Memory is Not There

I have lived with a fractured memory for nearly all my life.

I have had to get used to the fact that male violence and hate stole my memory and any sense of a solid reality. That is a solid harm that porn and prostitution does. In this I want to focus on what and how I do remember.

I write because I deeply believe that the emptiness that I feel and know, is because I had to destroyed my own reality in order to stay alive and keep some degree of sanity.

This I know because I hear and believe other survivors of the sex trade who has lost years of their lives. They and I know in our guts it was stolen from through brainwashing, sexual torture and being taught that rape was normal.

To survive that, you must learn to blank out everything. Not just the violence, but the peace before and after the violence. Not just the hate, but the happy times in-between.

I forget my life outside the sex trade. I forget holidays I had where I know I was safe. I forget the few friends I was close to. I forgot how to love the parts of my family that loved me.

That is the true harm of porn and prostitution.

I know I some occasional sex with both men and women that was good – but it such a vague memory.

Instead crashing on top is the violence that was what I been brainwash to believe was “real”.

I remember trying to relax with friends, trying to be normal. Sitting having picnics, going punting, going to the seaside – always not really knowing how to truly fit.

Always in the back of mind I needed someone to tell how to act, what role I should perform. Always I expected someone would fuck me, and didn’t understand there could be friendship without manipulation.

To be honest, I did not understand the world outside of sexual violence, I did believe people could be good, that everything was not some nasty game.

That is one the major harms of porn and prostitution, is that makes the good unreachable, makes the normal surreal.

God, I remember so much violence. But I never remember in any order, just some horrific mass of sickness and grief.

I can say I enter the sex trade when I was 14, I think I left when I was 27.  But I can never be firm on anything.

I learnt to survive by refusing to know my reality.

When I was paid money, I could dissociate it from the sexual violence.

When as happened the majority of the time it was not as clear-cut as cash for sex – I had no language for what happening then and too often now.

Let me say I would have sex to not go home, not caring that I knew the men hated me. I had sex for the price of two drinks. I had sex so a man could pretend he had a girlfriend, only to angry that he didn’t so did sadistic sex on me. I there so men could experiment with anal sex. Could do gang-rape. I was known as the slag that would do anything for £5.

What words are there to fit so much self-hatred. What words fit that men know how to manipulate someone who so dead.

All words cannot reach into that screaming ache that I carried like a shadow.

I may not remember in a factual way – but christ I know that I was brutalised, continually rape as sadistic as they could imagine, I was degraded in a piece a shit.

Don’t expect to remember time and places- just believe it happened – believe coz my guts say it is true.

And believe all the exited women who silence is deafening. A silence that shows words have been stolen from by men choosing to do constant unspeakable acts of torture on them.

What I say on this blog is the top of the iceberg of really happened to me – for even for me things are unspeakable.

I speak and write what I can – coz the sex trade thrive on the assumption that if women manage to exit they never be able to express the horrors they had to live with.

The harm that porn and prostitution does is a stealing of the voices of truly wonderful and courageous women.

Don’t ever think porn and prostitution does no real harm.

One response to “Memory is Not There

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