I need to reach into the depths of what I emotionally censor from myself, and stop myself from writing in case my readers turn away from knowing what to be prostituted is and was – and go to easier campaigns.
I suppose I can write with detachment and without any emotion, that I was torture.
I suppose in that machine-way, I can say I try suicide several times, that often I was close to death by “accident” of punters or profiteers going too far – that on occasions, I was at the edge of being murdered, only to be forced back into life.
I could say that in a calm and ordered way, keep it safe for you and me. Only it does nothing to help the screaming inside me.
I want to write into that part of me that self-censors, reach into who I was as I lived side-by-side with death and torture.
It not about me as an individual – there is nothing that can mend or stop how I tortured, nothing can make less violent, nothing can make me less trapped than I was, nothing can stop the punters and profiteers making me into their toy to be destroyed.
I am just am example of the common torturing and desire to kill the prostituted class. I am and was just one of millions of prostituted women and girls that are the eye of that destruction every moment of every day.
Do not have pity for me – I am lucky I have exited and I am finding my way back to my humanity – save your anger, grief and desire to make a change for the millions of the prostituted being tortured as you read this.
I will reach into my pain, into the places I had to block out to keep some sanity or the will to live.
I want to write for you to know who those men really were – write to say what being tortured means. Write to the place where you so lose that you could be human – that you forget what being human is.
I want to write into the rotten heart of what it is to be prostituted. I want to write to free my prostituted self, I want to write for freedom for me and all my prostituted Sisters.
To understand and be on the road to destroying male violence, we must see through the eyes and hearts of exited women – these women know and feel and understand the cynical nature of male violence. We know how it is pre-planned, how it is seen as a non-event, how violence to the prostituted is just leisure – nothing more nothing less.
Listen and truly hear our agony, our rage, our ways make deep connections – and used us as teachers to understand male violence and dismissive attitudes to all women and children.
I shall use a few common ways of how I was torture, how normal it became for me – to show that it the structure of the sex trade that must be destroyed.
I was gang-raped often – for any or no reason, because it was exciting for punters to push their boundaries with a whore, because it was branded as punishment for made up reasons, because I was classed as the whore who did not care or feel pain.
I have written often about gang-rapes – about how invisible the daily gang-rapes of the prostituted class in porn and prostitution is made, how gang-rapes only counts when it done to the non-prostituted.
But I have not written of who I was in the middle of having as my norm.
I want to write how I lost the right and privilege to have shock – all I could be was dead, paint on that I was tough and could not care.
How can care when it not one terrible event, when being gang-raped is just inside a world where all sexual torture is waiting as each punter opens the door, all sexual torture is what the profiteer are selling you for?
I want you know that to be a prostitute is never to know where the violence will comes from next, never to think that is the worse men can do to your body and mind, for the porn-brain always can step it up.
To be a prostitute is to discard emotions like shock, emotions like fear, to lose how to have tears, to forget that you can own your body, to become someone so controlled that if a punter or profiteer told you to kill yourself you would.
To be a prostitute is to make yourself a machine – for that is the only way to stay alive and relatively sane in the hell that is the sex trade.
I named often the sex trade as hell – and maybe you think it is a poetical device, no for me it just plain descriptions, no metaphor for me.
Is it not hell to have punters using your body so much that it becomes numb to violence, numb to so much penetration, numb to being choked, numb to anal rape, numb to whatever porn is the latest fashion getting rammed into your body?
Is it not hell to be so disoriented because the sex trade is founded on moving the prostituted class round. Move them from country to country, from city to city, from street to street – from street prostitution to indoors prostitution, from indoors prostitution to being in porn, from being in porn to street prostitution?
Is is not hell that almost the whole world have made it ok that the prostituted class are made so sub-human – that it is decided that the prostituted class cannot have real emotions like say fear and pain?
This is the very start of writing to stop my instinct to self-censor.
Please do not turn away – let this hell be destroyed because you with more than your mind – your heart aches for real change.