I am very proud of this blog – very proud it given me so many connections with other exited women, very proud it made me an important clog in the abolitionist movement, very proud that if I read it back it written as a poet and with great power.
But mostly I am proud of how this blog has made me know my past – know it with the gaps, know it through the fear, know it when my instinct is to run my own truth.
This blog is a power-force for me – but at the same time it burns me out.
In this post, I try to explain how this blog has rescue me – even as it makes me sick through terror and deep grief.
It hard to write, for writing this blog is reaching deep into my trauma.
The trauma of extreme torture; the trauma of being raped so often, and with so much sadism, that I lost words or knowledge that it could rape or even abuse; the trauma of having to act happy when on the edge of death; the trauma of forgetting hope existed; the trauma of losing friends and loved one, and having no emotions to care.
This blog is written with that trauma as a shadow and a guide to reaching back into the truth.
A truth that my mind and body has spent a lifetime blocking – blocking so I a robot, blocking so I had few real emotions, blocking till I was living but dead.
The blog is forcing life into me – as well as giving hope, showing that there must be real justice, and most surprising it written as a piece of art.
All I know it is very sickening and heart-breaking to write this blog – but when I don’t write I re-enter my living death, and I know I cannot go there again.
It is more than writing – it is no hobby for me, not just my work – this writing is recovering that I am fully human, is discovering my essence.
It is giving my teenage soul room to breathe without fear, giving that part of me the freedom to have fury and to fight for justice.
Though this blog, I have learnt how to grieve how young I was when enter prostitution, grieve how dead I was before I enter prostitution – how I such an easy target for the sex trade.
I have learnt to cry, learnt to scream, learnt to ask friends for support, learnt to care for that lost teenager.
The hardest thing of exiting the sex trade is learning to see it as not your fault, learning not to hate yourself, and discovering you can forgive yourself.
To live inside the sex trade is only done by placing all the blame on yourself – refusing to see and know the hate, manipulation and lack of hope that surrounds you, and closing you away from any exit or even knowing the outside world.
This means building life that is whole – or whole with gaps and silences – it is vital to re-invent the past to find the truth.
Re-invention for exited women is not making stuff or as sex trade supporters will claim, we must be lying.
No we must re-invent to find our truths – for we have lived in an environment that is built on lying to us, built on manipulating all our emotions, built on poisoning any access to knowing our true selves.
To be fully become a human again and alive to the maximum – exited women have to re-invent their own past.
Or at least it sure as hell feel like a re-invention, as we see our lives in a dense fog, so much is blocked away from us, so much is terrifying to even imagine.
It is like it surrounded by an electric fence with No Trespassing signs.
We shut away from own lives – finding our truths is the most powerful act we can do, as we do we will rock all societies and will change many hearts.
To find our truths, we must learn to accept that there will parts of our pasts that we can never remember.
I feel strongly there are parts of prostitution that are so unbearable, that for the woman to know it would tear her apart.
I also believe from the depths of my heart that exited women have the strength and courage to know enough to know why it is better that some things are left forgotten. We know enough to know that gaps and silences could be protecting us, could be put of the fuel that give the grief and fury to push for true justice.
I believe that we remember enough of the horror, the terrible repetition, the cold hate, and the ordinary sadism – to know that we survived hell.
Many of the gaps in our minds are because the violence was done over and over and over and over and over again – until all violence became like one act, time and place was muddled.
I cannot see my past in a linear line – if I try that my grief collapsing inside me, and what other called writer’s block smashes into me.
I remember sadistic acts – and know it happened so often, it was so much my norm – that I do not know my age, cannot see the abusers, no idea of the place – all I know is the truth of the violence and hate in my body.
All I know is the terrible truth, that I was so used to extreme violence that I thought it was my role in life, my only purpose.
That is the fundamental evil of what the sex trade does – it make very ordinary women and girls who have the misfortune to be vulnerable enough for the sex trade to trap, so sub-human that they believe their only role is to be used and damaged by punters.
That is unbearable to know – exited women have to block that reality as much as possible.
To know you made sub-human is unbearable, to know you were brainwashed into being a fuck-doll for punters to use is unbearable, to know you had all rights and choices stolen from you is unbearable.
It is unbearable – but the amazing human spirit of so many exited women is that they make the choice to face head-on that unbearable reality, not just for themselves but to force real hope and change for the prostituted class.
Exited women have a courage that makes me so proud and give me huge strength.
Courage to speak to the truth, even as it ripping at their hearts, giving them body memories, and fear of more hate is round every corner.
We have seen and known what hate is, we have seen and known how the body can somehow survived torture and carry on, we have seen and known many women and girls that disappeared, we have seen and known how to obey when you no voice or human rights.
We know what most choose to turn away from – is any surprise we must block it out sometimes.
Listen and hear the voices of exited women – we may speak to a truth you don’t want to know – but not hearing, does nothing to end the genocide of the prostituted class.
Our word may be broken, may be finding how to be spoken – but we are using words as one way to re-invent our lives.
Listen – stop blocking us out.