I Know You Hold Me

I do not know how to say how much I feel that many women that read this blog have held me in the last few months.

I am used to being alone, to living a life without a community.

I am used to living with pain as a constant companion. A companion that is numbed out.

I am used to knowing most of my life cannot be spoken about, or place into a language where it becomes lessened or made invisible.

I used to get on getting on, without knowing what is the point of my existence.

Damned it, I used to living a life that is just an existence. Living for the day I will die.

I started this blog, not thinking it would add up to much. Another of my projects to eat away time. But somewhere, somehow the blog became my authentic voice.

The voice that had stay in silence as my body and mind had to lived inside male violence.

The voice that observes in it’s detachment, knowing one day it would all it know. That would be true revenge.

The voice that know how to express what it is to be nothing. What it is to be so used to sexual, physical and mental torture that there is no point in caring.

The voice that knows no-one was born wanting to be treated as a sex slave.

The voice that sees the men. Sees that want to own, possess the prostituted woman or girl. Sees they could not care less about her pain, her thoughts, whether she has a past or a future, if she could feel degraded or not.

The voice sees the men, sees how they shift the blame. Creating language to make them feel ok about being rapists.

The voice knows that language. The words that say prostituted women and girls make free choice to have their lifestyle. That these women and girls manipulate the men. That the prostituted woman or girl has a higher sex drive. That these women and girls want to do stuff other women would not do.

The voice knows this language, it been in her life as long as she can remember. The voices know it as lies and excuses.

So the voice speaks in the language of human rights, language of women and girls being tortured, being thrown away as thrash. 

The voice speaks the words of grief, the words of pain and the voice sends out words of rage.

Now, I speak I find there is a community that wants to hear my authentic voice.

This is shocking to me, I am stunned.

Thanks for holding as I work so hard to get myself back.

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One response to “I Know You Hold Me

  1. I wish I could give you a hug.
    Thank you so much for speaking out. I’ve always found the romanticized versions of prostitution hollow. Like someone fooling themselves. No one wants to be an object.

    Like

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