I, like most exited women who were in the sex trade long-term – I am slowly finding what it is to be human.
When exited women speak of trauma – they speak of be utterly lost to how humans communicate, lost to the simple routines of being human, lost to be outside the role of appearing human.
It is trauma that is embedded in us – and we have learnt to be like a human, but only as androids are in a Phillip K Dick short story.
I learnt to be human by copying.
It is why I love films, it is why I read fiction, it is why I love to be in a crowd – it is why I am watcher.
I can repeat the actions of what I think it must be to be human – but more often than not, I do so without emotion or able to stop the emptiness inside in me.
I have no idea what it is to be unique – for by copying and being the role that pleases, I have no idea if I am any more than an empty shell.
With the logical side of my brain, I know I am more than a copy, more than a role – but there is always the constant fear that I still am nothing but what makes others feel makes me human.
Many years ago I read or had read to me by a punter – “Do Androids Dream of Sheep”.
At the time, it was the beginning of a small voice saying you are more than a role.
For the punter who read Phillip K Dick to me was highly controlling and sadistic – he would sleep deprived me, he would rape me then make me eat when sick, he would rape me then want to be on show as his “girlfriend”, he would pay to keep me for weeks and lock me in his flat.
Between the violence he would read to me his favourite books – mainly posh porn, Japanese horror/porn, Russian books, and Phillip K Dick.
I hated lots of what he read, I hated as I was read parts of posh porn only to be repeated into my body later.
But there was a part of me, the part I wanted hidden from him, the part that was reaching for another life – that found it loved Phillip K Dick.
I found his universe made sense of my prostituted soul.
I thought maybe I was an android so embedded in the human world that I had come to believe I must be human.
It made sense to me as I was embedded inside the sex trade.
It made sense that I did feel pain, or if I had pain/sickness, but I could ignore it and keep going with the role of the whore.
It made sense that I was lived wanting for instructions – I know automatically how to be the prostitute, but had no idea how to shop in a supermarket or how to pay rent.
It made sense that I must be programmed to enjoy being sadistically abused – for I then could know or understand why it was happening all the times by so many men, and nowhere appear to be safe.
It made sense of being brought and sold by mainly men who never spoke to me, who did not look me in the eye – who made me into goods.
I decided I must be an android – for to see the reality that I was a human being destroyed by each and every punter, destroyed each and every time I was filmed, destroyed each and every time I was made to read or view porn, destroyed each and every time profiteers move round to more sadistic prostitution.
To know that reality, would have torn my heart out of my body.
Now, I know that I am and never was an android, heck there is no such thing as a complex android.
Now I the simple and terrible truth – that I was human that was raped, beaten, tortured, brought, sold on, mentally abused and made to imagine death was her only friend – that all I had to hold onto was I was nothing, that I was goods.
I was made sub-human, so I survived by accepting that terrible truth.
The sex trade has always been masters of turning women and girls into sub-humans – it not new, it at least 3000 years old.
It is done by routine violence, by forcing the prostituted to act happy even as their life-force is being stolen.
The violence is not just about power and control – it is about there is a whole class of women and girls who not only enjoy pain and degradation, but the sickness of the sex trade is it build the myths that the prostituted seek out punishment, humiliation and terror.
That is why the myth that sells the most in every culture, every period of history and every continent – is the myth of the empowered Happy Hooker, who controls and manipulates men.
It is an evil myth, for it says that prostitutes love whatever is done to them sexually, love the violence for it is re-branded as play. That prostitutes are making the punters do things that are uncontrollable.
It is a myth that allows punters to believe that any sadism is ok, for prostitutes are designed to be just vessels for whatever his porn-fueled head is full of.
When embedded inside the sex trade, I had to believe that sick myth.
It helps to find a reason that punters treated my body as their experiment in how much pain I could take without losing consciousness or having the bad manners to die on them.
It helps to find a reason why I knew what was fashionable in hard-core porn, though I did not read the magazines or watch the videos – I knew as punters play it out into my body.
It helps me to remember to make the right sex noises or to smile as pain and terror would have been the human reaction.
This post is written to put in the centre of our living death – it just a surface level.
Remember that living death – that is the reason to fight for abolition.