How Do You Find Words

I have been under severe trauma for so long. I am lost for words – unable to write, unable to words that fit the sickness or even ease it.

Each time I try to write, to speak or even know the truth – I choke and think I am drowning.

I am not dying, I do want to die – I want and need to express my trauma. But always my trauma silences me by suffocating me.

In this post, I will write through that drowning and choking. I will to and through the pain, grief and exhaustion.

The only way is to just write, not to follow a linear way of thinking, not to censor coz it is too painful and scary. To write, and then watch sports to switch down.

I will try – but sickness surrounds each word I write.

My trauma is a hole that will never be filled – a hole of not remembering, a hole of losing emotions, a hole of missing years, a hole of not knowing how to make human connections.

That hole could be a scream, could be a void, could desire for tears to fill it, could just be a reaching out to know I am human and not endless roles.

My trauma is a silent screaming deep in my stomach.

I am screaming when I appear calm and highly together, I am screaming when I think I am asleep.

I have screamed for so long that even I do not hear it – it has become white noise.

My trauma is a young teenager looking for affection in all the wrong places, a young teenager acting cold and hard whilst she falls for lies of love, a young teenager who thought she know it all only to land in hell and find she know so little.

My trauma cannot make it stop for my young teenager, my trauma is a witness to her pain and confusion but cannot save her.

My trauma sees too clearly what was done to me, see it was never personal, see I was just goods, just a whore interchangeable with any other whore, I was made trash, I was made sub-human.

Trauma shows me this with a clear eye.

With a clear, trauma shows me the punters – there is no room for endless excuses for any man who make the choice to buy the prostituted.

Trauma see clearly – that no man can buy any prostitutes by accident or coz of peer pressure. If he switches on the computer, if he drive a car to an area with street-based prostitutes, if he goes inside a brothel, if he phone for an escort, if goes into a strip club – it is always his choice, and whatever peer or work pressure he is under, all men can and do make the choice not to buy another human.

Trauma see too clearly – that once a punter make the choice to buy the prostitute, he has made the choice to own and control her – he will assume she is goods, so has no human rights.

In this context, it is normal to rape the prostitute, it is normal to copy all hard-core porn into her body, it is normal to do gang-rape, it is normal to choke the prostitute by burying his penis into her mouth, it is normal that torture is practiced into her body and mind.

The prostitute is seen as nothing, so all that is normal.

Trauma taught me so many lessons.

The lesson that all women outside the sex trade are living inside male violence – all have been raped, battered, mentally abused or threaten – but for most it just part of their lives, and for many it just one kind of male violence at the time.

All women and girls are made to live in fear – but trauma taught the extent that prostituted women and girls live in that terror.

All the prostituted – whether high-class escorts or street-based prostitutes – lives with the reality of all forms of male hate and violence coming at them from all angles in any place and any time.

Most women and girls experienced rape or sexual abuse – but most non-prostituted women would be deeply shocked to be raped by more than ten men in their lives, unless they were in a war-zone.

Most prostituted women and girls are raped by hundreds or thousands of men. It is so many it would dangerous to remember how man, it is so many that prostitutes survive by not knowing faces or remembering what happened.

It is rape as routine, rape as the role you are given in life, rape without any sense it could wrong for it is just the way life is.

It is rape that is rarely just simple penetration – it is rape where torture is always waiting for an opening.

It is rarely just one form of torture-rape – men buy prostitutes to push their bodies and minds beyond the limits of human endurance.

I was water-boarded in bath water or the toilet whilst being anally raped.

I was deep-throated whilst I was being strangled.

I was gang-raped so I had no holes left, and was bleeding from parts of my body I did want to know.

I was tortured so much, I do know how often I lost consciousness and how often I could have died.

Death is so normal in prostitution, that most prostitutes act as if it of no importance.

Trauma is unbearable coz all that forgotten grief comes crashing in.

The grief for all the prostitutes who could live or were murdered – grief that they were made sub-human in life, and nothing in death.

Grief for not understanding how and why I stay alive – grief of surviving is so intense and terrifying.

Trauma show what I could know when I was prostituted.

Trauma shows that sex trade profiteers are highly organised – but control the prostituted by giving the appearance of chaos and that it just a small business.

Trauma shows me that I was isolated and making bad decisions – when in reality I was in a trap, and part of a market of men wanting sadistic sex.

Trauma is so exhausting –  I cannot go on.

7 responses to “How Do You Find Words

  1. I hear you, so f*cking much. That numbness that comes from the abuse being so relentless, every day, that it just ceases to be noticed any more. I remember feeling proud of being ‘unrapeable’ and that I wasn’t scared of death. Nothing matters any more, nothing feels any more, because you’re curled up in a tiny ball in the back of your mind. It’s the only way I could deal with it.

    And saying those words, describing the things that are done to you in their proper terms – not just ‘sex’, but rape, every detail of how you’re tortured and abused – they’re so scary to say. I’m shaking even as I write this, because that automatic fear is still there. Speaking about it is scary. It’s realising the truth of what happened, when you couldn’t face it or feel it at the time. It’s so huge it feels like it’ll drown you completely. Took me years to even call being raped as a young child ‘rape’, never mind what happened when I worked. It’s so scary to admit what happened.

    We’ve lost too many women to this shit. No fucking more.


  2. I’m holding back tears after reading what’s been done to you. I didn’t have it as bad as that but still struggling with what I went through. I haven’t been feeling like a survivor recently. I’ve been feeling like it’s beaten me and crushed me into nothingness. That silent screaming inside. All of a sudden though today, I feel like a survivor again. You are a survivor. Your voice is so powerful and tells the truths of prostitution and exposes the lies. xxx


  3. THANK YOU for this. I feel this way every day. I struggle with alcoholism. I want to forget that I esist by getting blackout drunk. Over and over again, almost daily, I say it out loud: FUCK THE PATRIARCHY. MEN ARE SHIT. MEN ARE SICK. MEN HURT ME. I will FUCKING LIVE ON, even though I think about dying almost constantly. I won’t give those pieces of male TRASH the satisfaction.

    You are bad-ass. I am sorry for what those men did to you. I wish I could make every one of them pay for it. Let us work together and find ways to stop the ongoing male violence against women, whether prostituted or not. ALL WOMEN deserve better. WE must FIGHT, and fight hard. WE must be LOUD.


  4. As long as a society allows a group of women to be deemed ‘whore’ and used as an object of extreme, unconditional violence; no woman is safe. You have taught me a big lesson, prostitution is not a continuam of male violence, it is the source. Gobtastic’s comment about being proud at one stage of being unrapeable chilled me to the bone. So I join you in saying Fuck the Patricharchy and ample hugs from across the seas xox


  5. I know exactly how you feel. Not literally (thank gawd for me, the abuse was never sexual as far as I can remember, what little my deep mind can let myself remember, and it was only one sadistic man, not thousands) but in the abstract. I feel that trauma screaming out my pores every second, and I knock myself out with alcohol every night so I can try to sleep without it waking me up. But the violence that was done to me is more than a memory, it’s a brutal knowledge I carry around every second of every day, even though it’s “over.” I know what men do to women, to little girls. Most times it’s impossible to deal with, and every day I reach that point where I just want to shoot myself, and I shake it off because I have other things to do, gotta keep going. I know the hole you write about. I have one too, probably smaller than yours, but at least the size of my heart. And I know you’re amazing for writing about it, for telling the people who have those holes that they’re not alone and the people who don’t that these holes exist. You’re an inspiration. I love you. Don’t let the bastards keep you down. 🙂


  6. I never knew or even imagined the amount of trauma prostitutes suffer. Wow. For you to even be able to write about it tells me what a strong and amazing woman you are. I wouldn’t wish your trauma on my worst enemy. Know that you are a strong woman who is helping others through your words.


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