I have been unable to write – I have been unable to think.
I have been unable to breathe without being sick, so writing is left on the side – but now maybe with a stream of consciousness, maybe by letting go of always making sense – I may say something to ground me enough to watch TV.
I have been diagnosed as severe depression, diagnosed as personality disorder – placed on pills that make me sick and not giving a damn.
I am labelled – but not heard or seen as a survivor of trauma.
Not heard or seen that if and when I have their illnesses – it may be because I was made into a porn-toy for round about 21 years.
A lifetime of sexual sadism, a lifetime of severe mental manipulation, a lifetime of acting happy when I was in hell.
I would be insane, if I did not have mental health issues after that.
Yeah – I suppose I am depressed.
If it is true that depression is suppressed anger – then hell yes, I am bloody depressed.
I am depressed that there is no real justice for me and the vast majority of women and girls in or exited from the sex trade.
I am depressed that most societies condoned male users of the sex trade – make out it is just part of the leisure industry, it is a natural part of being a “real man”, that most appalling reason that it prevents rape to non-prostituted women and girls.
I am depressed that any time of day and night – there is the buying and selling of prostitutes on the streets and indoors, there are men seeking violent porn on the net, there is sexual tourism, there is buying of brides, there is sex clubs, there are massage parlours and on and on and on.
I am depressed that trauma is usually background noise for a lifetime for most who have exited the sex trade.
Yeah, I am bloody depressed. And pills won’t magic it away.
Sure, I may have personality disorder.
To survive prostitution, I had to perform being the person that men wanted me to be – perform well enough not to be beaten up, perform well enough to prevent sex being too sadist, perform well enough to stay alive.
Doing that I lost my personality, I had no person-hood, only roles to stay safe.
So I may do many personalities – but no essence.
As I struggle to be part of the real world, I seek with grief and pain to find my true personality.
The crime of the sex trade is how steal women and girls ability to know their true essence.
I can’t write more, TV calling me. And sorrow is grabbing my heart.