Being exited is wonderful, but all the time there are triggers.
Usually I can deal with them, but this week a punter has written to my blog, and set off so much fear and memory of being nothing in me.
Maybe it coz of the depression of Brexit and Trump being elected.
Maybe it is my sleep pattern being all over the place.
Whatever it is, this particular punter and his arrogance has really got inside me.
He is called in his email painal4whores, isn’t that a charming start.
He choose to write to an exited woman how he loves raping and causes pain to the prostituted – knowing the police will turn a blind eye to his violence.
He goes on to say how he prefer to take advantage of poor prostituted women, especially if they have been robbed or own rent.
This charmer is not original, he is just writing what the majority of punters think and do.
So why has this push all my buttons?
Maybe if I can be positive, it is because my blocked fear, grief and vulnerability is coming alive.
I am feeling what it is and was to be that prostitute who he is choosing to rape and torture.
I am feeling that inability to defend myself, that sense that I could be murdered, that being trapped with no sign of hope.
I am knowing his hate is not one punter, that is punter after punter after punter after punter after punters – punters so many that my brain cannot count them.
I am remembering the turning away of the police, the turning away of the medical profession, the turning of anyone who could of stop his violence and hate.
That is some of my being triggered, the surface part, the part I can find words for.
There is the deeper part, the silent screaming at my losses, screaming that body and mind know torture, screaming that I had to survive what has become almost wordless.
This silent scream makes me wait smash my head into a wall until all the filth and hate of punters is out of me.
This week I have been half joking that I regret failing in many suicide attempts when I was prostituted.
I don’t how I still alive when bastards like this punter were dragging my body and mind into hell.
Maybe my inner spirit was stubborn and sticking up two fingers to all punters – saying I show them I will not just live, but one day I will write who these scums really are.
So here I am with this blog.