An Unsent Letter

NOTE: This is a letter I wrote to my roommate after a “joke” he made. I never showed it to him, and I never will.

Dearest,

I am in agony.

How could you ever say that to me? How could you ever call me that, knowing what I’ve been through?

You leave me heartbroken—a feat I thought incapable after it all. How did you manage to wound a kindness already shattered? Why do you step on shards of broken glass?

Why would you call me that name? Something so othering, something so objectifying—something they would call me? You peeled back my skin and revealed the young girl underneath. You chose to perceive her, despite her best efforts, and show her the love she didn’t know she’d lost. And then, you chose to hurt her all over again when you called me those words.

More than anything, I’m so deeply afraid that this is how you see me, how any part of you sees me. Filthy. Vulnerable. At their behest. Doing whatever it took to keep my owner pleased. Is that the picture of me you see when you close your eyes? Do you wonder, as your thoughts stir together and your mind floats off, what poses they made me take? Or are you curious about which one of them held the camera, while the other—?

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t do it anymore! You do this! My mind is scrambled, and everything is meaningless! I am trapped!

The only things that matters now are the powerless tears welling up in my throat, the cool air against my bare sides as I cover my chest with my hands (an act of defiance they’ll only allow a few moments more before threatening punishment), the impersonal click of the camera—living memories engendered by your chosen utterance, your two words:

COMPUTER WHORE.