In Memoria (to Kate RIP)

Every Exited prostituted person I have known or been in contact have known to be still alive is just pure luck.

We have the ghosts of lost, disappeared, murdered, made to kill themselves, unable to go on living of the prostituted we may of known.

Most we push as far back to depths of our subconscious as we can – but always these spirits feed our desire for full abolition.

But we known close friends, relatives or lovers that the sex trade destroyed.

We all have ache of deep grief for them behind our courage, our stubborn will to bring justice for all the prostituted and our no going back to hell attitude.

I write to one woman, who I will call Kate – my true love, my sister in hell, my kick-ass best mate.

She killed herself when in the midst of indoors prostitution, in the midst of drug addiction, in the midst of trying to escape her abusive father.

She killed herself – but it was murder by stealth by the violence of men, the sex trade and living in a culture that ignores that amount of pain.

She and I were 17 when she died – it was about 40 years ago, but she is always in my heart – and will not forgive those who push her to death till there is justice and full abolition.

Her death give me both good and bad ways of being.

Let me speak to her life, to the good she give me.

I meet her as we waited for punters in some pub.

I survived by drinking spirits, imaging that stop pain and memory.

Kate was drinking and high. But there was an immediate attraction, of feeling I though I had lost – a sense of two rebellious spirits meeting.

Kate give me back that desperate wildness of those who do not know if tomorrow will ever come, and if there is to be a tomorrow will just yet another time to block away.

We would laugh darkly at the realities our bodies and minds had to absolved

We spoke about punters alone with contempt and finding our way into fury.

We smashed up a sex shop in a drunken spree, only to chase by its owner with a baseball bat – we laughed like hyenas.

We lived on the edge – it most alive I have ever been.

But our laughter, our force of life, our rebelling did nothing to stop punters raping, torturing and playing with our minds.

We had huge inner strength – but we still had the bruises, the cuts, the terror, and the     emptiness of those abused into a living death.

All we could do was love each other, hold each other as our world folded in on us.

We lost words, we lost any path to life – but we could love and laugh.

Only it was a love in a world determined to kill us.

How can there be a will to live when rape is repeated daily.

How can you want to live when everyone is stating you are not fully human and so can abuse by any means at any time or place.

In that environment, would you not use drugs or be an alcoholic.

We fall into drugs and drink – as our bodies were sold to more and more sadist punters.

Inside drunken or drugged states nothing could matter, we could pretend our pain was not important, we could imagine we were in control and somehow happy.

We were dying, but pretending to happy whores, we defended our choices by saying it was freedom and empowering.

Only look deep into our eyes – see our deadness, see our flashes of deep terror, see our child-like pleas for help and some kind of an escape.

Yes, child-like for Kate and I both entered prostitution via abuse by a father or a stepfather – we always carried that scared and broken child with every time we were brought and sold.

Every a punter made the choice to buy he brought back to that child who could know there was such a thing as NO.

To that place of pain, that place of being frozen, that place of losing hope.

We were outwardly young adults, but every punter made us a terrified child again.

That is rape, that is torture – on an industrial scale.

Going into drink and drugs is one way to keep on going when living in that hell.

It is not a life – not even an existence, only at best survival.

But Kate and I had love, which somehow made us remember our humanity.

Kate took an OD when her father found her, and rape her for the last time.

Her universal had no meaning.

I was away as she died – away with some rich bastard of a punter for a weekend of rape of torture.

I came back, and found Kate dead.

My love, my sense of freedom, my way into laughter, my criminal ally was dead.

I thought our love would save us – but how when our enemies was the sex trade, was drugs dealers, was living in a society that refuse to see we were human, and the endless lines of punters paying to murder our souls.

I could not believe she was dead – so for a few hours of denial I just held and spoke to her.

But then coldness landed in my heart, a coldness that still holds me.

I could never allow myself to love so fully ever again, I could love and have it ripped away by hate and violence.

Kate was my only true love – so I will honour her life.

She was the human person I have ever meet – even as the world claimed her life was nothing.

She is a tiny example of the millions of prostituted women and girls who lost to us.

They were the braver humans that ever lived.

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