Battered Out Love

I look at my course into prostitution, and I see I was just one more girl without love, seeking it in the wrong places.

I found what I thought was love through violence, through degradation, through clinging to brief moments of affection.

I write this post to explore some of how and why I was so desperate for love, that I could not care if I die or not – as long as I had touch without sex, I had words that saw me without fitting me into a role.

I like so many girls in the sex trade, had no idea what real love was.

We tried to find it, placing ourselves in more and more danger.

We were never stupid, we were just wanting what should have been our birth-right. That we would be loved just who we were – not what others could take from us, not to be moulded into a sex-toy that was used until it was wore out.

I was taught from an early age to know I was a sex-toy.

I learnt to lay still, learnt not to complain as my stepdad finger me when he was in the mood.

I learnt from an early age that what was called sex was painful.

I learnt not cry, I learnt to block out the pain, I learnt to ignore it in my day-to-day life.

I learnt through being shown hard-core porn.

I learnt to close down terror, I learnt to close down shock. I learnt I would be inside those pictures one day.

I learnt through stories of murder.

Stories where children disappear and no-one cares, stories from the news but with great and endless details, stories with photos of dead bodies.

These stories taught me to go silent.

I learnt through being left in red-light districts, or running to them to not be at home.

I learnt to act as nothing mattered, I learnt to act hard as all I wanted to do was to die. I learnt how to have the dead stare I saw in the women.

This was all learnt before I enter prostitution.

That is why I could enter that world and think that I belonged.

I entered and I was dead, so none of it could matter.

But it mattered, god, it mattered so much.

It mattered that I was brought and sold as goods to be battered, to be raped, to be tortured, to passed round different men, to be gang-raped, to be laugh at, to told more stories of murder.

It mattered that no-one care for my injuries – not a doctor, not a teacher, not my friends, and certainly not my mother.

It mattered that none or very few of the johns took protection – it mattered I had an abortion and several morning-after pills.

It mattered that I took od’s, I cut myself, I became an alcoholic, that dreaming of death was my escape.

It mattered that johns would speak in graphic detail of murdering me, killing whores. Every time it on the news, I remember their words poisoning me.

It mattered that managers made their profit from putting me in the room with the most sadistic johns, if I died or too badly injured to “work”, there were plenty more where I came from.

All that and so much more mattered.

I know for it comes out now through trauma and grief.

I thought that world would give me love – and all I found was death and terror.

Please know that the sex trade is making it profit from girls who have not known real love.

The sex trade destroys these girls – and then they are prefect adult prostitutes, for they are beyond terror, they cannot let in pain, grief is alien to them.

I know coz I know the dead eyes of a prostitute – they were my eyes and so many women I have known.

It is those eyes that are my incentive to destroy the sex trade.

For all those women and girls deserve life in those eyes – life to know they are loved and they can give out love without being used.

That is what we must fight for.

One response to “Battered Out Love

  1. “For all those women and girls to know they are loved and they can give out love without being used. That is what we must fight for.”

    That is perhaps the most profound and succinct argument for abolition that I’ve ever heard. Thank you. And agreed!


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