Drowning In Trauma

My trauma is making me almost unable to bear being inside my own skin.

My trauma is drowning inside pain, inside grief, inside anger that it makes me too exhausted to fight, inside frustration that my hell is made invisible.

My trauma is it must not be made visible – for how else to women and girls inside the sex trade get justice.

Without justice, how the hell does our trauma fade.

This post is written through intense trauma, this post is written to honour that trauma.

Honour where it came from, honour the strength never to fall so deep into that trauma that it did kill me, honour the voices that trauma has given me.

I honour that now I am with and by the trauma – not afraid to stare straight into it and find its truths.

These are ugly truths – but truths of power, truths of knowing what is hidden from women, truths of hate, truths of just not seeing the human who is being deeply damaged.

My trauma holds the language and actions of the people who brought and sold me. My trauma remembers even I had to cut it out of brain.

To remember without safety, to remember without a semblance of hope – to remember than, and I would have been wipe out.

Now I am proud to remember – for it my vengeance to speak out who the punters and profiteers really are, to cut into their lies and hate-speech.

Us women who had the luck to not just survive the sex trade, but the strength and courage to remember the words and language of those who made us into goods – we are the most powerful weapon against the sex trade of all.

For once, we had seen that hate and contempt, seen that utter callous disregard to our safety on any level, seen that we were sub-humans to them – we can never forgot, or go back to the time we had to believe their lies.

We cannot be talked out of it, we cannot when each time the sex trade and its supporters want us back on board, back as their property – their words and actions send pain into our bodies, make our brains scream you can never own me again.

That is the trauma pushing us to fight – reminding that we are fighting for our lives, and fighting to prevent the destruction of continual generations of women and girls being made into sexual goods.

For once our bodies and minds have open up to knowing where the trauma came from, we cannot bear that one single woman or girl in any circumstances gets trapped inside the sex trade.

We remember what it is to be raped inside the sex trade.

Many of us, far too many, so many that to count them would push me over the edge – not only know what it is to be raped, but we were raped by men in the hundreds or commonly in the thousands.

Rape on a scale that you lose the language of shock, lose the language of terror, lose the concept of justice, lose the language of hope.

Rape so often that the only way to survive is to say it must be your work, or your role in life.

Rape so much that to keep some kind of sanity call it just sex, and then with luck,  if you try hard enough not see or know the reality you might enjoy it.

It is no big surprise that a great many women and girls inside the sex trade will scream out how happy and empowered they are – to think otherwise would destroy them and make them far too vulnerable.

Being raped that often – means that pain cannot be felt – it also means that the punters and profiteers can and will increase the sexual violence, usually into sexual torturing.

Trauma brings back what it was to be sexual tortured, for many exited women for years. It bring back what was blanked out, it brings the repetitive violence and hate.

Women and girls inside the sex trade are commonly used for punters to do sexual experimenting on, for profiteers to used their property as a sexual circus.

There is total disregard for her safety, no regard for her mental welfare – she is nothing but living porn.

We remember what we so don’t want to know.

What is unbearable is the cold contempt of punters and profiteers as our bodies and minds were ripped, fucked, rammed, smashed up, tied up, cut, bitten, penetrated by any and everything, laugh at, burnt and endless other porn-hate that men want to do to the whore-class.

Every exited woman survived by the skin of her teeth – and by living and remembering, she now send terror into those callous bastards.

That is true vengeance.

So yes I am drowning in trauma.

But trauma is not all bad – for it can part of a force of fury that pushes for real change and justice.

Just need everyone else to fight hard too.

One response to “Drowning In Trauma

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