I will try through and to my state of trauma.
I want to hide, I regret self-harming.
In the middle of trauma, suicide seems reasonable.
But my stubborn will means I carry on carrying on – but only with pain, with grief and with a fury.
I can not play nice inside this repetition of hell.
So in this post, I want to to speak to the many ways exited women are kept sub-human, and never allow truly back into society.
In this post, I will touch on what it means to survive internal trafficking.
And in this post, I speak to connecting with others who have known torture or being sub-human, and not limiting connections to simple Western views of politics.
Let me say, this will be written inside trauma, so I may go off track or even lose hope in how to express myself.
But I want to express from and with trauma, it is you as a reader who must slowly learn the the language and connections of the prostituted soul.
I usually write in a language that fits what I think is known of the prostituted, self-censoring the bleakness, the sick humour, the words that exited speak to each other in secret.
I self-censor my sense of abandonment from every side as an exited woman, and say thanks for the crumbs left over for us.
But why should exited women always play nice, as we see, hear and know that there so little being done to say we are fully human, worthy of of dignity and justice.
I speak her not to the sex work lobby – but to those who framed themselves as allies.
I speak to Abolitionists who view as pets who perform our “stories” of pain – but are close down if we speak to wanting justice, speak to our deep understanding of male power and violence, speak to ours lives outside the role of being exited.
You like us as victims, as warnings to other women, as brave witnesses – but you do not want us as full humans with dreams, hobbies, desires and a sexuality.
You want to stay in a state of trauma, so you dig into our pasts looking for proof of pain, looking for evidence that make you say prostitution is a bad thing.
You have no considerations that we don’t want to re-tell over and over, knowing each word that enters our past is another cut into our hearts.
You frame us as brave – but that is the language of being Othered.
We are not brave, we just are witnesses to events and horrors that we should of never known – and now we fight so it is eliminated from this earth.
I try to speak my memories of being internally trafficked.
I was groomed into indoors prostitution from when I was 14,
So young, but after too many years of sexual and mental abuse at home – so thinking I knew it all, so wanting to hard, so thinking nothing mattered.
I like many vulnerable girls who are trapped in the sex trade, thought I could never hurt any more than I already, I thought I was at the bottom of self-hate.
I had a tough naivety.
I had no idea that prostitution would put into pain, terror and hopelessness that made incest seemed like a rehearsal.
Internal trafficking is all about wearing vulnerable girls down until they forget what it is to be human, forget that anyone cares about them, forget that they can be young and know hope.
That is evil, and is done everywhere where prostitution is the norm.
Punters want young flesh, many punters like to fuck away innocence, fuck away childhood or teenage dreams.
Punters will pay for the the lie that his whore is flesh, is a virgin, that he possesses her even whilst knowing hundreds of other punters are and will consume her.
Internal trafficking is just the face of supplying this market.
To be that whore is suicide in slow motion.
To survive that is great – but it is not the end, survival and exiting after being internally trafficked is just the beginning of another hell.
I was in indoors prostitution in and out, from 14 till I was 27.
That is my adolescence and time of growth, time of finding what make a person, time that I should I made mistakes that I laugh at.
That time was lost to me, I never was safe or still enough to become human.
Instead in my growing years, I was an sex object that was turn off and on depending on the wills of punters.
My norm was a world of violence, a world where women and girls disappeared, a world where punters could do all harms that humans can invent with no consequences.
And now, as an exited woman, I am meant to just get over all that.
Well, I was tortured, serially raped, gang-raped, had sperm put all over my skin and hair, was orally and anally raped, was strangled, was drown, was beaten up, was close to death several times – and that just the tip of the ice-berg.
I don’t just get over that.
Would think a man torture in prison should just get over it.
Do you say to a friend who experience rape or domestic violence – just get over it.
But prostituted women are expected to not complain too much, or speak to what punters do to them.
W must not upset others, we must act nice – for as sub-human we are not allowed to feel pain, want justice or even say our experiences are an outrage.
This so hard to write, so I finish for a while.
Please response if you can.