I have left violence behind.
I have left hate in that other world.
I will not allow degradation to come back into my life.
But my grief, pain and rage is overwhelming.
I can never be whole after the sex trade, not with a broken essence – not with my heart ripped into pieces.
This post is some explaining of the true crimes of the sex trade – that utter devastation of women and girl’s essences. This post is written from a scream, is written inside sobbing.
This post is not from the rational, that is too safe. It not about logic, it all about what it to survive being made into the shit under men feet.
I write of surviving endless rapes, constant smashing up, continual words that deaden the heart.
Then it was normal, just the way it was. Then I, and so many women and girls, survived by making it what was not.
We said we enjoy it, it was our idea to do it. We said we had power over the men.
We claimed we got enough money to make it worthwhile.
We thought we would never allow anything we didn’t want to happened. We thought we could keep ourselves safe – it would be our own fault if it went too far.
We had to believe in what was never true, coz otherwise our minds would be destroyed.
Now, my heart breaks knowing the reality.
Tell me how do you mend a heart when it has known and lived inside torture.
When every part of the body has been used for torture. Not a cell was safe.
How can mend that. There can slow healing, but never a solution.
I can cry, I can sick it up, I can talk and talk, I can write, I can scream, I can fall into TV and music, I can stroke the cat, I can dance, I can eat out, I can go away, I campaign against the sex trade, I can alternative therapy, I can go to counseling, I can prayer, I can fight – bloody hell, I can do so much.
But I can’t mend my broken heart.
Not when the torture that was the sex trade stole my very essence.
Now I have exited, I am having to formed a world where I matter, where I am human, where by god I have the right to be an individual.
That is not easy, when I was so used to being an object. So used to fitting myself round what others wanted me to be.
Being a role without feelings, without thoughts and without any sense of safety – that was my life.
Now, I have to learn that I can make my own rules. I have to learn that my opinion matters, and may force a change.
I now live in world where I do not have to be a role, for I am safe enough to be me.
Only, I often think I have forgotten who me is. The me that was stolen by the sex trade.
I find that me in my broken heart.
I wish for support from others as one to mend this broken heart.
Do what you can.
If you prayer, prayer for all women who have exited the sex trade, prayer that their hearts feel joy and hope.
If you are doing actions against the sex trade, know that exited women need you to fight with courage, with support, with a sense of humor – but please don’t give up.
If you wondering if the sex trade is that bad – open your ears and eyes to voices and words of exited women. Read Shelley Lubben, read “Not For Sale”, look at Melissa Farley’s research. Just let the voices of pain go in you.
Just know survivors of the sex trade are everywhere. They are used to being silent about their pain, their rage and never showing the trauma. But they are all round you.
Their hearts can never be mended in that silence.
That silence comes from knowing so few give a damned about women and girls in the sex trade.
That silence can be broken if other are willing to stop the world and say the voices of exited women matter. Sure it is hard to hear and understand – but it is the less that can done to mend their broken hearts.
It may hard to hear – but if hearing is hard, then think how hard it was to be inside that torture.
Stop turning away, for that just means the sex trade is winning.