I am fine. Bruised, scarred but a whole lot better. Nothing that a little psychiatric help and a lot of alcohol can’t solve. (Chuckle)
I am kidding, off course. I am preparing my next support group meeting. Yes, I am a changed toothbrush, with new meaning and purpose. My friends call me Doc White now, can you believe it? (but you can call me Whitey)
Here’s how it happened.
Mom was really disgusted with the way I looked and who could blame her. Remember this? I knew I was going to the place where toothbrushes die and I didn’t care. You’ll remember the last time I was left on the basin longing to jump into the drain, that hypnotic twirl that could take me away forever…
Those first few hours was the worst. Miss Purple told me to stay positive, that time will heal all things. I remember thinking that Mom used a little to much toothpaste on Miss Purple’s face. Or maybe her vibrating button was left on too long, if you know what I mean. She sounded like a raving lunatic. Where was the positive? Where is the upside after abuse and torture? How would time heal things when I knew that I was about to lose all my friends and those dearest to me? I hated myself and wanted to jump in the kettle and allow the boiling hot water to strip my colour. I wanted to feel clean.
Mom threw me in the dustbin. No surprise. It was a small, open top bin and I knew from experience it would take at least a week before it would be emptied. That week changed everything. The comforting words of Miss Purple gave me perspective. Her insane ramblings became words of empowerment. But is was Blue, who blew me away with his wisdom. He made me think, his words gave me purpose. He said: “A toothbrush is only a toothbrush as long as it’s used for that purpose. Once that role is finished, a toothbrush can become anything, or nothing, but it’s a choice.”
I decided then and there to NOT be a victim anymore. There were many tears and long dark, moments of self pity, but eventually I decided to shake my bristles and stand straight. Four days later Mom cleaned out the bin and the inevitable goodbyes followed. It was heart renching and I felt like I left a part of me in that bathroom.
I was thrown into a bigger bin with a lot of other useless things, boxes, paper and a broken pencil, who became a good friend, Steadler. (His name was written on his body) There were a few other random things, but the worst was the dodgy wrappers that was lying around, which I prefer not to talk about.
During our journey, the bag which we were transported in broke and once we arrived at our final destination, we could get out. Climbing out of that black refuse bag, I only remember one thing, the sky. The gorgeous, wonderful, blue sky. And the wind brushing my bristles ever so slightly, whilst the autumn sun warmed my stick. I was calling Steadler, shouting at him. (The poor guy was still recovering from post traumatic stress as he didn’t have any lead left.)
Long story short, those first days we explored, rolling around and seeing the most amazing things. We landed on this big pile of used objects. Foreign bodies with stories of despair, sadness, being broken and damaged. But there were more mind-blowing stories of recovery, discovery, of finding courage and a new purpose.
And I had one too. A survival story. My voice became louder. When I decided to move on and leave the victim on that basin, I inspired others to follow. I made a promise to eradicate victims and empower victors.
I started a support group. “Trashed but not burned.” Due to the size, we have daily meetings with different groups. I am busy and happy. I must admit, I still miss Cindy and I forgave that little girl for what she did. I still have nightmares of the Thing, but Steadler is with me all the time and I wear his cap if it gets really bad.
I am hoping to see Miss Purple and Blue again one day. They were the instigators, the triggers that kick-started my road of recovery and transformation. May all victims have a Miss Purple and a Blue in their lives.
It was a long day and dusk is settling in. The ambient coloured sun reflects brightly against the big, white board with huge red letters that is mounted on the edge of our “village.” It reads “City Dump” so I assume there must be one nearby…