I have having been writing this blog for nearly five years now. And in that time, I have been targeted by the sex trade and its supporters without much break.
Last night and today – that enter me in the form of deep sickness.
Last night, when I should have been sleeping, instead I was being sick all over the bathroom floor.
I could not cry, I had no-one to hold me, all I could do was to clear up and go back to sleep.
I know the people who attack me would love to break me – heck they would love that as the sickness and exhaustion got hold of me, that I longed for death.
But dammit, I will not let those scum that want the sex trade to flourish break me.
If prostitution did not break me, then those idiots who send me hate speech will never break me down.
But I have fallen, I have been badly wounded.
Their words do have an impact of reminding me that the place of the prostituted to those people is to be their goods, their sex toys, their obedient little girls – is to always be sub-human.
They cannot forgive women like me who wanting to be seen as full humans.
The simple act of demanding access to humanity – a right that so many take for granted – is enough to make them determined to wipe us of the face of earth.
Our haters believe that they made us their sex tools to buy and sell – and they are outraged we can speak, that we can be independent.
We were designed to obey whatever the danger or threat to our bodies and minds – we are hated for having the strength to finally disobey and fight for the freedom of thought.
As their sex toys, we were meant not to care that so much pain was forced into us, was not meant to know the concept of degradation, not to be anything but an object for some men to masturbate into and other men to profit from that masturbation.
We are hated for we know and understand the pain of being raped so much we lost words and language, we are hated for saying how we were designed to be degraded into nothingness, and we are hated for imaging sex is about communication and respect not just masturbation.
We and I remember so clearly – yes there huge gaps and silences – but we remember all that really matters. We remember enough to know our attackers are liars or just very defensive.
They say endlessly women like me must be too mentally ill to know reality. They cynically used that many exited women have huge gaps in their memory.
With a cold heart, they ask and demand facts – dates, what the punters looked like, what age we were, was it under a pimp or not, were you abused as a child, places, why did not tell the authorities, how can you know it was rape, maybe it was just coz it was underground, asking to separate different forms of prostitution, separate porn from prostitution, used words that are politically correct, not too much details – many words thrown at us.
These words are used as weapons, used to hazed us, used to gaslight us, used to prove we must be stupid to know that sex trade is fine – it is the exited woman who is wrong and damaged.
It is natural for long-term survivors of deep trauma to have huge gaps in their memory – after all to get extreme trauma you have seen and known the unbearable often for many years.
If you are tortured constantly and without access to an exit – it is natural to adjust by blocking out as much as you can, it is natural to lose time and even place, it is natural to close down as much as you can and then you may one day find there is an exit.
That is why it is vital to frame what is done to the prostituted class as torture – long-term and relentless torture.
Many of the prostituted class will not be closed away from the outside – but mentally they are inside the mental state where they have no true freedom or access to safety or having a voice.
Many of the prostituted may be inside a golden cage – seem privileged and “independent” – but that is a terrible illusion.
I was not locked up, I was in legal and the acceptable indoors prostitution, I was living in my own flats, I rarely had a pimp – but I was never free, never able to be more than a toy for hire.
The moment I placed inside a boyfriend experience or inside a flat or hotel room – I knew my role.
I was the good obedient whore, who was in bed and naked in the position they wanted.
The good whore who could moved into any position without words or communication.
The good whore who didn’t complain as I thought I was being ripped in half by anal “sex”/rape.
The good whore who when gang-raped acted as if was fine, even smiled and made appropriate sex noises.
The good whore who did not notice the smell of some penises, that many punters were wanting me to be young, that many were ten to forty years older than me, that condoms were never used, that no-care cared about my cuts and bruises.
God, being a good whore nearly killed me.
Now my attackers say I must be a liar, mentally ill or brainwashed by feminists.
No wonder I am sick.