I am overwhelmed by grief and full of body memories.
Sometimes, being an exited woman is so hard, so terrifying and so exhausting. It is living inside memories of multiple sexual, mental and physical violence.
To say memories is so calm, so detached and so easy to write. It nothing like my reality.
My skin is screaming to its truths – screaming to release small portions of its sickness.
Only always remember my personal is not therapy – it does not work that way.
My personal is highly political, for every torture placed into me was common in the sex trade – it is knowing that makes me go forward with my work.
My skin screams with knowing what mental violence is done to the prostituted.
The mental violence of daily being made invisible – prostitutes are everywhere, but most people refused to see them.
The mental violence of constantly being told is just work, maybe nasty work, but work so why complained. It never an issue of human rights, that is just being ridiculous.
The mental violence of be made always sub-human – so sub-human a prostitute has no emotions, has no pain, and is just a machine for men to use and throw away.
The mental violence of being force to smile, made to be always happy – no matter what hell is put into your body and mind, you must be the happy hooker.
Be in my skin – and know the mental violence is rotting me away.
Be in my skin – as body memories bring back the physical violence that was my norm inside prostitution.
Know physical violence is in every aspect of the sex trade – it is used to control, it is part of most porn forced into the prostituted’s bodies, it is made into a joke, it just always there as background noise.
My skin is poisoned by all this physical violence – it is in every cell of my body.
Physical violence used to control as my managers/pimps used beatings real or threatened to keep me sub-human.
Control as I was put in with sadistic punters, if it was felt I was becoming a human or having some dignity.
I was strangled so much – it was my norm.
I was bashed all over my body, bashed into walls, bashed to lose consciousness, bashed because I showed I had a brain – bash for making punter see I was an individual.
Physical violence made me lose hope, made me forget about dignity, made me try to be nothing.
And the worse, was it a joke to most profiteers and punters.
You be in my skin, as physical violence is so normal and so sadistic, and done not by one or three men, but by so many men, you will lose count – be in that skin, and tell me you would keep your dignity and believing in hope.
Be in my skin, and know what it is to live inside knowing sexual torture and/or rape will at any time – know that it is non-violence that is rare in prostitution.
Know that to be raped just by penis in vagina is rare in prostitution – most punters are full of porn.
Porn tells them that penis in vagina is boring, it may be how you rape “good” women, but with whores there are multiple ways to rape and torture.
Only of course, porn teaches men it is impossible to rape or even sexually abuse the prostituted – so once you have pay money or some form of exchange – there will no holds barred.
Think of all the worse you know inside porn – and know it being put into the prostituted all the time everywhere.
Know that your worse imagination is usually just the tip of the iceberg of the hate and violence that these porn-fuelled punters put into the prostituted’s bodies.
I lived when “Deep Throat” was everywhere.
My skin is choking still from all the penises forced deep down my throat, my skin still remembers going unconscious, my skin is still puking up that porn forced into my body.
When I was prostituted – it was fun for punters to play at killing the whore – seeing porn so fulled of cutting up whores, porn of gang-raping whores and then disappearing their bodies.
These punters would nearly kill me, then laugh. My nightmares are drowning in their laughter. My nightmares are full of their constant re-telling of sadistic porn films or books.
My skin cannot forget – however much I write, I speak out and go forward.
It is inside me – and it forces me to be political.