Done Too Much Much Too Young

Dedicated to the Specials, who give me a small will to live.

I never thought I would make it pass my teenage years, now with great distance, I look back at my childhood and young adulthood – I see my great courage and determination to live at that time.

I write to show her reality, to show the common crimes done against me then – but mostly I write to praise who I was then.

I do not believe I had the chance to be a teenager, not much of a child either – but this post is how my teenage years were stripped away from me.

Most of the grief embedded in my mind and body comes from that loss – so this post is my gift to her survival.

To be a teenager, is to have the time and space to be self-obsessed, to have angst, to know you are the centre of the universe even when you hate yourself.

A prostituted teenager cannot reach into those emotions –  not when her life is controlled, when she only living because she has made herself the living dead.

I cry now that I didn’t have angst.

I have no space in my life for self-obsession.

How could I when my norm was being raped, tortured and brainwashed on a regular basis.

Survival was my only purpose, I could not be a teenager.

I refuse to know I was young.

Young made me vulnerable, young meant I was a victim, young meant the men that fucked me were bastards, young meant I may be trapped.

I had to imagine I an adult – but not just any adult.

An adult who in control of her life, an adult who was so tough no-one could hurt her, an adult who could come and go whenever she wanted – an adult who choose if there was pain or humiliation.

I had to believe in that dream – to think otherwise always made me attempt suicide.

Looking back, at that time I am amazed by the depths of courage and stubbornness it took to invent that other life.

I was in danger for the vast majority of my teenage years, but by having an illusion I could re-make all my pain, my confusion and my terror into a film script, and that somehow protected me enough so I keep alive.

My teenager survived by attempting not to know.

This made each rape, each torture, each attempted murder – each one was a deep shock, for the teenager who had taught herself to imagine that men didn’t intend to damage her.

I live in a state of continual shock – but worse, a state where I believe in the stupid hope that one day I would meet a john who be so nice he would not have sex, but see me enough to get me away from my hell.

Hope was dangerous – for it made me vulnerable, made me put my guard down and say too much that too close to my true self, made me imagine that johns saw me as a human not a fuck-toy, made me believe as they hurt over and over and over feel that I had betray myself yet again.

Hope nearly killed me – so by the time I was 17 I had to learn to murder hope.

Humans are not fully alive if they have to kill hope – they are just the living dead.

When I think what I believed is the major damage done by the sex trade – I would say in loud and clear voice, it is the murdering of hope for the whore-class. Without hope, what the hell is the purpose of living.

A teenager without hope cannot grow, all she can do is to make herself invisible and wait out to it is over.

That is what a prostituted teenager does.

She makes herself a ghost.

So as profiteers move from one type of violence to another – she is not there. So as johns invent more and more sadistic ways to rape her – she is not there. As she waits in hospital for tests for STDs and abortions – she is not there. As she on rare occasions plead for help and is turned away as unworthy – she is not there.

She has vanish even from herself.

This is the real damage of the sex trade – that the prostituted only survive by making themselves a ghost.

This is unacceptable.

Please give my teenage soul justice – you cannot give her back what was stolen from her – but if you join the war for justice for all women and girls in the sex trade, you give the gift that you know she was fully human not just fuck-goods.

Then “Done Too Much Much Too Young” will not always be my anthem for teenage years – maybe I can have another late 70’s/80’s song to fit a kinder time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s