From an early age, I knew broken girls; they were everywhere, in my church & at my school. Reaching my teen years, I noticed them at work & even in passing at the grocery store. I could look into their eyes and feel a cry out-especially as a child.
Versus seeking attention & being obnoxious they were pretty reserved an introverted, with kind eyes, fake smiles & non-confrontational. Majority of them were pretty easy going & often caught in a daze. They had grown accustomed to feel uncomfortable around sons, older brothers, uncles, deacons, bishops & stepdads before they even had reason to. I used to think if the men were married, those girls were safe but I found out that was not the case at all. They tried to fight their assumptions about certain men but every look & words spoken gave their real intentions away. The confirmation was the unexplained annoyance broken girls had for them and the look when they entered the room. It practically screamed everything they never said.
When broken girls lash out, you’d hear their parents say: She is just being an average teen, she wants to do what she wants, you know how it goes, being fast, thinks she is an adult, I’ve been that age before etc.
Which I translated to: She is not allowed to express herself, no one is listening or paying close enough attention to the signs nor was she ever really shown the affection she needed. She has questions that go unanswered because her parents have trouble finding an answer themselves. But instead of them communicating this, she had to accept “Because I said so.”
When broken girls finally snapback; everyone whispers, creates their own reasoning and possibly adds a little to the story by spreading rumors; just for kicks. Why not? She was “crazy” and it was believable. Her parents will say to friends and family “I didn’t tell you what she did? What she said? She has lost her damn mind!” I won’t let her stress me out!”
When broken girls finally reach their breaking point and attempt to end their own lives, I’d hear some parents say, “I just don’t know where I went wrong with her, she doesn’t talk to me, and her grades are slipping. She’s not the same girl. I’m just going to pray about it and let God have his way with her. Sometimes you just have to let them grow through it.”
I call bullshit. They’re all perfectly sane. I actually envied them. They finally let loose and didn’t allow those painful emotions & anxiety take over anymore. I couldn’t even scream let alone attempt suicide. Yes, it’s nothing to be proud of, but for me, it felt like the next phase into healing instead of defeat; and I was stuck on Chapter -1.
Most broken girls hardly exchanged words but I felt they knew the reality of their lives. They were being patient & constantly on edge thinking about reaching their best days. They were bottled up and forced into accepting apologies they never received. They wanted to be freely themselves, dress how they pleased and express themselves properly without luring in predators-unintentionally. Broken girls had an unspoken connection & every stare back into each other’s eyes said “It happened last night, huh? No one even believed you, did they? Why didn’t you scream or run…something? “Really? You lost your voice? You’re so weak.” They were the other personality for each other-if that makes any sense.
Once broken girls reached 18 and were finally on their own, many of their assumptions about these jumpy dick, anxious, bible clutchin’, crisp suit wearing MF’s were correct. How could the rest of the saints fall for that?
“You have grown into a beautiful young lady; you have your own place and car already? Wow! Where about do you stay? That’s just a few miles from me. You live alone?”
Those were the kinds of instant messages broken girls received when accepting some of those same men’s friend request on social media, even running into them while they were out, they had very little shame.
They likely deleted the message, blocked them and logged out. A broken girl can predict the next message but by blocking them from all communication, both of them could feel better knowing that those next words were never actually said. Broken girls had formed a habit of allowing men like this to still have some kind of dignity, when they didn’t deserve it. Not realizing this is the cause of a broken girl; the kind of girls that earned dignity but wouldn’t allow themselves to keep it; girls that let this pattern seep into adulthood and grow roots. These were the kinds of roots that sprouted; cut deep and protected the next predator from his future bad choice, because when you’re broken you live on false hope. Yea…I’m pretty familiar; I knew quite a few broken girls.