I want to write a very difficult area for me, to write how the brain protects by closing out what happened to me causing trauma.
I never remember my life in a clear manner, but I have what I named as a knowing. That is when I know it is inside my body as sickness, as restlessness, as a shadow that will not leave me alone.
I have no proof of so much of my life, but I know my own hell.
I survived by not acknowledging my own abuse, my own torture.
But I just did what is natural. Humans have always lived with torture, they have always survive by refusing to know what is happening.
Women and girls have always been raped, been sexually tortured, been battered, and been murdered for being the wrong gender. Women and girls have always been brainwashed to believe that it must their fault, even that they really enjoy all this violence.
Prostituted women and girls have always been used for men to place all their hate, contempt and anger at all females.
Hell, being prostituted means learning to accept the unacceptable.
Accept the pouring of violent porn fantasies being fucked into living bodies. Accept that you are not a person, but a fuck object for any men with cash. Accept that you could die, get STDs or have long-term mental health issues.
But you are also told it is just a job, that you should be enjoying it.
No wonder the vast majority of prostituted women and girls blocked out the reality of their existence.
But, people who are determined to undermine that prostitution is based on violence, say constantly they want concrete proof from exited prostituted women of that violence.
Say why it happened, how old were you, how many men did violence, in what places did it happened – and why didn’t you leave.
Well, there is no concrete proof for me and the majority of exited prostituted women.
You stop counting how many men rape or use sexual torture, when it becomes an endless flow. Hell, I cannot remember their faces, so why would I know how many. I lose count when I can’t count how many in the gang-rapes. I lose count when I lost consciousness coz of their violence.
All I would say one violent john is one too many.
Places get confused. I just know I got used to being fucked behind pubs, used to sucking dicks with one eye knowing I was being watched. I was fucked in rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, flats, hotels rooms, and stupidly my own room. I fucked at posh parties. I was fucked in graveyards.
I don’t know that places matter that much, each place poisoned my heart.
All I know my memory is full of gaps and silences.
Yes I see places, yes I see getting fucked over and over. But I had no language for it.
Many times I was not paid, so I thought it cannot be prostitution.
Only my body and mind knows that I took drinks, offer of a bed, food in exchange for sex. That I made no personal contact with those men, and hated if I saw them again in different situations.
My body and mind knows that I became a robot for them, and did only sex. I was confused if they wanted other stuff.
For me that was prostitution.
But my mind for many years refused to know when it just blatant prostitution.
It refuse to know money was being exchanged, especially between “managers” and johns. It refuse to know how I was placed into a flat as men queue up to sexually torture me or just fuck me.
But how would any woman or girl survive if she truly know she is just goods for men to fuck.
Of course, it not made real.
Of course, most prostituted women and girls are invisible. Of course, they will lie about their lives, for they cannot face it themselves.
But, when recovering the reality crashes into the body, and the mind slowly follows.
Recovering means knowing the cold viciousness of the sexual tortures do to prostituted women and girls. Knowing that is just seen as a business, so seen as unimportant.
Recovering is letting in pain, letting in grief, allowing there is huge confusion and finding there is anger.
Recovering is not being afraid of the many gaps and silences.