This post is very important, and may be the hardest thing I have written for a long time. In this post, I want to explain what it was to made sub-human for me.
I can say this with detachment, say it as a political statement – but in this post, I want to go somewhere more painful and harder to access – I reach into the personal, into the emotions or the death of emotions that made me sub-human.
This is the true meaning of being a feminist – digging deep into the personal to find connections and a reason for a life – and making that political by knowing the personal was part of what is happening to millions of the prostituted class.
I write of me – but know my voice is multiplied by other exited women speaking to their truths to. Each one of us were made sub-human, each one of us are fighting to find a language to explain that reality, and built a road back to our full humanity.
To be made sub-human is deeper than just losing connections with the outside world and being so oppressed that you give up the idea of hope.
That is the surface level that those who survived being inside the sex trade can lay out to the world.
To be sub-human is to lose any concept that you are ever capable of being human again – that is to so degraded and so oppressed that you forget what being human is.
If a punter or profiteer called you “Bitch” – you know you are a dog.
To be sub-human is to so dead, so lost to your own humanity – that all you can be is an object wanting for instructions.
If a profiteer told you to kill yourself, you would cut yourself or take an od in a machine-like way. If a punter pushes and pulls your body into porn-poses to make ultimate pain, you just let it happen without seeing or knowing what is happening.
To be sub-human, is to never to know what is real, never to know if you dead or alive – only that it is not worth thinking about, for it all just degradation, and would be pain if you were alive and human.
Again that is just the surface of what I think my readers may understand about how the prostituted are made sub-human.
There is so many complicated levels.
There is the level that as with many prostituted I came from being raped and forced to know hard-core porn from a very young age – an age where others can have some innocence, an age when I was learning how to be human, an age where knowing trust and solid love help you grow into what most would call a human.
I had that natural growth into humanity ripped from me before I had the chance to understand my own individuality.
This is very common in the prostituted – many have no access to innocence, no understanding of growing into being a full human being, no chance to be a child or young woman.
Being abused before entering the sex trade is so common, that it is a shock to me when a prostitute cannot remember at least one rape before being in the sex trade, at least some grooming into the sex trade, at least knowing neglect and lack of love from those who should have cared for them, or being made through friends or the media that their only worth was to be a sex object.
Prostitutes are made by violence, neglect and hate – they do not grow on trees.
In that environment, to be sub-human is the only way to survive. To be emotionally dead means that if a prostitute is very lucky she may survive, and with great luck hang on to her sanity.
There the level of what must not be truly known to somehow survive. What must can be remembered later – but push firmly away in the subconscious mind until she is safe enough to know her own reality.
It cannot be known what it is to have your fuck by so many punters, that the mind feels like a nuclear bomb is smashing all counting if you try to get some kind of linear line of how many own you.
Counting punters is to count how many times you were raped, is to count how many times your body was used as an experiment in sexual pain without actual death, is to count how times punters threaten to kill you and then said only joking, is to count when being gang-raped again some of guess how many penises are stopping you from breathing.
There can no peace in knowing how many punters were inside my body – only prayers and determination to get them out of my mind.
All I know is I was raped so often that it became my norm, I was raped so much that I cannot understand the language of rape.
All I know that being gang-raped so often makes the numbers in me have no relevant – it just violence and hate which for teenage years and my 20’s meant I forgot that I could be human.
I lost being human – as my routine was anal rape, was being swallow penises till I fainted or was sick, being yelled at and beaten.
I lost being human – as I was moved from city to city, as I was moved working from flats to being in sex clubs, as I went from brothels to escorting – I just was goods with different labels.
There is nothing human left when deeply embedded in prostitution – it is slavery, for what else takes away all human rights to safety, takes away all human rights to not be degraded, takes ways all human rights to having an authentic voice.
I hope this is the beginning of understanding the many level that the prostituted class are made sub-human.
Rise them all up to the simple level of being a full human – that would the greatest thing we could all do.