Bloody Hard to See the Bright Side

Recently, I have trying so hard to see the positive side of the work I do against the sex trade. Looking for the bright side, has me dragged down into depression.

I know that often before great change there is masses of fear, a huge backlash and it is easy to despair.

So I must believe there is a change coming, that all the resistance from so many different angles to the sex trade, is making cracks in their power.

I must believe that – hope is a force that feeds this blog.

But resisting the sex trade is exhausting and very terrifying.

It is a different terror from being prostituted.

During these years, I was numb to terror, I was nothing but goods that were fucked and moved about.

I could not allow myself to be a full human – then I had to hard and tough to survive.

Now, I cannot live by cutting away emotions, I can never go back to being sub-human.

Now the hate thrown in my direction by the sex trade and its supporters hurts me to the core.

I let in the terror, I let in my deep grief, I know that I now a human.

I can never be made into fuck-goods again – that can be celebrated.

But inside that celebration is overwhelming pain.

I know my honesty to say I have grief, pain and terror, is seen by supporters of the sex trade are an opening to attack me.

They think I am vulnerable – well they could not be more wrong.

I have a massive and protective warrior spirit.

My warrior spirit can see and know terror, know it for what it really is, not the disguises it puts on itself.

I see rape not a sexual exchange, I see sexual torture not offering of extras for johns, I see sexual slavery not consent.

I see having to wear the mask of being happy, for there is no escape, no hope and no end.

My warrior spirit carries that terror, and forms them into words to show others an inkling of what prostitution is. It is just glimpses, for I am protected from knowing all the terror.

My warrior spirit shows me the reality of the pain.

The pain of having no part of my body not made into porn, not made into goods that is cut up into maximum profit, the pain of never owning my own body.

The pain of giving men satisfaction, as they ripped into me, as they me into holes to fuck until they were bored or their money run out.

The pain of having to survive by acting like I was having a great time.

The warrior spirit forms that into words. Words that teach me to forgive myself for being such a good actor. Words that in that forgiveness gives me some peace of mind.

My warrior spirit is finally letting in grief. Grief has made so human, and given me a solid strength.

I grieve that I was never a child, never a teenager, never a young adult.

I was whatever men who fuck me wanted me to be, I was the object that was marketable, I was nothing but roles.

I grieve that I survive by making death my best friend.

I grieve how alienated I was from my body, how I did not know severe injuries, how I was numbed to endless sexual torture, how I barely notice my abortion, how I lost I was human.

I grieve with a sickness that has no end – to that prostitute that was me on that bed, knowing she just has to listen to her own breathing – then she can imagine she is still alive.

Somehow my warrior spirit places that grief into words. Words showing that reality of prostitution.

So when they sex trade supporters choose to view my grief, pain and terror as my vulnerability – they do not know they are my power-source.

I know I can never be in that pain and terror ever again.

Sure the attacks I get from the sex trade and its supporters are bloody awful, they make me very scare on occasions.

But I do not believe they will do me physical damage  – they will never rape me again, I will never be their porn-doll again.

They can make me despair, but in that despair I am reminded why I fight so hard to destroy the sex trade.

In the hate-speech to me and other great exited women, they show the sex trade as it really is.

It wants us to be wiped off the face of this world – thus showing they have no heart and are complete cowards.

They are afraid of exited women who speak out, for we are saying the truth.

The truth that prostitution is built on violence and degradation of a class named prostitute. No double-speech can hide that.

No language of empowerment can that away from sexual slavery, no language of free choice will stop it is built on coercion and all forms of trafficking, no speaking of sex work with end that the vast of the prostituted have no basis human rights.

When an exited woman speaks out she cause an earthquake inside the sex trade – no wonder they wants us dead.

So I may find it hard to see the bright side – but I know in my heart the sex trade is slowly crumbling.

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5 responses to “Bloody Hard to See the Bright Side

  1. I know a bright side and it’s your blog. I have always had an instinct that prostitution is a bad thing and it is hard to put that into words when you live in a country where it is effectively legal. All we hear is how empowering it is.
    But you have given me words. And I now know the fight is against the men who pay to rape and torture. The fight is against the notion that a man’s ‘right to sex’ overrules basic human rights, of safety and freedom.
    The fight is not against prostituted women, it is clearly against the men who use them. You taught me that. Thank you.
    Susan x

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  2. Rebecca, you sound as though you feel you need to forgive yourself for what you did but I don’t think there’s anything to forgive. You did what you had to do to survive and no-one – not even you – has the right to say that you did anything wrong or that needs forgiveness.

    This may be the wrong place to mention this but I’ve put a link to your blog on another website. I’ve said that if they comment on your blog at all they must be respectful, but if they’re not please just delete them. They’re not worth a second’s thought. I just hope I’ve not done wrong in giving these people the link. I’m hoping they’ll gain themselves an education but if they hurt you I’ll be really sorry.

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