I am in deep shock.
It is a time in my life when my past – that knowing of the cold hate, of being formed into an object to be screwed close to death, the knowing that I was never seen – is finally becoming real.
I suppose I could label this as a mental breakdown – for that label is easier for others to understand – but I know that is not the truth, that is not my reality.
No, I am collapsing coz the punters, the profiteers, and the supporters of the sex trade are continually pouring their poison into my mind and body.
It is my environment that is insane – I am just trying to remember to keep breathing.
Lets go through some of that poison that is pushing over my edge.
Now I exited that world, I find I have enter a place where supporters of the sex trade has free rein.
Their words and their actions hurt me to the bone – but daily I act with indifference, change the subject, challenge in a detached way, on occasions get too emotional to be taken serious, or just push it deep down inside me and just smile.
It is being made to feel that prostitution must have been a choice.
Sure I know and deeply believe that the vast vast majority of the prostituted have all their choices ripped from them. But there is always the hurt part of me that feels judged or a failure for making all the wrong choices.
I have been told or written to, that if I had read the punter’s body language, I would be safer or at least safe enough to keep going as a prostitute.
Damn, that’s hurts so much. I remember trying so many ways of surviving – christ, I like so many prostituted women and girls read body language all the time, always that part of my brain is on alert seeking some ways to protect myself.
Nothing could or would have stop a sadistic punter raping, bashing up, sexually torturing, or playing at killing me – only those words give me a guilt that I couldn’t be superwoman.
But a prostitute cannot defend herself from sadism – she can just hope she survive, and with great good fortune will exit, and with strength and courage will become an abolitionist to prevent others having her life.
I am sickened to the core of me by the sex trade lobbyists telling me or explaining with great patronising, how indoors prostitution is the solution, and if not thoroughly safe it is safe enough to keep the status quo of prostitution going.
Well, it is not safe to shut in a room with punters who have paid for the right to own the prostitute. It is not safe to be with that punter, and know he can do any violence in utter privacy, and usually loads of time to do it in.
Why do you want to pretend it is safe? Your belief is slowly killing women who have exited indoors prostitution, you are killing us by throwing us away and keeping us as sub-humans.
Believing indoors prostitution is safe enough is to consider the prostituted as nothing but consumable goods – all you got to do is make it look pretty and paint the veneer of concern – then business will carry on as normal.
That is the business of making the prostituted into nothing but holes to fuck, nothing but living porn for punters to masturbate into. The business of making wonderful, strong and brave women and girls into nothing but goods without access to basic human rights.
I hate you if you say indoors prostitution is a solution – my solution is that no prostitute in any environment is ever sold and brought – full stop.
That is the only way to end the poison continuing.
I have the lies and poison of profiteers inside me.
The lies that made me say their words.
Words of defiance saying it my choice to be screwed with violence – it was who I was or all I could be. Words that smashed though my instinct that I hated it, that I was terrified, that I know I could dead at any time.
Words saying they were sorry I was being damaged – only always placing over and over and over and over with more sadistic punters.
The poison of thinking maybe some manager, some bodyguard, some pimp may care about my safety. Only to be violently sexually tortured with them watching, or sitting behind a closed door or general indifference to my safety.
Of course, a manager/pimp and their mates could always rape me for free or just to keep me in line. That is the poison that lines my stomach.
The final dose of poison that is driving to a breakdown is the endless tortures of the punters.
I have no part of my body and mind that was not made into a war-zone by those bastards.
My hell is I survive by refusing to know the punters as humans.
I have many memories of sexual torturing, of rapes, of being close to death – but I have no faces or memories of punters as individuals. Just the mass of hate poured into me.
How do I grieve without having something real to focus on? It is so bloody hard.
This is why I am breaking now.