What’s in a Name

Because of broken glasses and a broken mind, I have not been able to write this week.

This week I feel broken inside, but know it is a strength not a weakness. For this slow breaking up is coming back into becoming fully human.

This is the place I am writing this post from, after that brief preamble, I will try to get to the point – but I not afraid to explore by rambling.

This post is exploring why I write under my real name, what a name means to me.

I know for many their own name is so familiar that they may forget it belongs to them. Their name is no big deal.

That is not always true for prostituted women – many of whom lose track of their real name or in some cases to survive by forgetting  they had a name.

To have a name that you can announce before you, is to know you are fully human and that your presence has some impact.

Many prostituted women and girls do not have that luxury. Too many accept their nothingness by accepting the names given to them by the sex trade. Too many survive being made into sex objects by refusing to speak any name.

Too many have come to believe their name are words of violence – slut, whore, bitch, cunt, slave, slag and so many more words they get lost in the wind.

What’s in a name for the prostituted – personally, I would say it is everything. To regain that you can use your real name, is part of the beginning of regaining a life that belongs to the exited woman.

When I was prostituted, I lived inside a confused haze, a haze of refusing sleep, a haze of always expecting some form of violence, a haze of going dead to perform the happy hooker inside whatever trash was thrown at me.

In that environment, my name meant nothing.

Usually I give no name, naming me was pointless when I was just an object to fuck, smash and pretend to kill.

But on occasions, I give out my real name. My name meant nothing to me, it was never connected to my existence. It was just words spoken by the living dead.

My name was killing me then – now I want to use my name to say that I am alive.

My name now is spoken with pride.

Pride that I not only survived, but remembered enough to fight with fury and grief to say no more damage to women and girls in the name of the sex trade.

Pride that I have a name – I was not made into a statistic of yet another dead prostitute, a statistic of yet another exited woman so mentally destroyed she is still distanced from her real name.

I am proud – but it is a pride that drowns in grief, that so names of brilliant women and girls from the sex trade are lost and never known.

A name is everything – when for large parts of your life you have been nothing.

A name is saying I am an individual, not an object for any punter or profiteer to buy and sell.

A name is reclaiming what it is to be human – after or many years of forgetting that any part can be known as human. Years of believing your purpose was to nameless holes to be filled, nameless pieces of the body to get fuck, hit and tortured.

Being nothing but what punters and profiteers make and then name you as. You may named whore, stripper, escort, common prostitute, phone sex, brought wife, and endless other names that make you lose your essence.

Who needs a name when no punter or profiteer see you, only see the role they have predetermined for you. You are nothing but goods – whether those goods are under-aged whores, whores of every ethnicity or culture to destroyed; whether the goods are made “posh” named as escorts, girlfriend material, a wife that is brought online or in sex tourism.

None of these need names – just get on and please the punter and profiteer – give her no name beyond that role, then we all can pretend no real damage is done to her, she is just an object after all.

Getting back a name is to let in that there was masses of damage done not just in general to the prostituted – but allow in the terror and grief that huge damage was done to the individual exited prostituted woman.

To get back a name to say and know that all control was stolen – that is why having a name meant so little.

To get back a name is to feel with a consciousness the injuries, the rapes, the tortures and the near-death experiences that were all too common in prostitution. Getting back a name, allows in the pain and the grief, and the knowledge there was no protection from that violence and hate.

To get back a name is to know by remembering that was a position of no power or control – to remember how it is have no choice, and to fight for a world where no woman or girl become so lost inside the sex trade.

I have a name because I survive enough to fight the sex trade.

3 responses to “What’s in a Name

  1. Funny you should bring this up. I am changing my last name after my divorce. It is going to be changed to the earlier female Irish ancestor’s maiden name that I have been able to find, circa 1830. I don’t want to go back to my father’s name after my divorce, as he was violent too. I am also thinking of changing my first name. The real me was so broken and beaten down by my marriage that that name represents someone who, in my mind, is not whole. I am thinking of a new, beautiful first name as well. But your post has given me something to think about too.


  2. I definitely know what you mean in this post. During my abuse, my name was bitch, whore, slut, fuck toy, etc etc. After reading some of your posts, I realized that my abusers and torturers were using me as a surrogate female. I took the place of the “whore”, which also explains the things they did to me. I was looked at as a whore, slut, sex object etc. Although this is deeply painful, I must thank you so much for helping me realize this. Thank you so much!


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