Fractured Memory

I have many gaps in my memory.

This hurts and wounds me in many ways – I feel I am missing too much of my life. I have lost the years between 6 to 27.

It is not fully lost, just in so many fragments I cannot find how to fit them together.

I am a neglected jigsaw with pieces gone.

I want to cry, but I have forgotten how.

I want to scream – but that voice is lost in a past that is shattered.

I want to know my truths – but only touch small edges.

I understand with logic, why my memory is so damaged.

I understand the mind can only take in so much reality of torture, then it cannot hold any more.

I understand that most of prostitution is repeated violence – repeated ways of raping, repeated ways of mentally/physically/sexually torturing, repeated ways of breaking down the prostitute.

I understand that repetition cannot be remembered fully – only remembered until it is discovered that all the prostituted are not to blame, and the violence done to them was pre-planned.

I understand that to survive the hell that is prostitution, it is vital to close it down or to replace the violence with inventions of empowerment and having a good time.

All this and more, I understand with a clear logical mind – but it does nothing to end the grief of lost memory.

In this post, I will try an explore memory – maybe speaking to moments/hours/weeks/years.

May I say that I was prostituted between 14 to 27, and previously sexually and mentally abused at home from aged 6.

Those years are just moments to me – for my fractured memory has made the good times disappear as well as the abuse and violence.

I remember standout moments – but with the years of prostitution I cannot see my age, cannot see the exact location, and usually cannot fully the men abusing me.

I remember through pain throughout my body, I remember through sudden terror, I remember and try not to doubt myself.

I remember as I choking without cause, I remember as I try to sleep but feel bodies raping me again, I remember when I try to love my partner and my mind wants violence.

I know memory is trapped inside my body, it trying with desperation to connect to the mind.

My instinct is to disconnect from my body as much as possible – I fall into music, reading, eating, TV and so forth to be away from my body.

Heck, now I have Twitter and Facebook, I can run away even more.

But my body pushing memory into me, even as I choose to run away.

The more I run, the worse the pain and grief gets – so I know I must turn round and confront a past that refuses to be silent.

It is a past made up of rooms.

Rooms in hotels, rooms in flats, rooms above clubs, rooms behind pubs.

Rooms where all I remember seemed the same, though it was different times and many locations.

Rooms where all I saw was the bed, maybe a place for money, maybe see a way to a bathroom.

I cannot remember how many rooms, only know I was a robot just seeing any bed – I knew what I was, and could not imagine a world where I was not a whore.

It was a past made up of punters.

A past where I did not know sex could be done with care, done with love, done without pain.

A past where men enter every part of my body – wearing down all memory that I had ever been human.

A past where consent meant nothing – as I was brought and sold, where could my no have any meaning.

A past where one could keep me as his sexual slave for weeks, a past where gang-rape was normal, a past where torture was rehearsed on my body.

For torture is always rehearsed on the prostituted – we are just living porn to punters.

So it is impossible to fully remember the past.

But I remember enough to know I did nothing to be in the line of such hate and violence.

I remember enough to know all punters will torture the prostituted – even if just mentally or by refusing to see the prostituted as fully human.

I remember enough to know violence is the norm of all aspects of the sex trade.

I remember to know I am only alive by luck.

I remember to be an abolitionist.

Invisible Torture

Recently there has been yet more fuss about state-run torture.

This is the visible torture that it is ok to be disgusted by, and to protest about.

This is the visible torture that we can hang our political and moral status on – whether the state is Britain, America, Egypt, Iran or Pakistan.

It is ok to be furious that there is tortured by any State on any person, especially if that torture is done to a civilian male.

But every day in every country, under all political systems – the prostituted are being tortured.

The prostituted have been tortured from the beginning of the invention of the sex trade to the moment you are reading this post.

The mass torturing of the prostituted is the largest form of invisible violence that most societies make the decision to ignore.

The torture of the prostituted is inside every cell of their bodies, the torture is carried from each generation to the prostituted to the next in a the form of deep trauma.

For to be tortured as a prostitute is to lose all sense off a self.

The torture is mental, physical, sexual and spiritual – to be tortured as a prostitute is have no rights, no voice, no space even for silent screaming.

For even if the prostituted can speak out, speak that this is torture – who is listening? Who stop time enough to care?

Where is Amnesty International? Where are Leftist men? Where are the liberal feminists?

All too busy holding up the status quo of the sex trade, keeping it going so they can have the choice to consume or profit from the torture that has become conveniently invisible.

Well, this Xmas, as a gift to all the prostituted – I want all my readers to speak out about the ordinary torture of the prostituted class.

I want you to speak about prostitution as a human rights crisis – say in a clear and reasoned voice/s of how normal torture is all the prostituted.

Speak to the male entitlement that make that torturing invisible – that entitlement that makes all the prostituted into sub-human sexual goods that any may can and will torture.

Speak to all human rights organisations and demand they hold up the rights of all of the prostituted, and hold all sex trade consumers and profiteers to account for the destruction of those basic human rights.

As a gift to all the prostituted, learn to expose the torture as it is and refuse to be part of making it invisible.

Do this, by giving those who have exited the sex trade and have the strength to speak to that torture leadership.

Give us freedom to speak out in our own words, own ways of remembering, own ways of holding our truths.

Have the spirit of humanity not to speak over those of us who have exited – learn to be silent as our pain, grief and fractured memories are able to surface.

It is our time – time for the prostituted to speak with multiple voices, speak from multiples histories and cultures, speak from the street to high-class escorting.

We speak to the torture of the street, torture of the brothel, torture of being made into girlfriend material, torture of exploited teenager thinking her pimp loves her, torture off every woman/man/child trafficked to brothel/sex club, torture of escorting, torture of stripping turning into prostitution – and so many other ways the sex trade profiteers and punters have invented to torture all the prostituted.

For it is very simple why there is so much torturing of the prostituted – it is ingrained in every aspect of the sex trade, that all consumers and profiteers have the entitlement to degrade, torture and humiliate the prostituted at any time, in any place.

There is no freedom from torture for any prostitute – it is no matter if the prostitute is on the street or working indoors.

For many of the prostituted, it can more dangerous to be alone in a room with a punter than on the street, for it private.

There will never be freedom from torture, whilst we only the male entitlement to buy and sell the prostituted.

The greatest gift you can give the prostituted is to fight that entitlement.

Used Out

I have been ill, ill from exiting, ill from knowing the unknowable, ill from not knowing why I am alive when so many prostituted are dead.

My last post was on how pimp-language increases that illness, an illness with no real name just infecting all the brave exited folks I know or have not meet yet.

This post is a stream of consciousness exploring how hard exiting is – how it affects every moment, even the many moments of joy and sense of moving forward.

Exiting prostitution is never easy, time makes it less painful – but the pain is always background noise.

I truly believed that those who have exited or are on the way to exiting the sex trade are some of the most courageous people that I had the privilege to know and to work alongside with.

They all are warriors – warriors who let in the pain even when it is unbearable, warriors who have the silent screaming of embedded grief, warriors who ask questions without wanting or needing simple answers.

They are looking through the eyes of the warrior who understand genocide was their norm.

They speak through mouths that have been blocked by silence and the violence of male violence.

They listen remembering the sound of lost hope, and hear now the call to freedom and dignity.

They find it hard to smell, as every breath brings dead semen, sweat and cold fear.

They can learn to touch skin without having to be dead inside, without becoming a role, without dreaming of suicide.

I would say if you role-models, heroes, or even a route to a better – look, listen and learn from exited prostituted folks.

We have so much to give, so much knowledge that is constantly silenced.

We can be teachers, we are fighters, we can teach how to laugh at hell at the same as planning to destroy it at its roots.

The lesson I would want all abolitionists to take on board, is not to be afraid of grief, pain and the slowness of real long-term change.

The prostituted have live with that grief, pain and lack of apparent progress for many centuries – and we have through silent passing down of ways of dealing, built up our inner strength and desire to live whatever is thrown at us.

Abolition is slow most of time – but it not going backwards, it is moving forward.

Sometimes there are giant leaps – such as seeing the demand and supply must be criminalized; or seeing that abolition of the sex trade is a human issue, not an issue of labour.

Mostly it is small steps forward, often feeling like we are struck or going backward.

But I do believe the more we allow exited folks to be leaders in the abolition movement – the more the human damage and courage is seen, and the more likely that abolition will come.

We need to learn that pain should always be pushed away.

The more you avoid or bury the pain of the prostituted – the more it screams and crawls it way to have a voice.

The pain that the prostituted have known cannot just be placed into a box, it can learn to be quiet, but always waiting for the time and place to have expression.

It is a pain that all can learn from.

It is a pain that has touch and been inside genocide, and is now a witness to the deadened soul and deep silence that was one reason some of the prostituted survived.

It is a pain that has learnt that male violence is pre-planned, is organised, is not an act of passion but cold hate.

It is a pain where every cell of the prostitute’s body is used and thrown – a pain that there never anything personal about rape, torture or murder of the prostituted, just a consumer with his goods.

That pain must be used as teaching-tool.

We can speak to what male violence is, we know too much, too much so we are told not to speak for male violence gains power by becoming the unspeakable.

To build a permanent road to abolition, we must speak to grief, we must face the depths of grief that is always with the exited.

We carry the grief of knowing the majority of the prostituted have or will never be able to exit.

Oh, some may exit with so much mental damage that in many ways the sex trade still imprisoned, some may exit with illnesses or injuries that shortened their futures, some may not live and commit suicide as the past blocks a route to freedom, and too many are killed coz they seen as throwaway goods.

Every exited person I know of, have the grief of losing prostituted friends – we could not grieve then, but now we fight so no more prostitute goes missing.

A great many exited folks have survivor grief and guilt.

We have no idea why we survived, and too often we collapse thinking of the beautiful and strong prostituted folks who are gone.

It is just luck that we survived – for suicide was our norm or living in order to die, for at any moment we could have been murdered.

All exited folks have experienced near-death on several occasion, whether through self-destruction or male violence.

I attempted suicide at least every 6 months or so, I can remembered punters almost killing me on at least 4 to 7 times.

Living with death was our norm – so no wonder our grief is endless.

Grief is a powerful tool to making real change to justice and returning dignity to all the prostituted.

To allow that silent screaming an expression, is the opening to deeper approach to abolition, is to let out the warrior-spirit, and learn that in silence knowledge can grow.

It is learning to be still enough to see that slow progress is going forward.

Grief open us up to being vulnerable, being confused – but that is not a weakness, it give the humbleness to see we can ask and receive help, as well knowing we will be the helpers.

 

I Would Be Ok with Sticks and Stones

I have been away, away for words used in a casual manner are eating me into wanting to die.

Sticks and stones may hurt you, but words do no harm.

That is just bullshit, and much of the language I will describe is invented or used by the sex trade to control and silence the prostituted, whether exited or still inside the sex trade.

The language that sends daggers into my soul – I will named it as Pimp Language which is used by punters, sex trade profiteers, academics, the mainstream media and liberal feminists – as well men on the Left, men on the Right and Liberal men.

It is a language invented over centuries – though words may change, the meaning of control and silencing has always been the same.

For instance the idea of the sex worker is just an re-invention of the courtesan which is just a re-invention of temple whore.

All those concepts are invented to hide male violence and the prostituted are made into throwaway sub-human goods.

The sex worker/courtesan/temple whore are terms that pretend there can a semblance of choice and empowerment for the prostituted.

This lie is spread into all media, all gossip, all means of communication until it is made impossible that any “real” violence can put into the prostituted.

The temple whore is painted as a goddess, or at the least supernatural.

This is held by the means that is norm of the sex trade in all times, all cultures and is the founding stones that makes the sex trade not crumble.

To call a temple whore supernatural is too convenient – as it always means she feels no human pain, has no desire to leave and can an endless for thousands of men to masturbate into.

She becomes the courtesan, who is allow small amounts of power intelligence as long she always available as a fuck-doll that will be thrown away when she is old or just boring for men.

She becomes the sex worker, who is told she is free and empowered – only to find men will and can be violent her whenever he want, for she is always the whore so owned by men.

It is a system that I named the Alice Through the Looking-Glass Approach – that is a constant brainwashing that bad is good, and bad is the only way to live – a world where sadism is call fun, and all escape is blocked.

To keep the prostituted under the control of sex trade profiteers, it is vital to make all the outside world seemed to there to destroy, or at the minimum unattainable.

Over 4000 years the sex trade profiteers have perfected ways of brainwashing, lying and keeping hidden all outside knowledge from the prostituted class.

This includes giving the prostituted no language expect the language of their oppressors.

So, never say to those of us who somehow manage to survive and exit the sex trade – that it is only words, words don’t.

No if you call yourself an ally for abolition, then learn to shut up and listen hard as we speak to what language and individual word mean to us.

Let me choose some words, some expressions that should either used with great care, or never used when speaking about the conditions of the sex trade.

I choose to start with that word that can bring bile to my throat – “choice” which is often placed like sisters with “empowerment”.

How can the Left and Liberals be so naive or determined not to want to know, that those words were stolen by the sex trade profiteers, and used to manipulate that prostitution is somehow Leftist, is about giving freedom and strength to the prostituted – heck it just a job ain’t it.

Choice is a lovely concept, and for many things it can be wonderful – you choose what music you love, you can choose your friends, you can choose where to have a holiday.

Choice is also a terrible delusion, the language of choice is used to keep the oppressed trapped and silences all questioning of why they are being oppressed.

This is a classic tool of all forms of long-term oppression – and has part of the structure of the sex trade.

To make the prostituted think and believe that it was her free choice to be in the sex trade – is a powerful tool to silence and keep her as a sub-human.

The vast majority if not all of the prostituted are in conditions where her individual choices have no relevance.

Whether the prostitute enter freely or by force, is of little relevance to the punters or sex trade profiteers.

Once you become classed as a prostitute, your individual choices are tossed away – it is impossible to have access to choice, if you are made sub-human sexual goods.

The prostituted are made sub-human – so there is no real violence done to them, no violence for it is decided that the prostituted have no human emotions like hurt, fear or deep grief.

How dare that be named as empowerment.

What is so empowering about being fuck-holes for any and all men?

What is so empowering about being moved from street to street, from street prostitution into a brothel, from city to city, from escorting to inside porn, from country to country, from being a victim prostitute when 14 to an empowered whore at aged 17?

I am so hurting  – pain is a bit much.

Bloody think before you speak – I am so sick of your language.

A Change is Coming

Last night, Canada become another country that is making hard for men to buy the prostituted. Slowly, there is a change coming.

A change away the so-called norm of men being entitled to buy and sell the prostituted for sexual greed.

A change that it can seen as normal to say prostitution is just a nasty job, but someone has to do it.

A change that makes some women and girls, and some males so sub-human that can be sexually tortured, raped and murdered – and it framed as adult leisure.

I am thrilled that slowly, and on occasions a sudden rush – that prostitution is being seen for what it is.

Seen as a human rights emergency.

Seen as mental, physical and sexual torture.

Seen as the oldest and largest genocide this world has ever know.

I know this is a dangerous time, especially for those of us who are abolitionists and have exited the sex trade.

We are always under attack from the sex trade lobby, that is so normal to us, that we rarely make it public.

Most abolitionists survivors try to ignore the hate and terror sent to us almost every day, hoping they will slowly get bored.

We usually do not publish or acknowledge their constant war on us, we will not give them free publicity or advertisement for their profits on the bodies of the prostituted still trapped in the sex trade.

But I feel on occasions it is vital to speak out against this war on our minds and ability to keep going forward.

First I want everyone on the Left and in feminism, to start taking seriously what is happening to survivors who are now abolitionists – take serious how powerful the sex trade lobby is, and recognised the extreme hate throw at us.

Andrea Dworkin know this hate, and where and why it is targeted at exited women who dare to speak out in particular – she preach that the sex trade are furious that their goods are rebelling, for we should be dead or too damaged to speak out.

The sex trade lobby has total contempt for all the prostituted class, especially those of us who dare to be alive and to be had the strength to say where we came from.

They want us wipe from the face of the earth – preferably without getting their hands dirty by forcing us into suicide.

This is done in multiple ways, but the main weapon is that their attacks are relentless, or it never done by a single “troll” but a highly organised criminal organisations.

This means the sex trade has access to huge amounts of money and people to keep a non-stop low of hate and lies.

They invade Twitter, Facebook, our blogs, our emails, attempt to find our private addresses.

They threaten our mental and physical welfare, threaten our families, and say enough lies that our friends are made to doubt us.

They use our trauma as a weapon to destroy us – saying we were too weak to deal with the “job”, using that we have fragmented memories to “prove” we are liars.

They pretend to be caring – only to say it just a story, and most of prostitution is empowering to women.

They send us invitations to work for them in their lovely brothels – then we can see it not so violent, coz of course they are the friendly caring pimps.

They get punters to write to us to explain how ignorant we are – for we just need to meet the “good punter” to see how wrong we are.

They explain to us how men must have access to the prostituted, coz they are lonely, disabled, unattractive etc. Making out we are evil to deny men that entitlement.

Sometimes, they just lose it saying we too ugly to be a real prostitute, too weak to know our own truths, too sub-human to even be polite to and have a reasonable debate with.

It is their common weapon to tell us that we were never “real” prostitutes – so our tales should be dismissed or shown to be lies.

They say we are paid bags of money to lie about the sex trade.

It goes on an on and on – it is soul-destroying.

Of course, there are highly personal attacks as well as those politics attacks.

We are attacked for being too damaged to know the truth – never that the damage was forced into us by the constant hate and violence that is prostitution.

We are told we are murdering the prostituted by wanting abolition or the Nordic Approach.

It is a slow torture.

I want this to taken seriously, for as the progress to abolition is slowly taking hold – the sex trade lobby will get more aggressive and even less rational.

The attacks on abolitionists who are survivors will get worse – and we need support and your strength.

Thanks.

You are Nothing

How do I explain what it is and was to be prostituted?

How do I explain, express and try to show what it is to be made nothing?

I have tried with my words on this blog, on Facebook, in speeches and informal discussions to speak to the centre of that black hole. Only to feel my words always just skim the surface.

How is it possible to speak to nothing?

Nothing will come from nothing is the saying that runs riot in my head – leading to a place where despair appears relaxing.

I need to see the ways I was made nothing.

I need to know that being nothing had some meaning.

I need to hold nothing that was my existence and learn to forgive enough to grieve

Then maybe something can be made of nothing.

I feel and deeply believe that push towards full abolition for all the prostituted, we must explore the emotional losses and psychological damage that is the legacy of being prostituted.

We need to think outside of facts, look in grief, stare at confusion and hold hands with terror.

We must learn to be at home with messy emotions, and to learn that some trauma cannot not be repaired only be a shadow.

I feel the abolition movement pushes away the multiple voices of survivors of the sex trade, coz they appeared too messy, too stringent, too full of pain/anger.

But the more you silenced our voices, the more we will appeared to be awkward, too demanding and like a constant scream that follows you around.

We are the ghosts at your celebration, we are the shadow that whispers there is so much more that must be done, we are the black cloud that causes you headaches.

For the constant dismissal of the multiple voices of survivors of the sex trade – except a tiny few who fit your preconceived image of what an exited woman is – is the larger barrier to having full freedom of the prostituted class.

I believed the refusal to listen and hear with any depth our voices comes from a refusal to know and hear negative emotions, or hears ours truths may not easy solutions or fit inside a neat feminist/Leftist box.

To refuse to hear and know the emotions of what it is and was to be prostituted, is to keep us as sub-human, maybe at the best as pets you only bring out on special occasions.

You are keeping us sub-human, as you only allow survivors to speak out under your agenda.

If we dare speak beyond a feminist or leftist agenda, we are put back into a box, and the lid is shut until it felt our language has become your language.

But our truths, our experiences and our pain is more than political debate, more than an example you can learn from, more than another horror story you can tick off.

We remembered the centre of what it is and was to be tortured, we remembered what patriarchy feels likes as it poisons every cell in our bodies.

We speak to emotions that had to be murdered in order that our bodies somehow survive whilst numb to all reality.

We know what evil is as we know how sex trade profiteers operate, and remember in our bodies that punters never accidentally destroy us.

Would you be able to truly hear, hear enough to quiet enough to learn, how we got through that hell – or would prefer we stay safe with “facts” and statistics?

Well, I for one want to go deeper than facts, I want to explore the heart of darkness that made me into nothing.

I want and need to know that part of my life for it made me for good or bad.

I live with trauma, I live with body memories, I live with fragmented memory – all this was forced into me by prostitution. So I want and need to know who I was then to maybe understand who I am now.

I do this for me – but more I hope I can make connections with others who have survived the sex trade, and have huge gaps of loss and memory.

Those survivors are my family, my purpose and my touchstone.

I want to be clear that all forms of prostitution should be classed as torture, that all forms of prostitution is the destruction of human rights and the human soul.

There can never be any reason or excuse for the existence of prostitution – all so-called reasons are just selfish, self-justifying and comes from the idea that all the prostituted are too sub-human to have access to human rights.

So each time you hear, you read or even if you think there is some kind of prostitution that can be made ok – then know you not silencing survivors of the sex trade. but forcing a dagger into our hearts

All forms of prostitution are made to look good by the sex trade – all forms of media will be used to spread the propaganda that we must never look too closely at the conditions that make prostitution.

We must look hard enough to see the dead eyes of the prostituted, we must pretend not to know it is impossible to equate exchange of money/gifts with full consent, we must turn away from ideas like rape industry or paid rape.

We need to refuse to know that if it done to us it would be painful, humiliating, a crime or even an outrage – for we must believed it fine to rape, abuse and tortured the prostituted for they are nothing.

Well, I for one, refuse to allow the easy road of turning away from the terror, pain and confusion that is in all the prostituted.

I for one, need you to see and know that we must know that hell for it man-made and done for pleasure and control.

To be made nothing – nothing but holes for punters to use as living porn-doll.

To be made nothing – nothing than a stereotype of whatever woman/girl/man/boy that the punter wants to use as a fuck-toy.

To be made nothing – nothing can feel no pain or grief as torture becomes the norm.

To be made nothing – nothing as sex trade profiteers pass you round all aspects of the sex trade, move you from street to street, city to city, country to country.

To be made nothing – nothing as lined up like meat for punters to pick.

To be made nothing – nothing as it becomes normal for the prostituted to be thrown away, or just disappear.

This is all planned and organised – but the trick of the sex trade is to make you believe any act of violence done to the prostituted is random, and can be dealt with.

I hope this post makes sense – please write to me what you think.

 

 

So If It Was Bad – How Come You’re Alive Then?

This is an unanswerable question which is always asked of those of us somehow survived the sex trade.

It is unanswerable for we do not know.

Do not know when so many strong and vibrant friends, and folks we did not know were destroyed by the sex trade.

Do not know how we survived many near-death experiences.

Do not know how we woke each morning after many hours of mental, sexual and physical torture.

Do not know how we survived our many suicide attempts.

All we know it against all that was thrown at us we lived.

That should be seen as heroic – there should parades, fireworks, a day of memorial and celebration for all the prostituted.

But our survival is greeted with silence, with embarrassment, with a conscious turning away from any message we bring with us.

For we should have never survived – never of lived, never of remember what it was to be prostituted, never been alive with a voice and the will to make others listen to learn.

The harsh fact of the silencing, ignorance and closing of those of us who have exited the sex trade is we cannot be allowed to be alive enough have a voice.

This is shown on so many levels – whether by the usual suspects of those who benefit in the continence of sex trade, but also by folks who say they are allies of us.

It is shown every time there are records of murders of females – where there is no mentions of the many murdered prostituted women and girls, no mention of those murdered in the porn industry.

These deaths are made invisible, made unimportant – if mentioned mostly as an afterthought to “normal” domestic violence murders.

But – the murders of the prostituted class is happening everywhere, every day, maybe every half hour of every day.

It is considered that women inside the sex trade are at the minimum 12 times more likely to die a violent death that women of similar age and background – it may as much as 20 times more likely.

If it considered that women may dies at least 2 a week from domestic violence – then try to imagine 12-20 times that number.

But this genocide goes on, for the prostituted are never alone to be human enough for their lives to matter.

That means to murder a prostitute is made into a non-event – it becomes just the throwing away of the trash.

The deaths of the prostituted are mostly unreported. If reported, all too often she is made nameless.

If the murdered prostitute is allowed to have a name, her life is narrow down to “just another dead whore”.

The message is clear – we should not mourn the murdered prostituted, that grief should be for “real” women.

Death was the norm when we were inside prostitution.

We learnt that our lives meant nothing – so most of the prostituted grow hardened to the idea of death.

Sometimes the only reminder that we were alive, was finding we could still feel pain or get moments of grief – or even some connection to what it was to be happy.

To have emotions was terrifying – but they were vital to send signals that there more to life than being buried in the sex trade.

Emotions needed to be controlled – for all too often, sex trade profiteers and punters used any sign that we were still human against us.

To show fear encourage more violence.

To cry was to be laughed at, was to made to cry by yet more violence.

To laugh at the ridiculousness of it all was to be punished.

To be quiet was not to put the punter at the centre of everything.

To show anger was placed yourself in grave danger.

To want to protect yourself would make a danger to the sex trade, so you will be thrown away.

I always laugh with bitter tears remembering that deadening all emotions became the way I survived how bad it was.

Often the real meaning of “if it was so bad, how come you’re alive then?” is – why did you do nothing to run away, or report the violence.

Again this very hard to answer, yes there is a surface of easy answers of not knowing how to report, being taught to trust no-one outside the sex trade, not knowing anywhere was safe to run to – but the real answers are deeper and far more tragic.

Most of us who were trapped inside the sex trade have no clear answers is why we did not run – for to be honest, many of us did run away only to find we landed straight back into the hell of the sex trade.

Running away is very hard if you don’t where or who you are running – sometimes going back to what you think you might understand seems the only solution.

It must be been seen that the vast majority of those inside the sex trade comes from backgrounds or experiences that have taught them that they are less than human – and the skill of the sex trade and its profiteers to keep them as sub-human.

Look at the prostituted class and what do you see.

You will see the majority have experienced childhood abuse.

You will see that indigenous and ethnic minorities women overwhelm who is made into the prostituted.

You will see all man-made disasters – wars, famine, poverty etc – are used to recruit the prostituted.

You will see that the sex trade market is about young flesh – under-aged prostitution is the norm not some perversion.

And you will see that the sex trade will prey on all women and girls – for there a market for everything from posh white schoolgirl to Asians in saunas, from high-class escort to street-based prostitute.

The sex trade never will get tired of exploiting and oppressing the prostituted – and by ignoring their violence, you become part of the problem.

 

Pain in My Heart

I am writing listening to 5 CDs of the King of Soul – Otis Redding – and Pain in My Heart digs deep into me.

I have reaching into my heart, trying to see beyond its coldness, desire to be dead. I reach for my heart, and pain is always the cover I have to break down.

I play Otis as his voice breaks into joyful pain, and I learn what life can be.

He reaches beyond my solid wall of ice, and reaches to the many years his voice give me the freedom to cry, scream and kind of sing along with his simple words.

Soul music has given a reason to live – be it Northern Soul, Motown, Atlantic Soul, Stax Records, Gospel or just soul coming down the radio from somewhere I don’t know yet.

My heart is nourish by soul whether sung out of Georgia, Chicago, London, Tokyo, New Orleans, or so many places where music is the voice when all words are lost.

Soul music evolves but keep a solid centre.

Soul music belongs to all who seen, known and survive pain – soul is part of our skin.

Each day soul music reminds pain can be grieve over, each day soul music nourishes hope that pain cannot be forever – and each day soul music give us laughter, desire to dance and sense of freedom even as our oppressors think they have won.

The passion, the simple words, the reaching into all human emotions, the voices of many oppressed makes soul music unconquerable.

I learn in my moments of deepest pain and confusion, that soul music could reach me like no other music could – except Mozart.

Soul music was and is my desire for a future in freedom and justice, soul music was and is my route to know hope can be solid.

Soul music taught me I could still dance even as I thought my body and spirit had been destroyed by punters and the sex trade.

Soul music is the sound of defiance, of staring down those who oppressed us and saying there is deep part of my essence you can never owned or ripped apart.

Soul music was the gift of privacy when I had little or no space to call my own.

I had soul music before and after punters had though they had total control over me.

I scream to Wo-man with Etta, play Do-Right Woman with Aretha, had Dusty make cry with You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me.

It was my medicine, my therapy – it was my door to knowing a world beyond being raped, owned, tortured and being on the edge of death.

There was nothing simple in love of soul music – there is nothing simple in the oppressed discovering freedom.

It was music that connected to other music that had raw edges and give me another American culture to belong.

I grow to love country – especially honky-tonk, bluegrass, Cajun and outlaw country.

I grow to love city Blues.

I grow to love jazz, especially be-bop, swing, jazz/blues singers, New Orleans sound.

I grow to rock ‘n’ roll, especially rockabilly.

I grow to love disco.

Music became my saviour, and music was making my oppression more painful for I became aware that wasnot what I wanted.

I was becoming aware of every rape, aware of all words that made me into dirt, aware that I was nothing.

I begun to sing along with the music played as punters owned me – singing without paying attention, singing to disappear, singing to find a part of me had some defiance.

I placed myself in grave danger by singing or even mouthing the words.

Punters hated that I was human enough to sing, human enough to do two things at once.

I know my singing was my way to say – you don’t own my heart.

You will and can rape close to death; you can and will torture me with words, torture me with ripping at my sexual being, torture me by pretending to kill.

You will and can force me to stay awake, deprived me of food. You can and will smash my body into pieces while you are laughing.

But you – the punter, the sex trade profiteer, the justifier of the continance of the sex trade, the academics who say only Happy Hookers exist, the by-standers who ignore the pain of all the prostituted – you can never take away my music.

And I know you must hate that.

I know that the prostituted were never meant to be human enough to have a space to have the true freedom to love music.

I know that the prostituted were invented to be sub-human sexual goods that have only one purpose – to be living porn-dolls for punters to mastubate into.

We are not meant to hear music, to read books, to even be in shops.

We have no life or purpose beyond being holes and a comforter so punters are never violent to real women and children.

We have no past, no existence outside those punters and the sex trade.

To show even a hint that we are human, is for any prostitute to place herself in deep danger.

Much of the violence done to the prostituted is done when the punter see the prostitute is a person.

I was beaten up for reading, I was raped sadistically when I laugh at the TV, and singing to music was a route to hell.

For the prostituted are meant have no voice, no sense that they could matter, no real intelligence – the prostituted cannot be human.

No, the prostituted are meant to be whatever the sex trade and punters say they are.

A prostitute can be allowed to read or talk clever – as long she knows never to speak as she is raped, and never think her words matter.

The reality of prostitution is that it is assumed that most of the prostituted will be voiceless and nameless.

It is a world where the punters and sex trade profiteers see all the prostituted as interchangeable – as sexual that will be used over and over and over, and then thrown away.

The prostituted are never meant to discover that they are human, and to regain the fight to live, to exit and with great fortune to speak out for abolition.

We are meant to be dead or too damaged to become fully human.

I discover soul music was route to knowing there more to life than the sex trade.

 

 

 

 

Sickness Eats My Soul

I have very ill for many reasons, and have unable to write.

Now with great force, I will try to get to the centre of what is blocking me, what is sending sickness into my soul.

My soul is being slowly eaten alive.

It is mainly coming at me from two place.

The careless and callous use of language when so-called supporters speak about the sex trade.

And the lack of understanding of the depth and commonness of internal trafficking.

Both these are hurting me beyond pain, making me speechless, making me wanting to scream, making me apathetic as too much triggers me, making me thinking of ripping heads off of the so-called supporters.

My soul is a howling wolf, my soul is a silent stone statue of an unknown warrior, my soul is the wind in the moors, my soul is that pain which has forgotten where is came from and that it can be named.

How can we speak to the reality of prostitution, speak to the centre of being prostituted – if we turn away from language that is clear and stares deep into the darkness that is the sex trade.

Instead we have the language of detachment, the language of not connecting prostitution with human rights – the language without pain, horror or the visceral reality of what is to be prostituted.

A clean safe language that pushes away the multiple voices of those who have survived the sex trade.

A language given to the Left and even some feminists to hide blood, dead bodies and tears away.

If I hear sex worker again, I may buy an AKA, and kill some so-called supporters.

Your safe clean language is the language that colluded with the sex trade profiteers in the endless genocide of the prostituted.

Called our tortures, multiple rapes and deaths sex work – and you are an onlooker who will refuse any sense of guilt or responsibility for genocide of the prostituted class.

Prostitution cannot be made clean and safe – no matter how much you use the language of the Left, the language of labour, the language of freedom of choice.

Your words do nothing to stop the buying and selling of the prostituted, does nothing to stop all punters feeling entitle to own and torture the prostituted, does nothing for the safety of any prostitute alone with any punter or profiteer.

All your words do is make detached, make you turn away, make speak over the prostituted or those who have exited.

Your words make you imagine you understand the world of prostitution – when all you truly understand is the language of sex trade profiteers.

I have very triggered by the news in England about Rotherham, where at least 14,000 mainly girls have been internally trafficked into prostitution.

Internal trafficking is rarely reported – even though it is one of the most common ways that girls and women are drawn into prostitution.

It is only noticed if we can make the traffickers into the Other, only noticed if we can detached ourselves away from those who are being trafficked.

No-one can be detached from internal trafficking.

Traffickers, who are mostly men – come from all ethnic backgrounds, all cultural backgrounds, all ages, all classes.

Those who are trafficked are mostly females – come from all ethnic backgrounds, all cultural backgrounds, all ages, all classes.

Once you think there only a certain type of trafficker, or a certain type of female who is trafficked – then the sex trade profiteers are laughing at you.

The true terror that is internal trafficking is that it very ordinary men trafficking very ordinary girls in your home area.

I was internally trafficked – and it was made invisible.

That is normal – the sex trade is full of girls and women who were internally and no-one cared or even noticed.

The reason it is kept invisible – is because you do not want to lose your access to a wide range in prostitution.

You by ignoring internal trafficking are colluding with the sex trade profiteers.

Internal and external trafficking go hand-in-hand in providing the variety that punters demand in prostitution – providing prostitutes of many ethnicity, prostitutes who are very young, prostitutes who have no access to safety or being able to know consent.

Rotherham is just one example of the norm of the sex trade.

I think I can breathe a bit now – and hopefully sleep more than five hours.

I Can’t Cry

I want to cry so much.

My throat hurts so much coz it so blocked, my eyes are tired of being tired, my heart is in an agony where words disappear to.

I still can’t cry.

I wanted to cry when Lauren Bacall died, for she was my protector when all my world was being thrown to the wolves.

I remember as a 14-year-old wanting to be Lauren Bacall, wanting her presence by my side.

I stood by the bar in a sex club, and try hard to make it into “The Big Sleep”, and make reality disappear.

I imagined the dive I was in was a sophisticated nightclub – where I was wisecracking and keeping men at a distance.

I refuse to see the truth, that I had no voice, no safety, no access to dignity – I refuse to know I was nothing as I imagine I was strong as Lauren Bacall.

I want to cry so much for that lost teenager – but I can’t cry.

I want to cry at the careless use of language that destroyed my soul every day.

I want to cry every time I read, I hear and I come across someone I thought I could trust say “sex worker”.

I want to chop off their head, I want to smash my radio or TV up, I want to stab editors and academics that say those words.

All exited men and women I know, hate the term “sex worker”, and we say over and over and over why we want that language destroyed.

But instead, you listen and copy those who promote that term – do you not question why I and so many exited folks hate to be called sex workers.

It is a term invented and promoted by the sex trade and its allies to make invisible all the common male violence done to the prostituted.

Say prostitution is just work, maybe say it can hard and dangerous work, and it become about the individual prostitute – and never that it is a criminal structure that has the purpose of allowing men access to sadism.

To call it sex work is a terrible lie – said to bring the Left and liberal feminists in line with the sex trade.

I cannot believe how easy it for the Left and liberal feminists allow themselves to be manipulated and guilt-tripped by the sex trade.

I feel like slapping them for so naive/stupid, but i understand it is easier to think it just work and somehow can be made safe – then to know the brutal truth, that male violence is the life-blood of all aspects of prostitution.

Prostitution can never be made safe – for every time a punter makes the choice to buy another human, he is making the choice to own the prostitute body and soul.

That is not work, that is not sex – that is slavery.

Once you have been brought or sold – you know you have no rights to safety, no access to language that others will hear, no access to know consent.

Once you have been brought or sold – you learn to not know rape for it happens too regular for the human mind to comprehend.

Once you have been brought or sold – you teach your body to block out pain from endless tortures of mind, body and soul. You learn as quick as possible how to be alive, but empty of hope, emotions and sense of purpose.

You learn to be a husk.

I want to cry for that empty soul – cry for the endless hate, anger and pain that all the prostituted have forced into them.

I want to cry so, but only my choking and sickness comes.

I want to cry when I hear feminists say it about all women – as yet another of placing the prostituted as an afterthought, hopefully push far enough away to be made invisible.

Yes all women can be on the receiving end of male violence – but it about scale and what it means to belong to the prostituted class.

All women and girls could be raped in their lifetime – but it would considered terrible if a non-prostituted woman is raped in more than 5 separate occasions.

Most of the prostituted are raped in their hundreds, thousands, and in industrialised brothels numbers beyond human comprehension.

Rape is so normal to the prostituted, it become nothing, a non-event.

The prostituted are raped beyond knowing and naming it as rape.

We need another language for that scale of rape, another way of seeing and knowing that reality.

We need the language of extreme torture, the language of numbness and alienation, a language of human rights, a language that reaches into the centuries of silence that built the prostituted class.

I gleaned some language from reading classic horror such as MR James and Edgar Allen Poe.

I gleaned language from reading letters and memoirs from soldiers on the Western Front, in the American Civil War.

I gleaned language from diaries of slaves, from words of twentieth century genocides and civil wars.

Language need to look directly into the void that is prostitution – not turn away to other aspects of male violence, just to abandon yet again the prostituted class.

The men that rape, torture and murder the prostituted on a mass scale – are given permission by making their violence unspeakable – or just unhearable.

We must struggle to find a language that fits that scale – we must face without fear the terror, the agony and the depths of grief that give some meaning to what it is to be prostituted.

And not silenced those who speak out by saying it about all women.

Learn to hear the differences, learn to be quiet and wait for spaces to open for you to talk.

I wish I could cry – i wish so much.