It has been a very difficult year for me on so many levels.
But constantly, I have determined to go forward. here has been many times this year, that I have very near to wanting to go back to the dead state I was when I prostituted. But I can never do that.
I write, I speak out and befriend other survivors as a gift to the warrior inside my prostituted self.
The warrior-spirit that refuse to die then, is damned if I will give up now.
Now I want to give the gift of a full life. A life without terror, a life without violence, a life without pain being so normal that it is no longer felt.
I want her to be more than just a survivor. I want to know joy, I want to have interests that belong only to her heart, I want to find some belief system that makes sense to her.
I want my prostituted self to know her past, and to know she could have done nothing, as every door of freedom was smashed down on her.
My gift is that now I can grieve. I can cry as I speak slowly with my prostituted self, you never just a fuck-machine, you were never wanting it only you knew how to look so happy, you never out any of true self.
Remember how much your warrior-spirit protected you from becoming part of the men’s hate.
Christ, yes every time a john choose to fuck you, choose to play games with your head, choose to pretend you were a “girlfriend” only to drop you when you broke his rules that you never know were there, choose to copy sadistic porn on you, choose to pass round other men, choose see that were human.
Every time a manager/pimp choose to play with a john who for extras playing you in the line of death, choose to move round different aspect of the sex trade, choose to be paid for allowing your rapes being filmed, choose to steal the money, choose to say it is everything but prostitution.
Remember all those men with their complete hatred of you – and know your warrior-spirit protected you by making you outwardly dead and placing thoughts that refuse to know your own reality.
I love that you refuse to know, for it is the major reason that I am not dead.
God, it so much easier that I was just unlucky, made wrong choices, that maybe I just like vicious sex.
I could not know I was just a toy that men passed around. I could not know that.
But now, I am very sorry part of my gift to you, is that we must be one person. For that I must know the reality, not the fantasy that made you continue to live.
Now, we must see with a clear eye that it was rape after rape after rape after rape after rape. So many rapes that they were no longer named as rape, just what I was.
Look into that raped self, see she has no pity for herself, she does even imagine that she could get help.
She has forgotten that she may need help, as she learnt long ago to toughen up and not complain if she got pain, not to say she didn’t want so many of the sexual acts done to her, had learnt to please men even as she felt sick, a sense of fear.
She never know it was rape, only that so often after she wanted to kill herself.
My gift is terrible – now see, know and feel it was always rape. Rape until destruction.
But in my gift there is hope by seeing the truth. Hope of a final freeing of your essence to live and to know you no longer trapped in the lies and hate of the sex trade.
I hope this post make some sense, it from a place in my heart that is still afraid.