Ever wonder what you’re here on the earth for?
I do. All the time.
I’m obviously not here to cure cancer, propagate the species or entertain the masses with my wit. So what, pray tell, is my purpose for being?
When I found this thing called slavery, one of the things I was enamoured with was the fact that it gave me a purpose. The idea that I existed for another’s service and pleasure was intoxicating and for the first time in my life, I had a reason for taking up space on the planet. I guess that’s why the fire burned so brightly initially – I’d gone from a purposeless soul aimlessly wandering the earth, to a ‘needed’ and purposeful thing overnight. For the first time in my life, I had a reason to get up in the morning and an owner to devote my every waking moment to.
The down-side to this is, of course, that as a result of finding ‘purpose’, I was filled to over-flowing with expectations and desires, fantasies and hopes. If I could finally, after all those years of purposelessness, suddenly have meaning for my life (the one thing I’d wanted more than anything) then surely all those other things I’d dreamed about could come true too?
That’s wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
But it was and even the feeling of purpose I had, was to be a fleeting, transient thing.
There I was thinking that my purpose on earth was to serve a man; acquiesce to each and every one of his wishes and feel nothing but happiness at being able to fulfill my purpose. My owner was everything to me and I assumed that I was everything to him. I felt like I couldn’t live without him, so naturally I thought I was vital to his life as well.
But the problem was, he still managed to live without me. If I didn’t do a task I was entrusted with, the earth didn’t stop spinning. If I didn’t make him lunch, he would go to the fridge and get himself something. If he didn’t hurt me or beat me or use me for his entertainment, life still went on.
The reality was, he could live without me and once I realised that, I’d lost my purpose again after looking for it for so long.
I feel that a lot of my problem is that I don’t feel like I serve a special purpose. I don’t do anything that your average chick cannot do. What makes me special? What makes someone want to own me? What separates me from the rest of the flock?
If I was a masochist, if I was born to be hurt and my owner was a sadist – born to hurt another – then my purpose would be clear. I’d feed his hunger to give pain by receiving it and I’d be one of those very rare folk who can take what another wishes to bestow.
But I’m not.
And that’s why I feel the need to try to ‘prove’ myself in other ways. The rings, the tattoo, the mystery shoppers, the public play, they’re all things that I think an average chick couldn’t/wouldn’t do. By doing these things, I’m trying to give myself ‘added value’ and I’m trying to serve a purpose that no-one else can, by setting myself apart from the flock.
So when people ask, “How could you do that?” I’d like to reply,
“Because I wasn’t born to be hurt.”
But I have a feeling that an answer like that would raise more questions than it answers.