labels you surprised me. I spoke to a friend on the phone and as I finished with a giggle, I was met with the hottest and 1^st fiery slap I had ever felt in my life, I got up in shock and anger and before I could speak my chest was kicked in. I crawled away from you as far as I could, I grabbed my bag and said ‘fuck you, I am leaving.’ ‘No you are not’ was followed by an iron slap then another kick. I did not understand why you wanted me to stay, but you did say that you wanted to kill me, so maybe that is what you wanted to achieve that day. I was wearing a black AAA hoodie and grey Nike tracksuit pants. I bled on the camel coloured carpet. You kept asking me if I thought you were stupid. That was actually the last thing I thought about you. To me you were probably the smartest artist I had ever met. But you crushed me, crushed me until I could not breath, until I was certain that I may die at your hand. I screamed, begged for mercy, but you carried on. The pain disappeared all that was left was a waning life and a breaking heart. I drew all my strength I managed to run to the bathroom and lock the door. Hours later, you begged, you cried, you told me it was just between us. My face however, was ready to show the world, I was bruised, I was aching… breathing was a strain, I hoped to sleep and never wake. You held me close and swore you loved me more than life, you just ‘lost it’ , I wondered what the hell that meant and I summoned dreams of rainbows and unicorns – a world without the fear you brought me. From that day you became the shadow, I feared you more than ever now.

Months went by and we seemed happy, I stopped working, you carried on with your life, if ever I went out I was under scrutiny, you accused me of smiling at your friends too much. You commanded me to stay home when I wanted to see my sister, I was afraid of you, I would not dare defy your authority. And when I needed you the most like when I was in accident you pretended as though nothing had happened and still you blamed me and called me stupid. Then it got worse, unprovoked you told me what a better artist you were than me, you told me I was worthless, I tried to defend myself, but the words had dried out on my tongue. I felt lost and confused. I stopped arguing. There were strange girls in my home, things charged on my card and all I had to do was sit and take it. And out of the blue sense reigned.

I called you before I arrived, I asked you if I could have my stuff back, I understood that I could never go back to you. But that day, you stood there in front of her and made sure that for the last time you could humiliate me and fracture my forearm. I just remember kissing the tar – not as glamorous as it sounds. The world was a big blur. I only realized later that I had been screaming. I wanted her to help me, but she encouraged you, I don’t remember her face, but the name Joy stuck with me for a while. Joy…Joy…Joy that is all I remember Joy, pain and confusion that is all. I was hoping that the ground would swallow me that day, but it didn’t. I wanted that fall to crack my skull, but instead it cracked my arm. When I got home I wanted to sleep and never wake up… never ever wake up, but I did. And when I woke up I had received the worst sms’s from being called stupid, to psycho to a barren whore. I don’t know why, but I still woke up the day after that and the next day and the next and before I knew it I had been waking about for over a year and everything feeling like a memory. Yet, there are some days, some days that it’s not just a memory, the days when I truly feel the bruises left on my heart – those are the days I just want to sleep and forget, but you taunt me in my dreams. The dreams, the reason why I wrote this letter, I would love to know why? Why it was necessary to try kill all that I am? I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely

The Stupid-psycho-barrenwhore