See the Human

I have been unable to write, for I have allowing myself to know that I human.

I needed to be away from writing, for though it from a place of deep truth – I can only write by being detached from my own words.

To write into the truths of my exploitation, I must have a heart of ice. I cannot feel, in case I am sick or just want to self-harm.

It has been effective for me to not know my own blog too closely, but now I want to write with feeling.

I want to be human, I want to stop the endless deadness that was forced into me and made me almost nothing.

I want to see that I am human, I want it to be clear to me that I am human.

I could scream at how my skin, my ways of seeing, my ability to be touched or touch, my sense of smell, my vagina and anus, and ability to breathe was destroyed by the violence o the sex trade.

As I write now, I am choking near to sickness. I am choking all those penises, all those objects force into my throat, choking out water as memories of being drowned return.

As I write now, my vagina is in old and ancient pains of countless rapes, pains from my experiences join up with the pain of all the prostitute class being raped till it is of no importance.

My vagina was conquered, raped, erased, nuked by so much penetration by so many punters – my brain cannot know how many, or see, hear, feel or know the pain of too many men entering one very small area.

How do the prostituted know in a human way, what it is to be raped.?

We speak to our emptiness, we speak with detachment about threats of death, about extreme sadism,

How can a prostitute know the pain, the grief, the endless terror without building a wall around herself?

I know I can only know, feel and remember a few rapes, some of the sadism, parts of my near-death experiences.

I know I was raped beyond what my mind can hold.

I have spoken and written for many years – and there is so much that my mind keep away from me.

I believe we remember enough to know torture was true, to know that we did our best to survive in a terrible circumstances.

I believe the mind shows enough so we can grieve, know the reality of our deep pain, and to believe enough to forgive ourselves.

But the prostituted rarely remember her past as a whole – mostly we remember with many gaps and a sense of being empty.

How can one human truly know the scale of the violence and hate that is what it is to be prostituted? How can it be remembered without falling into self-harm or closing down completely?

I believe the mind is intelligent enough to hold away most memories of prostitution, and help the prostitute slowly learn to live fully and have a real pain-free future.

The mind fights for the prostitute to know and understand that she is a human – not and never sub-human sex goods.

I am at the point where I learning to trust my own mind – learning to not be afraid of gaps and holes in my past.

I am learning to be alive, to want a future.

I am learning that I do not have to live inside pain, that terror and being on constant is no longer my norm.

I am now happy that I live a boring non-eventful life – it is a blessing to know I do so little that is exciting, I can at last rest without one eye open.

This is a tiny start to being human – it is will a long and unseen road.

 

 

 

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3 responses to “See the Human

  1. Pingback: Excerpt from “See the Human,” by Rebecca Mott | My name is Sangita.

  2. sister, i see you. you are beautiful and fully human. just like me. just like us. i love the sight of you. i love loving you. thank you. (hugs)

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  3. Being treated as though you are not human does not change the truth of your humanity. You are a person. You are worthy of love. You didn’t do anything wrong. Wrong was done TO you. You are not body parts. You are the whole you. Your thoughts, your feelings matter. I feel strongly for you and wish I could erase the memories and ease your pain. Know that you are not alone and that people in this world (like me) see you as the beautiful survivor you are.

    Hugs and loving thoughts from your sister in Oklahoma.

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