Writing from a Place of Pain


I am seeing my life as a prostituted woman and girl, I am seeing with feeling it.

Now I can exactly who I was then. Now, I can feel how I treated.

It is a place of pain. A place that is hard to write about.

It makes me want to cry. It brings despair into my heart.

It makes me want to scream. Scream until all the sickness is out of my body.

It is a place of rage. A rage that terrified me, it sends back to silence.


Pain hits my heart as I see how was trained to be a prostitute.

My abuse from my stepdad transforms me from a child who able to be free. Free to laugh. Free to explore. Free to trust.

All that was destroyed.

I lost how to be a child as I learnt to accept pain.

I learnt to know I was a sex object. I learnt this as I felt his eyes watching me everywhere. Always targeting on my bum.

I learnt not to show if he hurt me.

Not to show pain as he finger-fucked me so I bleed onto the bed. Not to show pain as his penis went to the back of my throat. Not to show pain as he claimed –

“It only hurts coz you moved”.

I shown nothing just made myself a blank space.

I knew that looking at hard-core porn was a training to how I was expected to perform.

Perform as a dead piece of meat.

I was trained up for prostitution.

My inner scream is outrage at the calculation as stepdad had. He made become silent, obedient, ignore my own pain and a perfect sex slave.

Hell, I was that. But, I also had an inner rage that was not safe enough to come out.


I wish to write quite graphically about some of my experiences in prostitution. I feel this is needed to to chase out some stubborn ghosts.

I need to confront that time.

After all I survive it so it cannot be that scary – can it.

I can say I was gang-rape. That is easy to say, no feelings there, I am detached.

But I want more. I want to remember the reality.

The time when I was so dead inside, I had to believe it must all just be a film.

I try to act the part of the “whore”, but the rapes were too many meant I forgot the role.

Being gang-rape as a prostitute is so cold. The men rape you with efficiency.

I remember how I raped one after the other. I was raped in all holes at once.

I was expected to smile.

It was a time where my body was so full of pain, it could not compute it – so my body vanished.

God – I weep that my body became a rubbish dump for those men.

The worse thing of prostitution is there no time or space to know you have been raped.

How can you acknowledge rape when another man is handing over cash.

There no place for grief. No place to feel the injuries in the body. No place to think in peace.

Rape can only be recognise when the mind has the safety and peace to face the pain and grief.

That would of been a luxury when I prostituted.

But I was raped. I was raped for years. I was raped by scores of men.

I was raped till I had no feelings. I was raped until I did not know who I was. I was raped until my body disappeared.

How do I live with knowing every part of me that could raped was.

I could from top of my head to my big toe, nothing was left alone.

I had sperm rubbed into my hair. I had sperm ejaculated into my eyes.

I hate that. I hate the degradation. I still know the shock of the pain as I thought I blinded.

As for the mouth, men decided I “enjoyed” deep-throating.

Enjoyed feeing I was drowning. Enjoyed the pain as the penises hit vulnerable part of my my throat. Enjoyed having to shallow when I wanted to be sick.

I had penises shoved into my ears.

My hands did hand-job on automatic, as I felt nothing except sometimes a buried contempt. Sometimes men wanted my hand to sooth them, make feel they were loved.

They were not. But I was an actress.

Many men would rub my skin all my stomach, back and down my legs. This was not affection or foreplay.

It was possession.

I was expected to lay completely still. Then I was real-life porn for men to do as they wished.

It was very scary when men were “gentle” for I never know when the sadism would start again.

As for my cunt it was battered, raped and ripped at.

My cunt was stolen from me when I was a prostitute. I could owe a place that was a battleground.

For me, I was tortured there so much that “ordinary” rape became almost a relief.

I don’t how often I was penetrated. I know I had an abortion and some morning-after pills. That is all my mind could do was to think of the practical.

I know that I often bleed after men push in their penises so hard and deep. I felt they were hitting my heart.

Men would eat my cunt. Their teeth would tear at me. Often as their hands were forced up me.

I would be slapped if I fainted.

I was anally raped so much. It was always rape.

I still cannot cope with the degradation and pain of anal rape.

I find hard sitting as I know that reality.

Anal rape for me was torture in it purest form.

It was always with my head in a pillow, or forced against a wall. There no warning, no lubrication and no hope.

It was forced into my anus hard and fast.

I could not scream. I could not breathe.

Often I fainted or had small heart attacks.

God I hate those men so much.

They brought me, then rip away everything that made me a human.

I was trash to them. I was used then thrown away

My rage can never fade about that type of man.


Having survived prostitution, I am now trying to find way to part of world without control and violence.

It can be a place where I feel lost. I expect to be manipulated, but I am meet with respect and kindness.

This takes some getting used to.

But it is appreciated from the bottom of my heart.

As I learn that I can feel, pain enters my body and mind.

All the tortures and rapes are now presence.

They are known.

As I let in pain,  I can build a future.

With pain, grief is given permission to enter me.

I grieve that all those events are stored in me. My body grieves for it is safe now.

As I show my truths, it is very painful. But I can speak now, I can reach towards others.

I am not alone.

I hear and know there are many women who understand the reality of that pain.


I would really like if people could leave comments. For sometimes I think I am writing to a void.


13 responses to “Writing from a Place of Pain

  1. I am so sorry that you were tortured in this way. I am so so sorry. I am also sorry that I don’t comment as much as I would like to- I always intend to, but sometimes I just don’t know what what to say. From now on I will make sure to comment though, even when I have few words, so you know that you are not writing into a void. All my words feel inadequate as a response to your pain and your courage. I’m sure you come up against a lot of wordless people when you tell them about your life.

    Your words and your experiences reach me deeply, and give a shock in my heart, even though I know what men such as these are capable of. And everytime I read you I become more determined to face this ‘industry’, this torture and degradation head on.

    I understand the numbness, and the pain and the grief that comes after the fact of abuse. And of course rage, I share your rage.

    I hope that we can provide that world of understanding and kindness that you mentioned.

    love and hugs x


  2. Laurelin – Thanks so much for your moving and thoughtful comment.
    I think that my words do make people unable to reply for my truth is so hard to read about.
    But when I get comments, I find them often very moving and informative.
    Also, it really does help me feel that I doing something worthwhile, specially when I know other Survivors have some connection with my words.
    Thank-you for saying my words help you be more determined to confront the sex trade. It makes me proud to feel I part of a larger movement.
    It is very hard surviving multiple abuse, esoecially the prostitution. It has left very numb, and then overwhelmed by emotions.


  3. I agree with Laurelin.
    I think it’s important for feminists, particularly those who are writing about prostitution, to listen to you. I think that a lot of them want to look away, but it should be the duty of feminists never to look away from women who are suffering, even if they are not the “right” type of women, even if they (the feminists) become uncomfortable or scared.
    Every day, I marvel at your honesty – that you are willing to share such personal and painful experiences, the beauty of your writing, and your goodness and compassion. Even after suffering what would crush many people to smithereens, I am amazed and moved by the love and sympathy that you have for other women and on a personal level, by the friendship that you have extended to women in the online radical feminist community.
    We are definitely a better place with your voice among us.


  4. Please don’t let a lack of comments make you believe that no one is listening or caring or that your words aren’t making a difference in how people view prostitution or the recovery from prostitution.

    Some of the people who need your words the most may not be at a place where they feel ready to leave a comment. You may be helping them know that they aren’t alone in what they experienced.


  5. Rebecca, please don’t feel alone! Sometimes I find I can’t read it because it stirs up stuff in me, but when I feel stronger I do read it and it does help because it’s human and real, and it makes me feel less alone in my own struggles! But we all do need to know that there are people out there who care and understand – you too. I think of you often, even if you don’t know it x


  6. Thanks everyone. It has really help to say what I said in my post.

    Littoral Mermaid – Thanks for lovely compliments. I do feel that I wish to support others with their personal journies, to me friendship is vital for survival.
    I try to be as brutally honest as I can when I write who I was when I was living inside abuse. I consider myself to be a witness writer, which to me means I look at my past as it was not as I wished it had been.
    I really hope my words do help feminists to see the realities of prostitution. I know it is hard to read. But all torture is hard to know, but turning away just gives the men permisson to continue.

    Abyss2Hope – Thanks for your moving comment. I think you right to say that some may read my words and not be in the right place to reply. I hope I give out some hope.
    I think surviving such extreme and long-term violence does makes me feel very lonely, especially when I have body memories and underlying depression.
    I just need to touch base sometimes, and hear and see I am not alone. I know with my logical side of me I am not alone, but when scared I forget.

    Jo – You are in my thoughts a lot. I really hope you don’t feel pressure to comment, for I know my words do stir up your own memories. I am very proud to be standing by your side, and offering my friendship to you. I deeply believe you a very strong and courageous woman.


  7. I’m here too, Rebecca. Even though I don’t always comment. Many times I just don’t know what to say that I haven’t said already.

    I hate these men too. And I am so glad you are alive. But they had no right, no right to treat you like this. How dare they? Your writing is filled with so much sorrow and pain. You are left with the trauma and the scars and they walk away unharmed. There is no justice in this.


  8. Thanks Maggie and Allecto.

    Allecto – One of hardest thing of surviving multiple male violence, is that the majority of the abusers are faceless and nameless. This is because to survive the constant violence the mind closes down. This means I could see the men. So how do you report men who abuse when you can’t see them.
    There is no justice whilst the majority feels they have nothing wrong, and it their right to treat prostituted women and girls assex slaves.


  9. It’s taken me a long time to comment to this, Rebecca. I still can’t read this fully, I read a sentence and skim through because it hurts to fully absorb it. But I am here, and I am listening, and you have a whole community of us who are holding our arms out for you. Please don’t forget that.


  10. Anji – I know that this post is very hard to read. But to show the realities of prostitution is very disturbing.
    I feel that I can no longer self-censor the hate and contempt that put into my body. I do care a lot about my readers, and I know that my words will and do trigger.
    But when confronting male violence of any form is important to know what is done and the impact it has on the women and girls it done to.
    I think many men that choose to abused prostituted women and girls often do extreme violence, thinking it was never spoken about. That silence must be broken.


  11. It should definitely be spoken and I am eternally grateful that you have the courage to speak it. I continue to read though I find it difficult, because you put effort into it and so I should make the effort to overcome my triggers to hear your message.


  12. Rebecca,
    Though it is difficult to read your writings I agree that it is really important. I’m thinking that most of us that read your writing agree. The idea that people who prostitute are not abused, raped, beaten, terrorized and tortured is so insiduous (spelling?) in our culture and around the world and I wish that more people would speak against it. Thank you for not censoring yourself.


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