Broken Trust

It is hard to tell the truth of internal trafficking, hard to go that place. But last night, I watch a very flawed documentary that reminded that I was only 14 when I enter prostitution.

Let me say that again – I was only 14. However much I imagine I was in control, however much I imagine I too tough to be hurt, however much I imagine I knew what crap sex was – I was only 14, and being young I knew nothing of how the sex trade would eat me up and spit me out.

I knew nothing. I was highly damaged by incest, highly damaged by emotional neglect from my mother, highly damaged by knowing hard-core porn – but still I knew nothing of being damaged so much that I would become the living dead.

I was trained to be sex goods – but inside I was so innocent, and so desperate to find that trust could be real.

There’s the rub – there one that is the major founding stone to how so many girls enter the sex trade – girls from all backgrounds, girls from all classes, girls in and out of care – girls who just want love but have never know it.

This is where it gets hard to write – hard to write without detachment and much coldness, hard to write without saying it was not me always someone else. To speak to the truth is to know how small a degree of pretend love could trick any girl into the sex trade.

To speak to the truth, that I at 14 had no idea that I was desperate to have one person, or people, that I could trust.

Trust was something that most girls who enter the sex trade want and need, more than even than eating or sleeping.

The ultimate crime of trapping women and girls into the sex trade is how the profiteers and punters manipulate that urgent need, and smash it into a million pieces.

Again remember I was 14, I was so young – and remember the horror that I was old, when the average in the West that girls getting trapped into prostitution is 12.

Girls want to trust, girls want to be loved, and girls want to please in order to be loved. In the end, girls are just learning how to be in the world.

That is why too many damaged and vulnerable girls become easy targets for the profiteers of the sex trade – and so easy to manipulated by sadistic punters into dreadful sexual acts.

I like millions of prostituted girls – was desperate to believe their fake words of love, wanted to be an adult by never saying no to going with their “friends”, wanted to fit in by accepting drinks and drugs.

No-one said the word “prostitute”, any money exchanged was just a gift or favour.

It was just a coz I so sexy that so many strange men wanted to fuck me – I should be flattered.

Only I was falling into silence.

Silence of knowing that this was not real sex. Not as every time it hurts so bad, every time the men never spoke or even looked me in the eye, every time all words spoken was just with other men.

Silence of seeing small parts of what I should not know. Seeing queues of men waiting to fuck me, seeing other girls with dead eyes, seeing men passing money to other men.

My silence was my living death.

I was losing my chance to be young, losing any route back to innocence.

I will grieve that loss till the day I die.

6 responses to “Broken Trust

  1. I read everything you write and you’re prolific, and sometimes factors collide such that your words pierce my heart more by the end than I anticipated at the start. Maybe broken trust is a sore spot but what you’ve put here feels simply true.

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  2. Thanks so much Sam – that means so much to me. It was very hard to express, but gives my young woman a chance to grieve.

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  3. Trust is the key as Sam says. This is a post that says I grieve and it is raw and true. I feel so sorry for your loss.

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  4. I understand the feeling having been through similar situations. I was 12 years old when I spent 6 months being gang-raped by hundreds of Indian boys, it wasn’t the last of it. And it wasn’t about money, there was none involved. It was about confused repression from accessing hardcore pornography on the one hand and being taught that sex was morally wrong on the other. It turned into apathy, and venting it out onto the most vulnerable person that they could find, more vunerable then themselves. I am not defending their behaviour, but I do to a certain point understand it having a similar culture complex myself. It’s what happens being born to two different types of opposite teachings.

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  5. I can understand a shadow of what you say, and that allows me to imagine but I cannot know what you know. But I know the sense of loss, and loss of trust. And I understand that the loss of trust is not realised until it is too late, because of desperation. Anyway, you know all of this, really I just wanted to say thank you for writing, I undertand completely why you continue to do so, I understand that balance between a need to speak out and act and the pain of PTSD. I know that it can get easier and I wish you all strength on that journey and joy both now and growing into the future. Thank you and well done *hugs*

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