I have not written for a long time.
Partly I have been away, partly I have been burnt out, and partly there too much sports on TV.
I am at the stage where I am questioning who and what I am, in those times I want to run hard away from this work.
I have staying with my sister in France, and questioning in my mind and heart my own sense of reality.
Or questioning how little we can really know of reality, and wondering how we survive by creating our own myths to live by.
I have been made to question that I was ever an under-aged prostitute.
I live inside an upper-middle-class family with not just my family, but several lodgers.
According to my sister, I did not go out much, but stay in my bedroom.
I have told that was born with mental issues, that I always found life hard.
I do not know what to believe.
But, I may place my life into some kind of context. The context of saying no-one can truly know what is happening to others, even when they are very close and have deep love for each other.
In that context, I can see why my sister has to not know I was in harm’s way as a teenager – but I can also know I was out of control enough to be out of her sight.
It was never her fault, she must never take or have any of the blame – so I will stop rocking the boat as much as possible.
For I know many of the under-aged prostitutes come from my background, many still live at home and their prostitution is hidden from their families.
It is easy to lead a double life, especially when you are dead inside and know nothing really matters.
I was remembered as being studious, quite unhappy, but locked inside my own head.
According to my sister and others, I loved school.
My real world was hidden, my headlong rush to pain, fear and longing for death was hidden.
I did show it in endless interest in the First World War, in my stubborn silences, and in closing down any optimism.
I became a doll who did not understand how to be in a family.
There is no fault here, just that was my reality – home was surreal to me, being out inside danger was what I knew and understood.
I was typical of the millions of girls pulled into prostitution.
I could easily just not go to school, I could easily fill the hours to going home with paid sex.
I could find ways to run away into hate and danger – I could walk out the home at night.
A teenager who wants to be invisible can just fade away,
I have been thinking of the common factors in much of internal trafficking in much of the West, and know with a broken heart it is always hidden in plain sight.
Sadly, the natural reaction of the exploited teenage girl in prostitution is to hide it from all that love her, and may be able to help her.
For most of the girls who are trapped inside prostitution have come to believe that they can trust no-one, come to believe that they disgusting and unworthy of being helped.
These girls become invisible in a crowded city, invisible in a small town where everyone claims everyone is cared for.
I was a typical of those girls – I am no longer surprise my family think it was impossible that I had a double life. I am just saddened how much I have broken their hearts now.
But I will not be told my past is just built on lies – just it was hidden from their gaze.