One thing I have had to face through remembering my past, is facing head-on what it is to turn into a sub-human.
One way to survive the horror of that, is to always believe others had worse, to believe that no-one would be torture in the way I was torture.
The best way to survive is to believe that if is torture, is must be because I wanted or deserved it.
It cannot be that the torture is calculated and comes from a deep hate.
Like the vast majority of prostituted women, I survive by refusing to know my reality.
Now, it is crashing on top of me. Now, I gasp for air as I know I was made sub-human.
I want you to hear what it was to be a prostitute.
There is a porn-speak that sums it –
“Three holes and two hands”.
That is a whore for you.
When I was young, my stepdad had pictures of some fashionable artist who painted chairs as parts of women – their legs, their cunts, their mouths, their arms and heads – never their heads.
Those paintings were your ideal whore, every function there for any man to fuck.
Men know whores are objects – could be high-class and be named as fast cars, can be street prostitutes and compare to going to the toilet, any whore is just like buying beer.
Sometimes he can make her precious goods, sometimes she is garbage he throws away.
But she is never a real woman.
Real women don’t let thousands of men fuck them, real women may not do whatever porn fantasies the man want, real women may complain, real women feel pain at inconvenient times, real women expects some dignity, real women would show fear.
Whores are great coz you can whatever you like to them and they will never mind.
They can be fucked at any time, in whatever way.
For whores have no morals, no pain barriers, no sense of pride, no tears, no fear – why would they when all they are three holes and two hands.
I live with that knowledge that johns viewed me that way. I live with their hate, I live with their desire to degrade me, I live with all was a fuck-toy that had no rights to be fully human.
When I say I live with trauma – this is the true meaning of it.
Trauma is knowing for a large portion of my life, I had no knowledge how to be human.
I know how to perform, I know how to close down, I know how to be hard – but I know nothing of life.
Coming away from the sex trade, is discovering that you no idea what being human is.
When I being fucked over and over and over and over.
When I was being sexually tortured over and over and over and over.
When I was being brainwashed over and over and over and over.
When I was made into trash over and over and over and over.
When all that was my reality, I had no time or space to know if I was fully alive or not. All I know was my days went on and on and on, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I had flashes of being human.
I got when music would reach into my heart. I had times I was dancing for joy, dancing out a rage I could not name, dancing to flirt.
But dancing was also set up by managers, and I begun to hate clubs and dancing unless I was robot. I danced with men, I made them happy – as I dreamt of death.
I could on occasions allow nature into me. It was hard not to be detached, but sometimes I could feel weather, hear birds, notice views. It try to force life into me – but I was too scared.
I found it hard to hold onto friends, coz I was too destructive, I was too close to male violence and wanting to kill myself to be a friend.
And my only true friend kill herself – so I made the choice to hardened my heart.
I could have that much pain when I lived without safety or security.
I have heard being human is having your basic needs fulfilled.
On that scale, I was not human.
Having security and safety is a basic human right – and I would say the vast majority of prostituted women and girls do not have that luxury.
I certainly did not.
Not when all I was was an object to be fucked. I had no security that I could have a place in this world – all I was what men said I was.
Safety was a joke. I was raped, tortured, degraded, mentally abused and made to know that was all I was. Safety could not even be imagined.
It is a shock that I was never murdered.
Food is a basic right.
I chose to eat trash or not to eat. I could afford real food, but what was the point.
Sleep is a basic right.
I refused to sleep beyond cat-napping. I took speed to stay awake, I got drunk to stay awake.
I was kept awake by all the demands of the johns, the pain I refuse to know kept me awake.
I did not want to sleep in case I remember what I did not want to know.
Also, if in “boyfriend experience”, if I was stupid enough to fall asleep, the johns would fuck me awake or bash me up for my “rudeness”.
Sleep was dangerous.
Self-respect is a basic human right.
That is something I hid away.
If johns saw I has an inkling of self-respect, their hate and violence would increase.
How dare their porn-toy have a mind and will of its own.
I hid myself until I too forgot who the hell I was.
So, what the hell is being human after being prostituted.
It is my life’s struggle to find that out.