This post is about trauma – how every time I think there can be no more layers of trauma, another layer of skin falls off.
I know trauma is not forever – I know that getting on the other side of trauma makes me stronger, and seeing my own reality clearer. I know all that – through years of agony, grief and confusion – I bloody know that.
I kind of believe trauma is coming into real life – but that is easy to say, easy to say with detachment, easy to read in some book, easy to speak when it is a close friend going trauma – but how to I cling to that when I think trauma must kill me?
I have fallen into trauma that yet again makes me wonder what the hell is the point of life?
Of course, I have too much pride and determination of killing myself – but I am terrified of feelings that come at me from my past.
It is memories that are killing my will to not become dead inside – the thing that is the most dangerous that I could ever do to myself. When dead inside – then nothing matters, I can do any damage to body, nothing matters so I want my friends to hate me so I destroyed myself without guilt.
Memories cannot not just vanish coz now I have re-designed my life – I made myself into a strong campaigner, I have for the first time solid and loyal friends, I have found the good parts of my family, I am allowing many pleasures in my life – memories still rip me apart.
This skin-shredding is hell – it is full of what I blocked out for 30 years or so.
The words of my managers/my pimps are inside of me. Words that made me hate myself, words that frame me as an object, words that made me know I wanted violent sex – words that made me consumable.
It was the words of fake love – you would do it if you love me enough, they only want you coz you’re so sexy/special, I so sorry that he hurt it won’t happen again.
It was the words of threat – if you don’t go with him there are worse after him, you know I own you, that’s just a small sample of what they will do you.
It was names to frame who I had become – cunt, slag, little bitch, sex-crazed, prozzie, etc.
It was words to say it was normal – you know you love it, everyone takes anal, it’s flattering to be filmed, have you no sense of adventure, it just sex with money.
It was words to isolate me – everyone hate whores, I’m the only one who understand you babe, no-one would believe you anyhow, you know this is where you belong.
Enough of these words – these words are my trauma.
These words are trapping and destroying women and girls inside the sex trade on a mass scale as you can read this.
These words are poison.
I hope that writing them down – will make some of my loyal readers act harder to end the sex trade.
Never believe that words don’t kill – so by christ do something to prevent more destruction.