Behind the Eyes

When I get nightmares, it always begins with eyes staring into me.

Eyes have left scars in me that may never leave.

I can leave behind the rapes, leave behind the profiteers, leave behind being locked in rooms, leave internal injuries, leave behind fear of pregnancy, leave being forced into porn, leave behind torture – god I leave the vast majority of my past behind.

But, the terror is deep in me, the memory of the brainwashing is almost gone but sunk into me.

It in the eyes, I remember how trapped I was in my past.

It was the eyes of the managers.

Eyes that without words made go with men that my guts were terrified of them.

Eyes that stop me complaining before my mouth was open.

Eyes that looked straight through me seeing only how many fuck-holes I had, and how much profit could be made out of me.

Eyes that did not hate – that would mean having human emotions about me and the other girls that they owned.

Eyes that looked straight through any injuries I had.

Eyes that always reminded I was a slave.

Eyes that sent me so deep into silence that I taught myself not to think.

Those eyes still send me into terror.

I still see the eyes of the johns.

Eyes that had me undressed on bed and posed in porn-style with no words.

Eyes that stared through my skin watching other men sexually torturing me.

Eyes staring into me, burning into me as their sick porn fantasies invade every cell of my body.

Eyes in mirrors or glass as they rape my anus.

Eyes controlling how I move, whether I breathe – watching me leaving me no peace.

Eyes laughing as they refuse to pay so they beat me up instead.

Eyes laughing as they forced money down my throat.

Eyes acting concern as they tell how they never treat their girlfriend/wife like this – that would be vile.

Eyes concerned – why a nice girl like you doing something like this.

Eyes of johns are there every time I am sick, every time I wake from a nightmare. John’s eyes are my poison – it refuses to leave my body.

Then there the worst eyes of all – the eyes that were my prostituted soul.

I learnt to never look in mirrors – and was always terrified when I caught my eyes.

Eyes that were refusing to care about pain, caring did nothing to stop it.

Eyes that were so beyond being tired – sleep was when I was safe, that time never seemed to exist.

Eyes that were on alert, eyes of a spy, eyes that had forgotten what safety was.

Eyes of a trapped rabbit.

Eyes that if I had emotions, those eyes would have made me cry to the depths of my soul.

Eyes that were dead. That was the solid terror – I was so destroyed – I was the walking dead.

Those eyes when they come in my nightmares – still make me want to scream, want to be sick, and make want to stop the whole world to rescue that person.

But I cannot re-write the past.

So, instead I write this blog to stop those eyes going into millions of women and girls that the sex trade destroys.

I want to stop the terror however I can.

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