Confronting Cambridge

In my last post, I begun my journey to understanding my fear of Cambridge, but also my sense it belongs to me as I was born there.

I could never live in Cambridge again, all my roots have been ripped out long ago.

This saddened me deeply. My mother’s family had live there since the 1930’s – and had quite an impact on the city.

My grandfather was an architect, and designed many fine buildings in Cambridge. My grandmother run Cambridge Ballet Workshop.

I am proud of that side of Cambridge, I can fit into that world whilst always having to be apart from it.

I cannot live in Cambridge, coz I would go mad if I went back for more that one night.

The dark side of my Cambridge is too loud, too demanding, too attached to my essence to stay there too long.

I, like MR James, see only evil seething into every inch of Cambridge. Not demons, but normal men acting with hardened hearts.

Only MR James was creating fiction and shocks for a good read.

My memories of what evil was and is – that is real, being real it is very mundane and made normal.

The worse evil is in the ordinary, in events that are so normal that it becomes invisible. After the best trick of the devil, was to make it that it does exist.

That is how the sex trade works in tourist cities, in provincial city – it makes itself invisible whilst being everywhere.

I can imagine giving an alternative tour of Cambridge –

This is the pub where men queue to pay for rape by the beer barrels.

This street has many flats where under-aged prostitutes were gang-raped, tortured and groomed to be silent and still.

This building is where I was anally till I lost consciousness and ended up in hospital.

This graveyard was a regular place for cheap prostitution.

This college was full of rich foreign students having “parties” with whores with no voice, no human rights – only a desire not to die.

This street is where I failed to kill myself.

This West Indian pub had the upper room for punters to dance and rape under-aged prostitutes.

Not a fun tour, but my tour of Cambridge.

I could call it a ghost tour, call tour of the underbelly of Cambridge – all trendy ways to hide my terror and sickness.

What it too hard to state, to remember, to know in every cell of my body – is that tour would just the beginning of my horror of living in Cambridge.

Now, with great distance and years gone past – I am ready to confront Cambridge, ready to look beyond the tourist image and see into the shadows.

I can see how lost I was, how much I wanted to invisible, to be dead.

I also see I was desperate for real help or even for the world to stop long to hear my pain.

I had been abused since before i could remember, I could not imagine a life where I mattered or where there no pain.

My life in Cambridge was waiting for death, but feeling too much of a coward to kill myself.

I had no hope – without hope, life is just breathing.

I was nothing – so if men raped/tortured/killed me, it meant nothing.

I was there to have men pour all their sick porn dreams into – I was not alive enough to make it matter.

Only I could not stopped having emotions, feeling pain, knowing something was going wrong.

I could not be a robot – my humanity keeps coming into me.

There is nothing worse in prostitution then being conscious of what is happening to your body and mind.

Knowing that prostitution is rape is unbearable when there many punters waiting for their term.

Feeling what is to be tortured in every cell, and not fainting or blocking it out – that is unbearable.

Being send close to death, feeling some relief that at least it is some end – only to find a punter laughing at you, saying “don’t fucking die on me, bitch!” – that is unbearable.

To survive prostitution, learning to be dead is a vital skill.

So, that is why I must confront Cambridge – for the major ghost that haunts me, is my prostituted self.

I want to give back the streets, the colleges, the parks, the river, the flats, and other buildings.

I want to walk through Cambridge as a ghost carrying all that pain and degradation.

I want to get back my birth-town, and to feel freedom there.

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