So it must be Spring now, now should be a time for hope. A time for rebirth.
Only, I feel sick with grief. Sick with anger. Sick with being sick.
It seems the more I know, the more the horror of the sex trade appears to be.
But as Spring is round the corner, I will speak of hope.
I have lived with hope all my life, for many years I pushed it away. But I never lost hope.
Or I should say hope never give up on me.
Hope was my fierce will to live whatever pain, confusion, terror and lack of a future was part of my existence.
Hope was my fight to believe that there more to live than sexual torture and degradation.
Hope made trust people even when I was betrayed left, right and centre.
Hope could be stupid as I imagined that men did not mean to be violent.
Hope made insane as I thought some john would rescue me from the shit I was living in.
Hope made me remember that I had people who could love me without wanting anything in exchange.
Hope made me read and read to keep my brain as my private space.
Hope made go to the cinema, wanting to be part of a world outside the sexual violence.
And hope made me run away from the sex trade and other forms of sexual violence.
Hope forced me to re-build my life.
Hope made me know I could only live if I throw all connections to my past, even some of the good things, and give a chance to live to the full.
Hope walk alongside me as trauma hit every cell in my body.
Hope does not run away from pain, grief and confusion.
Hope cheers on my fury.
Hope look into my past, look at it all straight in the eye, and is able to cry.
I am here because I never lost hope.
Even when losing hope would of been the best option.