I have not been able to write – hell thinking has been hard.
My cat died last Friday – she was very ill, but so had live 16 years and had a very easy life.
I thought I could write out of sorrow for her – but it is a grief that is much deeper than the death of a pet.
It a grief that words drown in, it is a grief that fall into silence for it scared to face its own reality.
It is a grief that needs to find words even with baby steps.
I so tired of being empty – but screaming inside with no noise.
Maybe there are no real words for the endless grief of the prostituted – maybe there are so many words we get lost in them.
Only I know most words that should frame our grief are stolen by others who spoke for us for good or ill.
Our words are stolen by academics who make them safe, solid and linear.
These academics stripped away the fucked up messiness of our existences, the inability to know our own lives in linear lines, only having past present and past as a muddy mess.
These academics make it safe and recorded by playing it inside statistics, by comparing with other violence to females, by proving it too extreme or is not as bad as misguided exited women claim.
For these academics it is finish if the book is publish, if the lecture is heard, if the clapping has end. For exited women, that end is just a beginning.
Our words are stolen by those who want to divide good and bad prostitution.
They find in our words the tragedy of the under-aged prostitute, but discard our words if that same prostitute hits 16 or 18.
They see the child, pity her, use her body and her image to cry crocodile tears, as they frame adult women as empowered prostitutes with many free choices.
They throw away the concept of being trafficked always to narrow who a real “victim” prostitute.
It is narrow into that to be trafficked there must be visible physical damage, to be trafficked is only from country to country not domestic.
It become so narrow that it must be women and girls throw into the back of lorry and driven across many countries. They must be constantly physically, mentally and sexually tortured. They must be under violent pimps, mostly part of wider organised crime.
All this happens all the time – and we must fight such stealing of the prostituted human rights at the roots.
But all forms of prostitution have the conditions of trafficking – all prostitution steal the human rights off the prostituted – all prostitution is about men paying or the right to sexually torture someone who has no access to the language of no.
For exited women there is no divisions in prostitution – for all aspects of prostitution are made into hell.
Our words are always stolen and transforms by those who back the sex trade.
They may say our words, but say with the caution that exited women are too mentally damaged to know the reality of their own experiences.
They use that exited women have many gaps and silences in their memories – to say, look see they don’t remember, maybe it was made up, maybe they live in a fantasy, maybe they are just liars.
They use our words to say our experience if true were just extreme, may have been outside “legitimate” prostitution, were nothing like how prostitution is usually run.
They use our to prove we are just men haters, just scared of sex, was unable to cope with being a prostitute out of our own weakness, we were crap at keeping ourselves safe.
Our words are used against us – and it is drowning us in grief.
That is the grief that makes writing impossible.