CHILD ABUSE (ABUSE, PART ONE)

“He hurt me mother. He hurt me with what he did and what he said. He really really hurt me.”

“I know that, my love, but while he was hurting you, he was hurting me a lot...a whole lot lot less...”

THE TORTURER, (ABUSE, PART TWO, MOBBING)

Arthur Lovich, but I have them call me Love. Neat, right? Love? Honesty time, Kids! I’m a nobody in this company and I know it but I’ve a reputation to uphold and it isn’t the reputation of a loser, no way. I’m on top of it all, man, and though I’m on the production line everyone knows my name. I’m the centre of it all. I got culture, man. I listen to Queen and play Oblivion on the computer with the kids.

I’m a control freak, or something, a born manipulator and I know this work is all empty and pointless, it’s dead time for me and so, for a bit of fun, a bit of a laugh, I like to feel I’m having an effect. Creating something. Ha! I’m the king of the dead time. It’s power for me, POWER with capital letters, P-O-W-E-R!


Man, I can really make everyone’s life uncomfortable, so I do! I mean, no one respects me, I know that, for god’s sake, no one ever has! No one! What the fuck do I need respect? Fear. Now, there’s as good a tool as anything else and it works like a dream fear does. Three hundred ‘n fifty mugs here and everyone knows my name. Told you that before. They say it under their breaths.

I’m here for life. I got a fixed contract shits! Fulfill all my quotas and nobody steps on my toes or try it on with me or I’ll fuck ‘em right up. They just gotta give me a look. A look‘ll do it, or coming on all friendly like! That‘ll set me off and I’m on their case! Hey, the job’s a bore for christ’s sake. You’ve gotta keep yourself entertained. They laugh too, they gotta laugh! I just love to hear those false laughs. Kind of nervous, sort of too loud or not quite loud enough. These people are just scum, fuck ‘em.

The King of The Dead Time, me and you can’t afford to get all self involved, no way. Don’t get me wrong, man! No excuses. I know exactly what I’m up to. I’m a professional. I screw up all these shits ‘cause it makes me feel like royalty! No, I feel the power. I’m your normal Tom, Dick or Harry, can’t tell me from Adam on the street, not much good at explaining things in words and don’t think I talk like this out there either but, you know, nowadays you just can’t hit nobody but you can have some fun breaking their fuckin’ stupid brains in! Don’t care who I fuck, nobody fucks with me.

THE TORTURER AND THE TORTURED, (ABUSE, PART THREE)

Her name’s Mary. Good damned Christian name that. Mother of God. I go to Church. Sometimes. More action in the old bit of the bible. I can relate to that. Anyways, this Mary came on kind of cute and friendly. Shit, the other guys started to quite like her, come on to her a bit, her being the only girl worth looking at in the section. Man, have we got some ugly bints in here. Well, I wasn’t having any of that. Got to work on her as soon as I clocked on to that. I was dead cheery and all smiles for the lads but pressured the slimy bitch from the start. I was dead jovial for their ears but stuck the knife in in whispers over her shoulder, breathing down her neck.

“Hey, dear! Can’t wait ‘till the end of the week for that piece!” I’d shout over the noise of the machines for everyone to hear! All with my best toothy smile in place. Then I’d lower my voice, “Bitch, biiiiiiiiiiiitch!” Over and over and fucking over again, like mantra, or whatever, in her sweet little ear.

“You gonna burn out bitch..”
“Why don’t you burn, bitch..”
“What you telling me that for bitch..”
“Prick teaser!”
“Using your fingers for the wrong job bitch..”
“Never gonna make it with me here bitch..”
“You’re losing it Bitch..”

Man, I got a whole songbook full of this stuff, all up here in the head department!

Sure enough, she got all nervous and her production fell and so did the pieces I’d pass her and drop so it looked like she’d dropped them and, boy did she look incompetent and the lads saw that and I didn’t even have to speak to her no more but I just pick on her with the lads and the lads don’t talk to her no more either, ‘cause I won’t be having any of that and she can’t fucking hack it no more and sweet little Mary has gone all quite contrary.


Spoke to the foreman, she did. The guy’s a friend of mine. Nobody likes people who talks behind their backs. I told them all that. Explained it in real clear language. So, I’ve got the cow on the slippery slope and we laugh and snigger and comment and give the bitch the finger when Little Mary Quite Contrary is in earshot, and she’s had it. I’ve turned everyone and everything against her. Even the fucking machines!

She eats her sandwiches in the toilet ‘cause I just can’t never let up with the sarky comments and dirty suggestions with the lads. You know the plan! Gotta keep her on edge. Told everyone she was a paranoid bitch out to get ‘em all, and, whether they believe it or not, that’s the way they react ‘cause I’m in control here, baby, and I’ve got a nice warm feeling inside and they’re all shiteating cowards, the cunts. Fuck them all.

And sweet Little Mary Quite Contrary has lost a whole load of weight these months I’ve been working her over and looks much sexier than when I started work on her, the bitch.

“Bitch”, I like that word, just rolls off the tongue like it should be in some Queen song. Rolls off the tongue like poetry!









The “Arthur Lovich” of this three part story is a fictional character.

THE TORTURED, (ABUSE, PART FOUR, THE MOBBED)

I think all these people see through me. I’ve become some kind of ghost or something. I don’t know, but I feel dirty, polluted somehow, but I can’t put it into words, really. They all take any opportunity to niggle me, to take a dig at me and it’s been like this ever since I can’t remember when. I’ve lost my temper sometimes, I’ve snapped, I’ve said things I shouldn’t have, I’ve got angry but mostly I don’t know what I’ve been talking about because everything is so empty and I’m not me anymore. I’ve disappeared, gone.

What have I done to deserve all of this? What did I do to set it all off? What can I tell anybody? My eight hours have twenty four hours worth of minutes in them, weeks worth of minutes in them in a future that is always on top of me so I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating. Am I explaining myself? Can you see what I’m getting at? I know what’s going on, then I think I know what’s going on, and then I’m not sure what’s going on and then I’m lost and then it all starts going round and round and round in my head, over and over and over again and I can’t think straight.

I can’t let everybody down. I’ve got to cause a good impression. Be friendly. It’s impossible because I’m not me anymore, I don’t know who I am anymore. I just can’t get the production done. Eight hours, with all those millions of minutes, is a black hole. A big black aloneness. My hands tremble at the start of the shift and tremble the whole day, the whole week. I’ve got a knot in my stomach I just wish I could unravel. I want to force my hands in there and untie it all but I don’t have the energy. I’m too weak. I’m too tired, worn out.

I’ve tried to talk to them all. I try to smile. I tried to talk to Lovich, but he was so spiteful I nearly cried but I didn’t, because I’m trying so hard not to be pathetic. I try to talk to the other guys but, somehow, he’s turned them against me. They won’t talk to me, but they won’t leave me alone either. Seriously, sometimes I think they’re afraid of him. I don’t know.

I’m suffering from a kind of tunnel vision and tunnel hearing. I don’t understand. They’ve been giving me looks again and laughing at me and passing comments I can’t quite hear, though they have a nasty tone to them. Maybe I’m a bit paranoid. Maybe I’m blowing this up out of all proportion. I don’t think so.


I don’t understand anything. I feel so useless. My thoughts don’t work and my words are less than useless. What can I say to my husband? I can’t. I’ve left it too long to even know where to start to explain. Things have all piled up. He’s, somehow, behind a door and I’ve piled up so much against it it’s impossible to open. Am I explaining myself? I don’t know anymore. Anyway, I don’t want him to worry over me, I’ve got to be strong for my family. I’ve asked some of my best friends about it. You know, I’ve told them bits and pieces, and they’ve been ever so nice and given me some good advice, but what use is good advice if your friends aren’t holding your hands? Nothing. It all evaporates when they let go. Sometimes I can keep it up to the factory gates.

What am I becoming? I’m too scared to go to bed because I can’t sleep and my thoughts won’t leave me alone. A nightmare would be a relief. It would mean I’d slept. I’m so terrified of getting up because I know what I’m in for because my mind's been turning it over and over and over again all through the night. The days have it in for me.

Just another very bad day.

I broke down and knelt and cried in front of my little daughter this evening. She’s not even three yet, but she was just so beautiful I couldn’t control the tears. She cried too, because mummy was crying and I kissed her soft cheek, and that was even more beautiful and her little tears were salty, but kind of sweet too.

I hope my tears weren’t too bitter for her. I love her so much.













The “Arthur Lovich” of this three part story is a fictional character, though far too many men and women of his kind are destroying lives in workplaces everyday, all over the world. Let me extend the accusation and say that far too many men, and, to a lesser degree, women, are doing the same thing to their partners in homes all over the world, torturing, destroying, CONTROLLING.

The man "behind" Arthur Lovich actually used the words "Burn out." He knows exactly what he is doing and is the more dangerous for it. He has investigated all the possibilities.

If you are a victim of mobbing, fight back! Never let it even have the chance to CONTROL you. Denounce the mobber to the company, the unions and find help and get information from associations. Where? Google “mobbing”. Yahoo “mobbing”. Never say “IT’LL GO AWAY IN THE END.” If you ignore it, it never will.

If you see mobbing going on in your workplace, denounce the mobber, or you will be next on the list. Stay quiet and the mobber has you CONTROLLED too. Fight back.

Mary is a fictional character too, and her daughter, husband, mother and father, but there are too many real victims just like them that shouldn’t be having their lives destroyed. Fight back!

TAKE CONTROL BACK FROM THOSE WHO WOULD USE IT AGAINST YOU.