The day my god died . An heart-breaking letter from Jeana(To Matt Freedman, from Ragas Newsetter n°85)


Thank you for your kindness in coming to see me yesterday at the shelter. Your words brought great joy to my broken heart. I turn 15 on Monday. After being used by so many men, I can see that my days will soon come to an end. My illness gets worse with each passing day. I can hardly eat. The food has no flavor. It is sour like so much of my life. I will not see my 16th birthday. I look back on that day when I left my family’s home. I was only twelve then. I was so happy. So full of life. I had such hopes and dreams. Now look at me. I will never marry. I will never have children. I will never have grandchildren. I will not grow old. The day that first man took my virtue was the day my God died. He and all those other men stole my life away. I was just a child. Why did nobody come to help me? I have stopped asking why this happened to me. I have even stopped feeling angry. I need you to promise me. I need you to do what you can to prevent any other girls from falling into this hole. Promise me you will end this evil. Promise me you will never stop trying. I don’t care about myself. I’m done. Don’t let any more of our sisters go through what I went through. My spirit is already dead inside. My body will soon catch up. How can this happen to a child? Where are all the good men? Where are our protectors? Where is our humanity? Promise me. Jeana