When I was prostituted I could not believe in hope.
Each time I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel – I knew it must be an on-coming train.
Hope was ripped out of me – hope is ripped from nearly all the prostituted class.
Hope could not even be dream into.
I learn never to rest long enough to feel I could exist with hope.
This is the true centre of the evil that is the sex trade – that robbing all natural desire to dream, natural desire to seek growth, all striving to reach to hope.
Hope is a word that was poison in my heart.
How can a prostitute have hope without wanting to die?
We have no hope that we can truly recover from our rapes.
We have no time or space for shock, no time or space to feel deep damage – no we hold on waiting for more rapes.
We are not allowed the language of the raped.
We are made into fuck-machines who have no access to pain, no access to horror, no access to self-pride.
We know we are viewed as the provocateurs of rapists – it is made our job to stop their rapes spreading out into real women and girls.
In that all our access to hope is destroyed.
We are made into the unrapable.
We are nothing but objects where all rapists can pour hate, fear and their disgust of females into.
We stopped that violence being made real – for it never can flow into the women who are allowed to be human enough to know hope.
We are raped into death, raped to knowing we have to live outside of our skins.
We lived in the environment of no hope – the environment where torture is so normal and regular that we lose how to feel it.
It more similar to the middle of a concentration camp than any link to rape, any link to domestic violence, any link to reported murders of non-prostituted women and girls.
We live with death.
Death shadowed us, death became our only true friend, death was the full stop we could dream into.
Death was that longed for on-coming train.
Only when a prostitute dies – it becomes nothing as well.
The prostitute is made nothing in life, and if she manages to dies – it is made that she never existed.
How can hope mean anything when even in death, the prostitute is destroyed, even in death she is blamed, even in death she is ridiculed and made into whatever others want her to be.
The prostitute has no existence, only the existence of the male gaze – a gaze that suffocates, strangles and poisons her access to hope.
This is shown all over.
Shown in how when a prostitute is murdered, it is usually unreported or made invisible.
It becomes the only good whore is the dead whore.
When the murder of the prostitute is seen – it is never about her life or that she was a human.
We usually know of the murders of the prostituted coz we are exploring the “madness” of an whore-murderer.
He is made of interest, he is given a name, he is given a background and reason to kill.
He is allowed to be made human.
The females that he has murdered are not given that privilege.
They are just dead whores – made into colourful trash that are makes his crimes sensational, heck into a TV series or trashy film, and many books of true crime.
We remember the murderer – but the dead prostitutes are stripped of more than their lives, they are have their names forgotten, they are made to be thrown away.
We forget to remember the murdered prostitutes – coz to remember them would be to know that they were full humans.
We allowed these murders, allow that prostituted women and girls are 18 times more likely to be murdered than any other group of women and girls.
No wonder the prostituted learn not to dream into hope.
Hope is a luxury for those who allowed full access to be fully human.