Sometimes It So Damned Hard

Although I wrote earlier my mind will not shut up with shouting about my years of prostitution and having “date rapes”.

It shouts say what you can, and maybe then relax into TV.

It so hard coz I just want to think of nothing. I want to be blank again.

This week has been exhausting.

Every emotions I had suppressed has entered into me. I am drowning as I feel everything I don’t want to know.

I want to scream, but I don’t have that much energy.

When I choose not self-harm through prostitution, the floodgates opened.

Now, seven days later I need to write who I was then. To write is to forgive.

When I was 14, I thought I was an adult. I thought I could control my world.

I knew I was not a child. For I imagined children were innocent, and I had lost that so far back.

I disowned that I could be a child. For children were vulnerable. Children let themselves get damaged.

By the time I was 14, I had grown to hate children.

I hated that they were loved even when they were bad. I hated they were always so happy, even after being shouted at.

I could not let children in my heart.

As I was hurt over and over, my anger went to that I was still viewed as a child.

How could I be a child when every Friday my stepdad put his mouth and fingers into my cunt.

How can I be a child when I spend hours walking the streets.

No, I could not be child.

That is who I was before I entered prostitution.

I entered with the knowledge I would have to give out sex. But that was as far as my imagination went.

I did not know that I would be broken.

I thought I would ok, I thought I was tough enough to handle sex with strangers.

After all, I was not innocent. My stepdad had sex with me on a regular basis.

I was so naive.

Now, I cry from the bottom of my feet at my youth. I cry so hard at my true innocence.

When I was in the flat. When I was being gang-raped in silence and near-dark. When I knew men were staring down at. When I had no idea where the pain would come from. When I was thrown away.

Then I was broken.

Then I could no cry. I could not speak. I saw injuries and cuts, but could not see it was me.

Then was the true deadness. I was a robot.

And being a robot is safer than reality.

I see my life. I see now I was using bad sex as my way to self-harm.

But I never deserved what happened. However much I had been taught to hate myself, I never deserved to be tortured.

I cannot remember how many times I was gang-raped.

I remember the degradation as men would use my body to re-enact rapes in films, in pictures and in books.

I know porn infected every gang-rape I was put through. Gang-rapes are created by porn.

I will never believe that the majority of men that raped me did not use porn on a regular basis.

I felt the porn as they manipulated my body. I felt the porn as they fucked me everywhere they could imagine.

I felt I was drowning in porn.

All they did was to degrade me to the maximum, whether it was gang-rapes or single rapists.

Why else would they put sperm into my eyes. Why rub sperm into all my skin, why rub it in my hair.

Why do brutal anal sex. Why have men ramming my throat, my anus, my vagina at the same time.

Why strangle me. Why put pillows on my head. 

Why say “you know you want this”.

Why beat me up. Why throw me out the flat when they have finish.

That is nothing to do with sex. There is no respect there, there is no interest in my welfare.

No, I enter prostitution at 14, and learnt very fast I was a non-human.

Then the small part of me that cling to being a child died.

Now, I want her back.

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6 responses to “Sometimes It So Damned Hard

  1. The men who did those things to you were monsters, Rebecca, I can’t think of any other word for them.

    It sounds like you are regaining all that they stole from you, slowly and surely. I’m sorry that healing requires even more pain after all you’ve been through.

    Love to you.

    xxxxx

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  2. What they did to you Rebecca is so horrible and from reading your blog I see that healing is a day to day process– a struggle I can’t even BEGIN to imagine. You’re a really good person, an amazing person, and you are in my thoughts. Please be gentle with yourself day to day and keep posting. *genuine hugs, compassion, and comfort to you*

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  3. Dearest Rebecca,

    As I read this piece I felt the wrenching of intestines, the explosion in the brain and the complete loss of being able to be more than a boneless mass. The burning of shame, the screaming rage and a sorrow so tender it could only be a child’s were what I experienced as I read this piece of yours. Please believe and feel my hand reaching toward yours. We are not alone. Please, please keep fighting for your Self.
    Gertrude

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  4. yes, I agree with all of the above. You were a child, and you WERE innocent. You just didn’t feel that way because of what your stepfather did. And when we’re children we think it’s our own fault if people don’t love us or look after us, we think it’s because we’re bad. It’s inconievable in a child’s mind that an adult can be wrong, even though at the same time you can know that in your gut. I even think it’s some kind of warped innocence that lead people into the sex trade because nobody who knew anything would walk through that door. Rebecca, keep believing in yourself! love to you always, Jo xx

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  5. Pingback: Fifth Carnival Against Pornography and Prostitution « Carnival Against Pornography and Prostitution

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