I cannot ever remember my past in a linear way.
I live inside gaps and silences.
I can never what label to give my past, whether it be prostitution, whether is sexual violence from many strange men, whether it misreading because of being broken by previous abuse.
Words and labels are unimportant when too many rapes to fit into one mind, when torture was my norm.
All I know I have deep spiritual connection with the prostituted class, a deep spiritual link to those who have had torture inside their skin.
I have connected with those who have seen and fully known the evil that only men can do.
So, though I will put a label on my past, I will never stop speaking out for my exited Sisters, never stop fighting for full and long-abolition of the sex trade.
I know in my late teens and much of my twenties, I was on the edge of death, know my self-hate and sense that I wanted to be a zombie – attracted me to slow suicide of sadist men.
Most of this was unpaid, though on occasions I was paid from £5 to £300.
The vast majority of these sexual sadists were invisible to me, for I refuse to let their faces or names into my mind.
Maybe these bad one-night stands, maybe this was part of casual prostitution, maybe I was being trafficked.
Such labels are unimportant – for it was torture, it was rape and it was extreme self-harm.
Labels do not take away that pain, labels do not give me justice.
It can both prostitution and confused one- night stand, for there was many men on too many occasions.
I survived by refusing to hold most of their sadism in my head until I became secure enough to know my reality.
Now, I can remember in bits and pieces for my inner strength can speak out.
I do need labels, but space to heal and grieve.
There must space so I can have more to my life than that past.