A Message From Hell

How do we make prostitution real to the non-prostituted?

How do words fit our hell, our exhaustion, our everyday terrors, our pain in all our bodies?

How do you say or write with a clear mind and speak true to that void?

I feel I write this blog exploring that, and always feeling always the essence of what it is to be prostituted is out of reach.

Words mean nothing when speaking to the heart of torture, heart of isolation, heart of knowing what it is to made sub-human.

I know I write and speak out – I know I have to repeat over and over and over words that may touch that heart of darkness.

I also know the more words I use, the more distance I make between my memories of hell and my role as an exited woman now.

I want to find some language that fits those memories, and fit the gaps and silences that I hear other exited women express.

I don’t want to invent a new language, I want known words and expressions describe our reality.

I reach into poetic prose for some answer – I also reach to music, painting, drawing, dance, and all the arts to express our terror and pain.

I find the arts express our fragmented memories, our desire to not show our vulnerability, our closeness to pain and terror, our rapes becoming so common they become nothing.

I find the arts know our silences are full of screaming, our calmness is a desire to stop feeling and thinking, our ability to survive is grow from deep fury and remembering all our prostituted friends who never reach an exit.

In the arts, there is more space than research or what is called facts,

After all, how can we truly know facts about any aspect of prostitution – when the sex trade is so skilled at hiding male violence, at hiding deaths of the prostituted, at denying there is any torture only kinky fun.

We must question many facts about prostitution as they were formed by those who want to keep the sex trade – and want to silence any exited who speak out about how they remember.

I will try to write into that heart of darkness, it may take months or may take weeks – but I will start by trying switch off my own censor.

I know when I think to the middle of prostitution there are many things that are constant.

There is my fear to see myself – to see my dead eyes, see my body bruised/cut and too thin to live, to see myself is to know a ghost.

There is the cold hate in so many punter’s eyes – that look that makes clear no words or actions will stop his violence until he decides he is done.

Knowing that no part of my skin, my insides, my essence will safe from that violence and his pollution.

I could scratch and try to erase that hate and violence, but even after many years of being an exited woman – there is no cell on my body that can be free from that pollution.

There is a knowledge of male violence that is inside my skin – my fight against male violence was born from my tortured body, the intellectual follows when I had safety and security.

I know violence that I would love to think no human is capable of – only this violence was repeated over and over and over and over till could only live by blocking out my reality.

Most punters who make the choice to be violent will use mental/physical/sexual torture as their norm – and unlike the myth spread by the sex trade lobby most punters make the choice to be violent.

But, I and most exited women would say and know – to make the choice to buy and sell the prostituted is an act of violence in and of itself.

To buy the prostituted is to pay to rape – so no punters can let off the hooks by claiming to the decent guy.

We hate all punters. To survive we pretended to be happy and in control.

But to reach into why prostitution must be framed as torture and considered a human rights, I must describe what it was to be made a living porn-doll.

Punters consume porn as their bible, then pour that hate into the prostituted’s bodies.

In porn, bodies are punished beyond hope and remembering to stay human – that is the norm for the prostituted.

Firstly, the vast majority of the prostituted are raped on a scale where it become their norm. It is to raped and have no time to recover.

To be prostituted, is have many rapists wanting to consume you. But it is rarely just rape – no punters pay to mentally control, to create pain in places that your body thought would be safe.

Punters enjoy the long game of torture – especially if they can consume the prostituted indoors.

The more money and status a punter has, the more time and space he will have to tortured the prostituted.

Most sadist violence or murders done to the prostituted is done indoors – even when the prostituted are brought on the street.

Society allows the private space to punters – saying we will turn away from his violence, and refuse to or hear the terror and pain of the prostituted.

That is some of getting to the heart of prostitution – a start, but I must take care of myself, so I will end there.

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4 responses to “A Message From Hell

  1. Reblogged this on WolfWomanoftheNorth and commented:
    “I find the arts know our silences are full of screaming, our calmness is a desire to stop feeling and thinking, our ability to survive is grow from deep fury and remembering all our prostituted friends who never reach an exit.

    In the arts, there is more space than research or what is called facts.”

    Like

  2. Rebecca, saw this 2 or 3 years ago.

    She has a very eloquent, poetic way of talking that made this impossible to forget.

    The part that got to me was the man of her imagination who has no name.
    “But despite the fact that I have been forced to sell my body, I will never forget the man of my imagination who has no name. At least he is different from the other men. Oh, when I came to Katmandu, I had great expectations. I had special thoughts about the man who has no name. In those days, I had fancied a separate sky and the soul and presence of the man who has no name: a life without loneliness and filled with love and compassion.

    In those days, many fanciful thoughts danced in my head about this imagined
    man. But my dreams were shattered and splashed all over in the brothel in
    Mumbai.”

    from : http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/HL0609/S00132/kamala-sarup-my-hiv-positive-friend-rita.htm

    Like

  3. Hello again, Rebecca. Thank you for your truly moving essays that share your experience, strength, and hope to all prostituted women and girls. I have walked in your shoes, and know firsthand of the violence from punters that you speak of. Even though we live in different countries, the punters are all the same: greedy, narcissistic, violent, sick, hateful, and VERY entitled. They never change. And yes, us prostituted DO put on a damn good act in which we should win several academy awards for! It boils my blood that porn and prostitution are both glamorized in this patriarchal society. I am also a woman who hopes that one day these sick and evil industries are abolished. “Feminist pornographers” make me nauseous. The two words do NOT go together. I can’t believe in this day and age that (some) femnists claim that porn and prostitution is EMPOWERING. There is nothing empowering in spreading your legs for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to penetrate your most private area. I have said this before and I’ll say it again! And YES it is ALL paid RAPE. That’s all for now…I support you 100% Rebecca, and always will. Love you, Amanda

    Liked by 2 people

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