I am trying so hard to keep on keeping on – but hell it can so damned hard.
My Tribunal is on Thursday, and stress has really got to me.
I still can’t cry. But my eyes are in so much pain. I feel weak and sick.
I feel frustrated and angry because I feel trapped.
I cannot look for even voluntary work, because that means I am well enough to work – and lose any chance of getting Disability Allowance.
But I do not have the nature to do nothing.
If I say I write this blog, that proves I am capable of paid work.
But, then my stress levels go sky high and I may have a nervous breakdown.
That has happened three times in voluntary work and when I was at college.
I know I can do very difficult voluntary work, where there is often an understanding employer.
But I can’t do paid work whilst my PTSD is so dominant.
I am very scared that I am nearly breaking down.
To me the work I do here is real work.
Here I choose to see and confront how male violence and my mother’s neglect affected me. I see me for I know I am connected to many women who have had similar experiences.
It is work to see how prostitution affected me. It is work to see the full picture of the sex trade.
Seeing the reality of the sex trade is work, when it does re-open the buried trauma. It is work when I let in the shock, the fear, the pain and the grief.
It is work to let my mind and body remember the reality of seeing hard-core porn. To remember the unspoken grief that porn planted in my heart.
It is work to say clearly that my mother betrayed me so she could have her “perfect life”.
It is work to say each and every way my stepdad raped me.
It is work to explain the ways men chose to raped, mentally abused and tortured me during prostitution.
It is work to name the “friends” who date raped me.
It is work to say how hard it is being on the over side of so much violence. How hard it is to understand the “rules” of life without fear.
Hell, I am working so damned hard.
I am working to find myself.
I am working to see why I feel connected with other oppressed groups.
I am working to understand why I can understand other people who have been traumatised. Often in man-made disasters such as stadium disasters, wars, domestic violence or political torture.
I would know why I don’t turn away, but feel a deep ache of grief and pain for anyone who deep-seated trauma.
I wish I could weep.
In the end, I hope my work has a purpose.
I want to communicate the complications of surviving multiple forms of male violence. I hope that my writing send out more questions then answers.
I want to help build compassion to many prostituted women and girls, whether in the sex trade or exited. I hope to show they are not stereotypes, each has a confusing and personal back story.
I want that prostituted women and girls are not just objects that will be abused. That they are not there to be insulted by language that degrades them.
No, prostituted women and girls are real people.
They are than the narrow “job” that they may have no choice but to do.
They are full women. They have dreams and hopes. They feel pain and humiliation. They have grief hidden deep inside their souls. They can be loving mothers, good sisters and daughters that want to care.
Being a prostitute does mean you are sub-human.
So I am not paid, but I think I work bloody hard.