I like a great many survivors have a great deal of sickness as a result of my years of being prostituted.
We do not speak of our sickness, especially much of it like ghosts of the violence we have no words for.
It may be named trauma, but in this post I will a short record of what I endured.
I live with a sickness in my stomach as a regular companion. This sickness will go even if I am relaxed.
Often I wake from deep sleep and want to be sick.
It the sickness of being drown in male hate, the sickness of every hole I have being filled with semen, and semen rubbed into my skin and hair.
It is the sickness of having to act happy when men make me their porn-doll, sickness of endless smiling when pain is everywhere and death is so welcoming.
It the sickness of remembering how good I was at performing, that I boosted the endless rapist’s ego.
It the sickness of being raped, but never having space or time for shock, distress or knowing I was in pain – for I had to really for another rape and another and another until I did not know it was rape.
It is the sickness of my throat choking and wanting to block itself up. My throat that had cocks shoved down till it forget to breathe, and was terrified to swallow.
It is the sickness of being on the toilet and terrified to have a shit – as it only reminds of anal rape, of that ripping apart. I see blood there, and I cannot breathe.
It the sickness of being scared to lie on my back for too.
It is the sickness of dreams of gang-rapes, without faces, without knowing my age, without knowing where I was. Only knowing it was a regular “punishment”
It is the sickness of remembering cameras filming my degradation. I still hate being filmed. I still don’t what has happened to those images.
My stomach is so sickened by the sex trade and everything it does and stands for.
But living with sickness – I have learnt to act like a well person.