Sick and tired
I’m sick of talking to people about the same things.
How they are begging on the street for a few quid to get into a hostel because they are on a housing waiting list.
About how they have been raped by men. Raped several times by the same man in the park where you are living. How he watches her in the park to see when he can rape her again.
Beaten bloody by men when they were pregnant.
How they can’t get therapy because they aren’t getting benefits. And they aren’t getting benefits because they are homeless.
How the police were really kind when you reported your rape, but then a police woman on the phone said you couldn’t be examined for evidence because you were ‘intoxicated.’
How you’d like therapy and to follow up on the rape case but for now you’re trying to raise enough money each day to stay in a hostel while you wait on that housing waiting list.
Your legs are really cold. You’re wearing tiny shorts to beg on the street because someone stole your jogging bottoms and shoes at the hostel you’re staying in.
How your child is on the child protection list, and so is your unborn child. Because your brother hit you in the street. And your parents beat you growing up. And you had to look after your own brothers and sisters. Then you attempted suicide when your baby was a few months old. And you got called a silly bitch by the policeman trying to talk you down.
How you’re being threatened with being taken to court by the Council, for missing one parenting course session, because you went to see your dad in hospital after he slit his throat and wrists in a park.
You went to the hospital because you wanted to kill yourself. And the nurse told you to pray.
And you got given a bible, twice, in a psychiatric ward by nurses who also told you to stop shaming your family and go back to your husband.
You got told to think positive.
Fuck this country that grinds down ordinary people. And the people that pretend not to notice.
