My Body is Departed

This post is about my detachment from my body, and also about how body memories burst down that detachment.

I am using my experiment not for pity – but as a tiny example of the trauma that exited women have everyday.

To survive prostitution, detachment from pain and emotions is vital – but when exited it can a block on rebuilding our lives.

It can make understanding friendship, how to be loved and love others almost impossible.

It can make understanding human interaction very hard to fathom.

Detachment is a slow killer.

Now I am swimming back to life.

As I struggle to map my way back to my true Self, I get horrific body pain replaying the pain my prostituted Self had to block out.

It makes my work very hard, so I have been forced to slow down for my mengal and physical welfare.

I hope this help my work go deeper and be seeing abolition/trauma from a individual angle.

Trauma is hell, trauma is relentless, trauma is very boring.

But trauma makes me see the past with a clear eye, see my prostituted Self with empathy and love.

In a strange way, trauma is a teacher and a gift.

I found trauma help me discover that I could have compassion, could hold in my heart the silenced and isolated exited women who reach out to me.

I found trauma allow me to feel my past without clashing back into drink, picking up violent men, refusing to sleep or cutting – but to feel that past with grief, anger and sympathy for my lost Self.

Trauma hurts every cell of my body – but the pain is worth it, when it is part of dragging me back to a life without rape, without torture and where fear of death is not my constant thought.

I hope many of you have no experience of severe complex trauma, I would not even wish on punters and sex trade profiteers.

But I know many of my readers know this hell.

Please know I hold you all deep in my heart, and truly believe you are some the strongest and most compassionate people I have had the honour to know.

Exited women are all true warriors.

They live with trauma following them everyday, but they are determined not just to go forward but to speak out and hold out for the human rights of all the prostituted still trapped inside the sex trade.

They are able to go forward holding a deep grief, not just for their individual experiences – but the grief of knowing the pain and confusion of the prostituted known and unknown, the prostituted and their pain from this moment to all the centuries men has made the choice to create a Prostituted Class in all continents.

This warrior spirit allows exited women to allow themselves to be vulnerable.

Being vulnerable is highly dangerous for the prostituted – this is a major factor to having to detach your body from your mind.

Being vulnerable is used to make profit for sex trade profiteers, being vulnerable is a turn-on to punters especially the sadist majority.

Vulnerability can and does kill the prostituted everyday.

So when exited can be safe enough to be vulnerable it is a wonderful route back into a full life.

Vulnerability is terrifying for exited women – for it will and can trigger us back into the space where we had no access to safety, no access to having a voice, where we were stripped of any humanity.

But to be vulnerable is be truly alive.

It is an inner strength of the true warrior.

I praise all exited women, including my Self.




Been on Hiatus,

I have been away, maybe coz of trauma, maybe coz of apathy, or maybe just because.

I will call it a well-earned vacation or hiatus.

Now I think I am back, changed but back.

I have learnt to have more balance in my life, and spend less mental energy thinking about abolition.

I was drowning in the endless trauma of this campaign, so spending more time with my leisure stuff.

But this blog will only be about abolition and the effects it has on my trauma.

Today I will about a few things that have bothering me during my vacation.

I am angered and not surprised by how male politics is throwing away the prostituted, with the media being their masculine lapdog.

This was shown by the Labour Party, Green Party and the Liberals – and by the reaction to the Keith Vaz affair.

As an abolitionist and exited woman, I have no-one to vote for who would solidly back the human rights of all the prostituted.

Instead, most of our representatives are either apathic or following the propaganda of the sex work lobby.

Yes, there are some brave individual MPs and Lords who are Abolitionists, but they are not backed by their leaders.

This mean real change is a constant battle, as the backbone of laws to grant human rights and full protection for all the prostituted is denied.

Without the backing of law, the sex trade can continue to destroy the mental, physical and sexual welfare of the prostituted with no serious interference.

MPs are content to keep the status quo – that is an environment that allows rape on demand, where all forms of torture are allowed and made invisible, where the majority of the prostituted live with death as their norm, or the lucky few that exit extreme trauma.

We have built a society where all crimes done by punters and sex trade profiteers are condoned mostly by pretending it not happening – or if seen not harming real females.

I cannot bear or hold without my heart breaking, this simple truth – we do see the many harms done to the prostituted, coz we refuse to know that the prostituted are human.

How else would the constant tortures, rapes, destruction of the humanity of the prostituted and murders been made so unimportant?

Why else would punters know they can pay to rape, pay to make the prostituted in sex toys to torture, pay to pour porn fantasy into a live woman without consequences?

What else allow the sex trade to market all vulnerable women as sexual goods – be the vulnerability from poverty, from previous sexual abuse, from fear of isolation, from racial stereotyping, from breaking down of her humanity?

We make the laws that say the prostituted are not human enough to deserve or need basic human rights to safety, their own freedom and dignity.

I live in a country that has made my existence as a prostituted woman invisible.

As a prostituted woman, my reality and the realities of all my prostituted sisters is non-existed for we are not considered to be full humans.

Until we have laws that place the punters and sex trade as serial criminals.

Until we have have laws that decriminalise all the prostituted and provide the holistic exiting programmes.

Until then the prostituted will are be sub-human.

This is unacceptable.











Not Been Dead

I had no connection to internet for two months, so was unable to do my work.

Was I missed? Or did anyone noticed I had disappeared.

Is my blog worth anything?

I do wonder this for I feel empty and see abolition still so far away.

I would cry, I would scream, I would reasoned- if I thought that would free and grant dignity to all the prostituted.

Only all my fight and endless protesting seemed to land on a dried up river.

My absence has made it clear to me how the multiple voices of exited women are forcibly silenced.

How are witnessing is erase by ridicule, by refusal to even think that the prostituted can get human rights.

Our silencely is a constant reminder that we can never be considered fully human.

To be human is to form words that fit your reality.

The prostituted and exited women have no access to words that fully embrace what it being prostituted really means.

Our realities are placed firmly in the language of those outside what it is to be sold for rape and torture.

It is placed in the language of men who would be our rapists, our torturers, and our destroyers.

It is placed into the language of rescuers who only see the victim, the mute female who should be grateful to be saved.

It placed into the language of glamour and wishful thinking used by the arts and so much of the liberal media.

Our realities are stolen everyday – used to shock, used to say where the harm, used to justify male violence, used to keep the prostituted apart from decent women.

How can we be fully human if we have no language?

We cannot be human, when we have no access to life and safety.

To be prostituted is to live with the reality of early death as your norm.

Those of us who had the luck to live beyond 27 are the minority – and most of have survived several near death experiences.

Our reality is that all forms of male violence is our norm, including torturing that steal  our ways to speak out.

We live with the knowledge that all that violence is made invisible, as our the men who destroy us walk away unscathed.

We are deny access to justice, to sympathy, to a short pause without male violence – then you are surprised and angered that we become hard, detached and uncaring.

We are not allowed to grieve, we cannot speak to the agony we endure, we are not give the simple right to complain.

Instead you make us into the Happy Hooker, the half-dead victim, the stripper who making her way through college- and our endless stereotypes that steal our access to words.

I have been away, so writing is hard.

I open this is ok.


Political Maybe

This post like the title comes from a place of being unsure who I am really, and what I may. 

I have a podcast that is Mod music – 60’s soul and garage, ska, proper r’n’b etc – that is me at leisure, listening to scassy music.

But to be serious, if I can without crying, I still don’ know what or who I am.

I try to be political, but only skim the surface.

I try to go deep into the realities of being inside indoors prostitution, but my mental blocks stop me.

I try to see with a clear eye, only to come across as detached and cold.

I want to be witness to indoors prostitution as my body and mind had known it, only it so bloody hard to bear that pain and grief.

But my contribution to the abolitionist movement, it my ability to write and speak my truths as poet.

That is my politics.

My politics are not left or right, not part of any movement that wants to own my reality – my politics is one of the ancient search for speaking truth to power.

My politics cannot be own by feminism, by religion, by Marxists, by liberals, by the sex work lobby – it is formed in the hell of torture and being sub-human, so my  fight for justice and freedom must be part of the world-wide movement of exited women creating their own politics.

My politics is learnt from the hidden voices of exited women that on occasions break through.

Break through the written history of prostitution written for and by punters and sex trade profiteers.

Break through visual imagery formed to please the consumers and profiteers of the sex trade.

Break through the general agreement that prostitution can be harm-free and fun.

My politics is grounded by knowing for as long as men have chosen to buy and sell the prostituted, there has a rebellious and angry voices of the prostituted that have been silenced.

I build my politics on the knowledge that there has never been a golden age for the prostituted, and there never been a utopia whilst there is the prostituted class.

This is because prostitution is always and always has been torture for the prostituted.

Torture is the norm in all forms of prostitution, and this torture is made invisible in all times and in the majority of cultures.

In reality, torture is rehearsed on the bodies and minds of the prostituted, and then may be spread in other oppressed groups.

So my politics is to give some voice to being inside torture, my politics is one of demanding human rights, my politics is the ancient scream of the prostituted class.

I do considered myself to be a separatist for I place the human rights and search for liberation for the prostituted as my cause and mission.

That is not to say I do not care or fight for other causes – I have always fought against all male violence to women and children, I have always been against political torturing in all its forms, I have always fought racism especially when it is embedded in institutions.

But my political focus is on freedom for the prostituted class, especially to speak to why and how it must be separated out and be see as major human rights issues.

I see daily how the prostituted and their search for freedom is placed as a low priority or made to fit in with other causes until our realities become invisible.

I have had enough of towing the line, and pretending our pain and grief can wait till others have freedom and justice.

I am sick of being made sub- human again, by so-called allies making the prostituted class wait for justice.

We have waited for over 3000 years, we have waited in all continents and most cultures – waited by placing others before our pain, waited with compassion that imagine we are remembered in the fight for freedom.

My politics comes fro a place of fury and grief, that the reality is more than often the prostituted are forgotten and thrown away in all revolutions or changes in political leadership.

The prostituted class must not wait for others to include them fully – no, we must grab leadership roles and we must spread our voices into all freedom movements.

We have been too willing to defer, we must raise up and say we are the experts in the realities of the sex trade, we are the experts at knowing the minds of punters.

We must raise up and say we cannot wait whilst women and girls in prostitution are being serially raped, tortured and murdered.

How many damaged and dead bodies of the prostituted is enough to to make our struggle a priority?

My politics scream – 

If not now, when will the prostituted be considered human enough to have human rights and Liberty.


I have been struck and very sad.

My work is so hard, and I feel it endless.

I am angry, I am tired, I am feeling vulnerable, but more important I am fighter.

I am English, and my country is a scary place to speak about the realities of prostition – I am sure there is hardly any country where that fear is not known.

My anger is that even within the abolition movement, there is rarely space for exited women to speak to their realities – tell the realities of their prostitution, speak to why it not the same as other forms of violence to women, speak to who punters are.

How to make real change, if we are never allow to truly see and know what we we dealing with.

I want exited women to know it is ok to speak beyond the surface that fit our public voices.

I would love exited women who are writers, artists, film-makers, crafts women, and other ways of expressing their truths to go deeper.

We should not pretty up our pasts – but speak in the voices of being in that moment when a punter makes the choice to make you sub-human.

We should not always give our audiences neat and happy endings – but speak of the realities of trauma, speak to the lack of true justice, speak to knowing the reality of male entitlement and greed.

We should not make our realities into linear tales – when we may have fragmented and broken memories.

To speak to our truths, is to release emotions that we may want to be hidden.

We need to express anger – more it should become a white fury that strips bare the cold heart of the sex trade and it’s consumers. 

Always we tone down that anger, hoping we not be rejected or labelled as mentally ill.

But anger is a truth-seeker, anger is a way to liberation.

Anger is power.

We should express our fury at who punters really are.

Say that they consciously chose to make the prostituted sub-human, by serially raping us, by making us into living porn to torture, by murdering us knowing it is of no matter.

Say they are very ordinary men – usually in a stable relationship, often outwardly a decent bloke – who choose to tortur e and rape the prostituted.

I hate all punters, for they all could of made the choice never to buy another human for their sexual greed and desire to control.

But we are meant to tone that anger.

Not be angry that hundreds of punters made the choice to make my body have no safe space.

Not be angry that so many punters used me that I can never remember how many, never see individual faces or even remember where or when my hell was happening.

Not be angry these punters can just live a normal with no consequences or punishment.

Fuck that -I not angry, I am seething, I am furious – I will blow up if no allows the truths of being a tortured prostituted woman to be heard.

I would love other exited women who want to explore ways of getting our deeper truths to contact me, and maybe we  can ignite a revolution.

Speaking with My Spirits

I will try to write to survivor tactics. In this post, I will write as my inner spirits.

My spirits are not religious, but aspects of my personality that carry my past, my pain, my grief and hold my terror.

I am an athiest, but know there is aspects of us that is unspoken, is hidden from memory – that I name as spirits.

It is not supernatural, not religious, not an outside force – it is part of being human, and vital for survival and to hold memory.

I have chosen to divide my aspects of personality into nine spirits, and in this post, I will write in their voices. Remember there is no real division, just different ways of holding my past.


I remember through my dragon-spirit as I reach into my deep grief.

A dragon knows loneliness, a dragon has been ripped from its history and culture.

All the prostituted their past stolen, their access to friends/family and a loved culture ripped from them – all the prostituted live inside deep grief.

My dragon-spirit holds this pit of grief, and in silence crys, weeps and on occasions howls.

Always knowing, no-one want to know that grief, my dragon-spirit hides in a cave away from public gaze.

The grief of the prostituted is silent and kept hidden, afraid of the empty space it leaves.

The silent grief is huge – it the grief of never receiving full justice, it is the the grief of being made so sub-human that you become invisible, the grief of having outward injuries and wounds but being told you enjoy being a whore.

My dragon-spirit hold my grief without judgement, only weeps for that past.


I have a baby-spirit, a sense that I had a time of innocence, a time of wonder, a time of safety.

I am scared to know my baby-spirit, for I am scared to see how vulnerable I was, how much I longed to be loved, how naive I could be.

My baby-spirit wants fun, wants to be loved, wants to love others – and wants a mother.

But there always a hole in my baby-spirit, there is and was no mother-love.

My baby-spirit is not held by her mother, she is ignored by the mother when she is hurt or crying.

The mother has stopped speaking to my baby-spirit, turns out all lights even when knowing the baby-spirit hate the dark.

The mother slowly teaches the baby-spirit to hate herself, to know she must be bad, that it is of no matter if the baby-spirit is in pain.

The baby-spirit learns to smile through pain, learns to stop crying for help or love, learns to be a doll instead of a human.


My snake-spirit is the holder of wisdom.

The snake-spirit knows to change and disguise its purpose in order to survive a world out to destroy it.

The snake-spirit will be ruthless when needed, will be invisible when needed, will be still when needed.

I know my snake-spirit was vital to my surviving the violence of punters – for my snake-spirit held my memory, my pain and my fight till I was in a safe place to know those emotions.

As I became detached from the reality of be raped, tortured and the edge of death – the snake-spirit was storing it all for a time where I see my past without self-hate or blame.


My teenager-spirit is hard to know, but I have learnt to love her and to see she was blameless.

My teenager-spirit is full of unexpressed rage, full of suicidal feelings, she believes any light at the end of a tunnel is an oncoming train.

My teenager-spirit is lost in a world where she can trust no-one, where to being tortured/raped/murdered are her surroundings and norms.

My teenager-spirit acts tough when she is terrified, paints on a smile as punters pour their hate into her body.

My teenager-spirit would be labelled the Happy Hooker by those who refuse to see or listen.

I can now grieve for how lost I was as a teenager.

I can now grieve all the injuries, hate and death-threats force in my teenager-spirit.

I can now love, forgive and hold tight my teenager-spirit.


My little girl-spirit is when I knew I was losing hope or that I could loved.

I find it hard knowing this part of myself – knowing I was a child without safety, a child with no love to hold her, a child who became feral.

I am finding to hard to write to that part of me, as I am blinded by tears.


To understand my little girl-spirit it is important to meet the mermaid-spirit who is her secret friend.

As the abuse became my norm, I fall into books to find escape. 

I read “Water Babies”, and thought I had found a way out.

I wanted to die, and vanished into the world underwater. 

A world without adults, a world without pain, a world where children had justice.

I imagined that world as I became a sex-doll for my stepdad, I imagined that world as my mother reminded me how much she hated me.

I survived by vanishing into a world where nothing matters, only endless playing.

In this world, I became a mermaid-spirit – the child who wants to not know their reality, a child who has fun as inside she imaging how to kill herself.

It was part of surviving to be detached.


My eagle-spirit is one of forensic memory and desire for full justice.

My eagle-spirit sees with a clear one who is to be blamed for all the pain, hate and terror poured into me – see it is punters who did all the torturing of my body and mind.

Like an eagle can see it’s prey, however smal or hidden, from great distance – I see the male hate and greed that is the foundation stones of all the violence done to the prostituted.

It is a cold eye, a sight that see only the guilty and discards all red herrings.

My eagle-spirit is ruthless, is freedom loving, is cruel for a purpose – but mostly it far- and clear-seeing.


My tiger-spirit is a cub seeking it’s mother, but in the meantime it has a sense of play and desire to protect even when the abusers are too strong.

My tiger-spirit is my sense of  being an orphan, even those I had a mother. 

I could understand why I felt so isolated and that maybe I was a changing.

My tiger-spirit held in that sense of unbelonging, keep it in silence – occasionally coming as I drawn or read ghost or fairy tales.

My tiger- spirit was the part of me that always wanted protection or to fight back – but only found abusers too strong or they would just laugh at me.

I had to learn the hard way I could never stop the male violence – I had to learn to survive by giving in.

To show self-pride, or any signs of being human when prostituted is too dangerous – especially when most punters are turn on by our fear or pain.


To end, my horse-spirit is one of my sense of independence, freedom and never to be told how be labelled.

My horse-spirit will never allow itself to be trapped, order around or made into sexual goods again.

My horse-spirit is my fight for liberation from everything that the sex trade did to me.

I will never be tied down.