They tell me: shut your lips, open your legs. Silence your mind, close your eyes. Let your hands wander over the cactus bodies, those who seek refuge in mature, innocent children like I used to be.

There was a time when I wanted to make myself a skeleton and let fruits of silence grow in the places where those men punched my body over and over.

I wanted to make myself thin like paper, so I could finally be drawn into something else. Something else than a toy for the groomers and a number for the graphs.

I wanted to make myself become an empty canvas - waiting to become art through someone else. Because I learned my body was an unscrambled wall of rocks which wasn’t mine to build or finish. I also grew up in a virtual world and from a young age I learned my body was a vehicle of desire.

I was bread for the hungry with a promise of silence for my “friends.” You know, those friends who joke with you, those who ask how your day was, just to later ask you to improve theirs. Yes, those who give you sweet nicknames and who guards and creates your secrets. Mhm, those friends who care about your days when mummy and daddy don't, and those who you meet in the open sea of chat forums, who listen to you. Those with the power to give you a voice and a brand-new identity, just to take it all away again.

You know, girls like me, they aren’t born with hope and achievements plastered to the bone. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, hope and a desire to be desired. My body was like a cactus, protected and untouchable. Until they touched my mind and rewired it entirely. They peeled off all my layers just to find a rose. They taught me how to mend myself into a woman.

She took a deep breath and shared her confessions with the world. “Ping!” said her phone an hour later.

He shakingly sent his own confession: I feel you; I see you; I think like you. With them, I was free. I had a fixed personality, care and affection, a home, a purpose, and a friend. My friend. They saw potential in me that nobody else ever discovered. I saw in them a friend, a guide and everything I’ve dreamed of. I was the keeper of secrets, and they; the creators of them.

Each word cut into her chest while comforting her feeling of loneliness. She eagerly typed back: They used to tell me that I was so mature, so different from the rest. I wondered how I got so lucky, to be friends with the best. I sent them pictures and they told me that boys my age were blind. I asked for their sweet words, and they were incredibly kind. Until I got more carefree, and they turned my world upside down.

He sniffed through the quick keyboard clicks and managed to get out.
It always got worse... Like a never-ending curse. After a while, I grew exhausted from trying to scratch myself free from the favors and threats, the spam requests, and the constantly growing demand. I was tired of being a child from a dysfunctional family, growing more lost with time and growing more problematic in the real world. I grew tired of being a full, then empty, then full, then empty and then an emptier glass. Their words grew more and more acidic for each day, making my body feel nothing but sour and bitter like a lemon.

She curled her lips in a sad smile: I also grew tired of trying to erase those moments, moments engraved in my skin. I carried their affection and blackmail day after day, waiting for their power-hungry demands to stop spreading through my body. It was in times like these, my mind ran on addictive fear or naivety instead of blood and I forgot I was still human.
I forgot I was a young girl.

He responded quickly before heading out:
And I forgot I was still just a boy.

As much as the fear consumed him, he had to know. He had to find out who had been there behind the screen all this time. It was a cold afternoon, like yesterday, the day before and last week. It wasn’t tempting to leave the comfort of his home, but he knew he would be back.

I am just going to visit a friend, mum.
Talk to you later!

Skrevet av: Catalina Isabell Silva Leal

Illustrasjon i banner: Marie Cathrine Løver Thu