In Devon

I am having a break, thinking of moving from city life to small town life.

This is a massive change for me, but it will getting back the good side of my family, and stop some of my isolation.

I am a city girl in my heart, but have always done by cutting myself off a great deal.

Now, I am slowly changing.

I want and need to give and receive help with love.

I need to know I can belong inside my family.

I need to build up my emotional and physical welfare.

I cannot do everything by myself.

The sex trade pull out trust, asking for help, sense that you can be worthy of others loving you – and trashes all that in the bin.

Part of rediscovering our true humanity is learning that there is no need to do everything alone.

Prostitution made me, and so many of my exited friends terrified to ask for love or help.

Our fear comes from years of rejection, years of betrayal, years of building an existence where walls round our inner selves.

To learn to trust, to learn to be vulnerable, to learn we are lovable is confusing and scary.

The rules of basic existence were withhold from us, but our pride makes us not show we are all too lost.

How can learn to receive when you have been brought and sold.

How can understand trust when you survived by following rules that changed all the time.

How do understand the language of love when rape and mental violence was enclosed in those words.

Relearning how to be human is what it is to be exited from the sex trade.

I may learn by slowing down.

Watch Us Drown

There is a genocide of the prostituted going on around everyone everywhere.

It is a genocide that is made invisible and without sound.

It is a genocide where torture is made into s/m games or a chosen sexuality.

It is a genocide where money makes all our grief, pain and lack of human rights is made unimportant.

After all, in this genocide money means consent, and consents means forgetting access to safety and dignity.

You are a witness to this genocide.

You stand with detachment as we are drowning.

I hope with all my heart that this is a time of real change for all the prostituted.

I hope that we are entering a time where the multiple voices of exited folks is getting heard with genuine listening.

Do not think you are listening if your first reaction is to speak over or for exited folks.

Do not think you are listening if you always translate our realities to your known experiences.

Do not think you are listening if you always place domestic violence and rape as real violence to females, and vanish all violence in the sex trade.

Do not┬áthink you are listening if you say only poverty drives folks into the sex trade – excluding millions of the prostituted.

Do not think you are listening if you refuse to see the sex trade steal the soul of all vulnerable females, they will always make make the market then choose the stereotype of womanhood to feed that market.

Do not think you are listening if you do not see the only cause of the violence done to the prostituted is the choices of the punters and sex trade profiteers to make and consume the sex trade.

You are not listening as we drown, only smiling as you block up your ears.

But then we learnt over the centuries of genocide of the prostituted, that our screams, pleas and crying is made soundless.

Every time we are battered it is translated into kinky sex.

Every time we are raped is made nothing but an exchange of goods.

Every time we are murdered, our bodies and our names are made to disappear.

So we learn to go through life as a ghost – unseen, unheard and stripped of humanity.

This is the centre of what it is to be prostituted, and anyone who not fully backing abolition is part of the reason we are made to be ghosts.

 

Rainy Day Thought List

So it is Winter again.

So I should be working harder, but I slowed down.

Hibenating in my warm home, hibernating to run away from my own thoughts.

I have hard year.

A transforming year.

A year where I discover my past with emotions.

A year where I found I had a family who wanted and love me.

A year of confronting pain, knowing deep grief, allowing myself to be vulnerable.

A year of finding that everything can be made ok.

Now, I am mentally and physically exhausted.

I have too many body memories.

Memories that prostitution is never sex – it is rape, it is abuse, it is torture.

Know no man pays for a prostitute to be “normal” sex. He is paying to do to the prostituted what he never do to someone he consider to be a human.

There it is the place all the grief, fury and pain comes from – to be prostituted is to be made sub-human.

All crimes done to our minds and bodies are made non-existent – for no human was involved.

Our rapes disappear, our battered bodies disappear, our eyes staring out for help disappear, our murders disappear.

No punter is a criminal if there is no crime.

No matter how many prostituted he rapes, how many he strangled, how many he anally rapes, how he chooses to kill.

No sex trade profiteers can be a criminal, when all he is doing is providing legal goods.

Nothing is happening, so carry on turning away.

Only an unseen and unheard genocide is happening close to you.

In almost every country the prostituted are being tortured, serially raped and murdered – and it is made nothing.

I am exhausted of speaking out against this genocide, as I know my prostituted family are being thrown away as other issues are made more interesting.

I know it is boring to keep saying about this hate and violence against the prostituted. I know I repeat myself.

Do you see and know I repeat the murders, the rapes and the tortures coz they continue unabated.

In my skin, in my brain I feel the trapped prostituted now.

I will continue to say over and over and over and over their pain, their fear and their deep desire to be made human again.

I will allow the prostituted to just be made invisible, or re-created into the happy hooker or sex worker.

I fight for all the prostituted until no man is consuming or providing the sex trade.

I have writing this blog for almost 10 years now, but it just a beginning.

Nightmare

Being exited is wonderful, but all the time there are triggers.

Usually I can deal with them, but this week a punter has written to my blog, and set off so much fear and memory of being nothing in me.

Maybe it coz of the depression of Brexit and Trump being elected.

Maybe it is my sleep pattern being all over the place.

Whatever it is, this particular punter and his arrogance has really got inside me.

He is called in his email painal4whores, isn’t that a charming start.

He choose to write to an exited woman how he loves raping and causes pain to the prostituted – knowing the police will turn a blind eye to his violence.

He goes on to say how he prefer to take advantage of poor prostituted women, especially if they have been robbed or own rent.

This charmer is not original, he is just writing what the majority of punters think and do.

So why has this push all my buttons?

Maybe if I can be positive, it is because my blocked fear, grief and vulnerability is coming alive.

I am feeling what it is and was to be that prostitute who he is choosing to rape and torture.

I am feeling that inability to defend myself, that sense that I could be murdered, that being trapped with no sign of hope.

I am knowing his hate is not one punter, that is punter after punter after punter after punter after punters – punters so many that my brain cannot count them.

I am remembering the turning away of the police, the turning away of the medical profession, the turning of anyone who could of stop his violence and hate.

That is some of my being triggered, the surface part, the part I can find words for.

There is the deeper part, the silent screaming at my losses, screaming that body and mind know torture, screaming that I had to survive what has become almost wordless.

This silent scream makes me wait smash my head into a wall until all the filth and hate of punters is out of me.

This week I have been half joking that I regret failing in many suicide attempts when I was prostituted.

I don’t how I still alive when bastards like this punter were dragging my body and mind into hell.

Maybe my inner spirit was stubborn and sticking up two fingers to all punters – saying I show them I will not just live, but one day I will write who these scums really are.

So here I am with this blog.

 

The Time That Won’t be Remembered

To write to this blog, I must write to broke – no, smashed up memory.

To truly understand the true horror that is to be prostituted, we must stare with clear eyes into that well of despair.

To remember the realities of being prostituted is to fight wanting to block it all away.

To remember that time is to drown whilst hanging on tight to life.

No wonder to survive, memory is ripped apart.

Now is a time where I am secure and safe enough to piece together that jigsaw of remembering.

There can be no linear ways to remember – no clearness of time, place or even age that I was.

Memory of my prostituted times are inside every cell of my body.

Every day some pain remind me that my body was made into sexual goods.

Every day some pain reminds me that I lost my human rights to having choices, human rights to safety, human rights to dignity.

I have exited, I have re-built my life to be independent and striving towards freedom – but my body memories never forget.

I know I re-built my life in massive ways – but I never get back what the prostituted years stole from me.

Part of my mission in writing this blog – writing relentlessly, writing through trauma, writing when I rather pretend I know nothing about the realities of prostitution – part of my mission is my war to get full justice for those stolen years.

This is not justice for me as an individual, that cannot happen – no it is full justice for all the prostituted living or dead.

This is justice not for all women, but justice for the prostituted class.

We, as the prostituted class, cannot wait for justice as other women gain rights leaving us behind.

We are living inside a genocide, and we are meant to be patience and polite.

No, the prostituted should not wait in line for justice, but grab it with a warrior scream.

I am tired of writings, debates and words about violence of men to women and girls, being about all females except the prostituted.

I am bored of being “educated” that it cannot be real violence when done to the prostituted – so where’s the problem?

I am sickened how our safety and rights are throw away as it explain we choose to be prostituted, so just toughened up.

I write relentlessly, for I want separatism for the prostituted class – I want our multiple truths and voices to be heard, listen to, written out, scream out, made into the arts, be inside every words conflicting male violence.

I want our separate voices and truths to be underpinning the fight to understand why there is male violence, to be all words round control and power in all sexual relationships.

The prostituted class know deep truths about men, violence, sex, hate, consent, power and striving to being fully human – we are a resource and teachers.

So why are we so often tossed aside.

 

No Trigger Warnings

When I first started, I thought I should used trigger warnings -but for a long time, I have decided to stop that.

Trigger warning are good for fiction, trigger warnings are good when there is no danger to any living human.

Triggers are not to be used to hide truths, trigger warnings should not be used when human are dying, suffering or in great danger.

I do not place any trigger warnings on my work because it is the truths of an on-going genocide.

Would think it is ok to place trigger warnings on Syria, trigger warnings on domestic violence, trigger warnings on conditions in sweat shops.

But exited women are expected to molly-cuddle their readers or so-called supporters.

You cannot understand the reality of the sex trade if you run away from its violence and hate.

I will never stop writing to serial rapes, to all forms of tortures, to the conditions of trauma, to the cold and calculated violence of punters and sex trade profiteers.

I will never again place trigger warnings over those truths.

How can I when I live with the knowledge that the prostituted are dying, are living inside constant rapes, having their minds and bodies torture till they lose their route back to humanity.

Trigger warnings have become a way to hide these truths.

A reader may see a trigger warning and decide to not read it.

I believe that trigger warning are a subtle form of censorship, or worse make the writer self-censor just in case one reader may be hurt.

Whilst punters and sex trade profiteers make the concious choice to turn all the prostituted into sub-human sexual goods – I cannot place trigger warnings on my work.

If you saw babies drowning by the score – when you shout and scream for help, or would be silent just in case it upset someone.

Exited women cannot and will be silent as their prostituted Sisters are living in hell.

I will not use trigger warning so my readers can turn away from our suffering.

I do not consider my readers to be children – as adults I know my readers can make the choice to look after their own welfare, whilst allowing in some harsh truths.

This blog is not for everyone, I will always be clear-eyed when speaking to the conditions of prostitution and living with trauma.

I expect my readers to look after themselves, and not to expect me to mother them.

 

 

Stigma is Not the Issue

It is common for the sex trade lobby to spread the lie that the main issue with prostitution is the stigma is holds.

I think there should be a stigma.

A stigma that is on all men who make the conscious choice to be a punter.

A stigma that prostitution for punters is paying to rape, mentally abuse and torture the prostituted with no consequences.

A stigma that so many men and women make the conscious choice to profiteer from the sex trade.

A stigma that so many refuse to see the constant hate and violence that is inflicted onto the prostituted.

I just do believe that this so-called stigma should be placed on those who are prostituted.

Yes there is a stigma on the prostituted – but it never the cause of all the extreme violence placed into the bodies and minds of the prostituted.

That is always caused by the punters, encouraged by sex trade profiteers, and made invisible by those who support the sex trade lobby.

The major issue for all the prostituted is somehow surviving that hate and violence, and with luck holding onto your sanity.

That there may be a stigma of the Whore is secondary to staying alive, and fighting for human dignity.

Each punter who makes the choice to buy a prostitute, is making the choice to strip her of her human rights and dignity.

Every man or woman who make the choice to profiteer from creating humans into sexual goods is a criminal.

This is not an issue of attitude or points of view – this is solid issue of the destruction of human rights, withdrawal of access to safety, being stripped of humanity.

That is not stigma, that is genocide, that is a hate crime.

See the scale. Of the violence, see the scale of the hatred – do not fall into the trap that it just an attitude issue.

The hate and violence done to the prostituted is part of the structure of most societies, it is as old as rape and as old as slavery.

Prostitution exists because we choose to never see the scale of the violence and hate done to all the prostituted.

Instead, for all the history of prostitution, we have chosen to seek the least violent aspects of prostitution – never letting in the simple truth, that all prostitution is violent, and all based on rape, torture and hate.

Instead, we invent concepts of stigma not on punters and sex trade profiteers, but only on the prostituted.

This invented stigma is used in all societies and times to say – see it always the fault of the ignorance round prostitution, or the fault of the individual prostitute there is some rare violence.

So violence done to the prostituted is made invisible – it become just the weakness of the individual prostitute or maybe some “underground” sex trade.

The punter who rapes, the punter who torture, the punters is never seen – he has done nothing to nothing.

This is how we make torture, murder and serial rapes of the prostituted the norm – so normal that we cannot know it can exist, and if seen made the fault of the prostituted.

It is not stigma that has piled up the bodies of the murdered prostituted.

It is not stigma that allows punters to rape on multiple occasions – usually raping with physical or mental torturing, being part of gang-rapes – with no consequences.

It is not stigma that give most exited prostituted women the gift of the a lifetime of extreme trauma.

No it is male violence and hate that does all that.