I started to give you a simple and compassionate response; something like “don’t underestimate your capacity to change” or whatever. But then I thought, “Why bother?” Let’s face it: you became wet the instant you realized I replied, and your hand tried to creep toward your panties before you read the first word of this paragraph. Like you, there’s only one way this conversation can go.
You’re a degenerate cunt, I’m afraid.
And while you most certainly can be something more, we both know you won’t; you’re content as you are, no matter how debased and defiled. And why not? All the things you’re supposed to want –satiety, safety, normality– are just talismanic words at this point, vague concepts disconnected from your lived reality. All the things you actually seek –humiliation, violation, the sour comfort of a man’s pointed disregard– are grounded in the world you see around you. They’re ugly and hurtful things, but they feel like the truth. And girls like you, well… once you see the truth, it’s hard to look away.
Not everyone gets to be a clean little wife leading a tidy little life, and y’know what? That’s for the best. The world needs its misbehaving misfits, with your scarred-up hearts and broken-down minds. You have a super-power of sorts; you can embrace the rot within a man, take his blight into you, and somehow make it flower into a barbed, dangerous sort of love. In your body, the obscene is made divine; you’re tainted magic, but magic all the same.
So you can never be “too wrecked”… even the corroded, discarded remnants of a wasted woman –like you!– can be a blessing upon society. You only need to find an awful man who wants to make a home out of your scrap, and then shelter the world from his worst intentions. Shield us with your body, and save the day with your indignity. Make an altar of your bed, and sacrifice yourself to the greater good, night after night.
Do it for all of us, darling. Be a hero and a whore.