I need to try to write, I have not been able to all week.
I think the only way to deal with this blocking and blankness, is to face it head-on. I will enter my subconscious and let it flow.
I cannot write because of hate bringing fear into my heart.
I cannot write because I know I tortured, and I don’t want to know that.
I cannot write because my heart is broken as I and so many great exited speak out so clearly, and still the prostituted are being destroyed in their millions.
I cannot write as rage, grief and confusion grows stronger the more I write, it such a crap form of therapy.
But, there are so many buts – the buts that mean I write even as despair grab hold of me.
I look directly into those who hate that exited women have a voice – I look and see as fear fades slowly.
I see women inside porn and/or prostitution who are surviving by clinging hold tight to hate. I see they cannot know their own pain, their own fury and that it is a world built to keep them confuse.
I know I was that hater when I was embedded inside the sex trade, I hear and feel my own words and actions to push away all those who may me wonder if I was happy, made me think I may be trapped and it was not my choice.
I had to hate all those voices, I had to not know my own reality.
How would I survived if I had known I had no power, only the illusion given by punters that I had some choices left.
How would I survived if I had fully known that I did not enjoy pain and degradation – only I had trained myself to block out that it was my body that was being tortured.
Tell me how does any prostitute or woman inside porn survive if she fully knows her own reality.
The fact is most of the prostituted class in every aspect of the sex trade do not and will not know their reality – they have many ways to not know, all are vital to get through somehow.
Many turn to drugs and drink, many self-harm in an almost robot ways, many learn to stop thinking outside the sex trade.
All most closed down their individuality, must forget they had a past, must never believe too much in a future – for basic survival.
To be inside the sex trade, is not be allowed an essence, but to learn fast to be whatever role punters, consumers and profiteers want you to be.
No wonder most of the prostituted class fall into blocking out all that reminds them of their own humanity.
This can be through constant aggression to any person who seek the person beyond the prostitution, this may a desperate holding to believing it was all your own free choices even as you feel traps killing you.
I feel deep sorrow for the women inside the sex trade who hate exited women. I love them whatever they say or do, for I know they have no choice but to hate and speak the language of their oppressor – for to do otherwise may destroy them too fast.
I do not want more suicides, there are far too every day from the sex trade.
The deep sorrow of being exited is holding inside our hearts the many women and girls we know who committed suicide.
I do not know of any exited woman who did know prostituted Sisters who committed suicide.
We tread very carefully with women inside the sex trade, for we know how fragile they are – even inside great anger, inside deeply hurtful comments, inside many lies said – we always love and hold each and every women and girl inside the sex trade.
For we were them, and they are us.
But I do not have this compassion for the majority of haters of exited women, for most are not innocence, but are fuelled by the desire to keep the prostituted class sub-human, and a constant flow of these sub-human goods to keep the sex trade making huge profits.
Many will label themselves as sex workers – when in reality they are sex trade profiteers.
Many will say they are “supporters” of sex workers – when in reality they are punters.
Many will write books and build academic careers by saying over and over how harm-free prostitution and porn can be made.
All these haters have vested interest in silencing exited women – or at less ridiculing our multiple voices.
Do not fall the sex work propaganda, know it just the voices of the sex trade and the desire to make the prostituted class sub-human.
There is no humanity in preaching sex work, the only purpose is to make profit for those who have no heart.
How can I write when I know I, and the vast majority of the prostituted class, live inside extreme torture and it was our norm.
How do you write to that without breaking , without losing hope, without entering the familiar place of self-hate.
All I know is to write, to write to the pain, to write when my brain and stomach said no more please no more.
Writing is not fun, writing is not therapy, writing does not give easy solutions.
Writing to the truth is to write into that pain, and by writing find that somewhere deep and hidden the warrior spirit was just waiting to find a language.
A language that does not run away from what being tortured means to the prostituted mind and body – not as others say it must be, not inside the language of statistics or comparisons to other forms of male violence, not in the language of entertainment or labour – no, in a language forged and drag out of the prostituted class.
It is a language of impacted torture, torture made so normal and everyday that it is made into deadness.
It is a language with fragmented memory, where torture were repeated so often and use on a regular basic, that the mind makes it one event.
It is a language without a sense of time, without a place to focus on, without how many men did the torturing – for it was too often, there were too many places or all places felt the same, and it impossible to know how many men when the mind survives by losing count.
It is said one rape is too many – than how does an exited find a language for rapes in the thousands.
Our silence is deafening.
This is a short post when so much is hurting me and my prostituted Sisters.