Friday on my Mind

I have been away from this blog coz my trauma has been extremely bad.

My mind and body is dragging out years of torture, years of isolation, years of punters thinking I was nothing.

I am still sick and pretty exhausted in mind, body and spirit. But I want to get back on the bike.

Today is Good Friday, though I am a strong atheist, this day has many connections to me.

I have respect for a belief that can face suffering, grief, confusion and lack of justice in the eye.

That is all in the tradition of Good Friday.

To face those aspects of humans, and what human are capable of doing, what humans are able to survive and build a route to hope and full justice.

I see no god or goddesses in this view, only human corrupting routes to freedom and joy, and other humans fighting for liberation from violence and hate.

So Good Friday is deeply meaningful to my prostituted Self.

The Self that was abandoned.

The Self that thought torture was endless.

The Self that was made into a porn doll.

The Self that scream – Why have been forsaken, god, why do you abandon me.

Also Friday is meaningful to me, for it was the night when I a teenage prostitute that I was my busiest.

Friday nights for too much of my live were times I closed my consciousness.

Those were the nights that punters, ten, twenty or thirty years older would screw me to near death.

Those were the nights that punters would lined up to fuck away my memory, my ability to know pain, my right to know the first time, my route back to being allowed to be young.

Those were the nights gang-rapes became my norm.

Those were the nights I became pregnant with no right to grieve the abortion or to think of any future as a mother.

On this Good Friday, I see my teenage Self laying in blood, sperm and sweat – I see he and hold into my future, saying I will never forsake you.

Then there were the Fridays of my twenties, the Fridays leading to weekends of imprisonment with punters wanting Girlfriend Experience or wanting an escort that they refuse to name as a prostitute.

Those Fridays were my education that Hell is man-made, and nothing to do with religion or the supernatural.

In my twenties, I was taught inside my the multiple ways punters can torture the prostituted.

This I blocked out, this I refuse to allow to be true.

This now returns in my sickness, returns in my sleep pattern, returns in my refusal to know I have a body or a sexuality.

Now, finally I see and feel the edges of what that torture meant to me.

To understand what it is to survive years of sexual, physical and mental torture – you must know it destroys parts of the brain especially the memory and access to emotions.

I find it hard to emote my past, I have a slice of ice in my heart when I see, when I write or when I speak to that past.

But the worse aftermath of years of torture is that I have fragmented memory.

I have most of the years between 6 to 27 that I cannot see except in bits and pieces.

This makes me doubt myself, makes me feel everything I reach into some of my truths it just slips away.

Now, I slowly learnt to trust my body, even as my mind refuses to know – my memories are in my sickness, my memories are in my refusal to know my own body, my memories are in the pain that shadow me.

Now, I see and speak the moments that crash though showing that it was prostitution, that it was torture.

I see a punter who refuse to allow me any sleep even as he keep me in his flat for a week.

I did sleep when he was out or not looking, but if he caught me not making the centre of the world, he anally raped me back.

I see a so-called male friend finding out that I was a whore, and raping me for six hours.

Hell, calling it rape is kind. He tortured me.

He destroyed all holes in my body, even my ears. He spread sperm all over my skin.

He nearly killed me, well I stopped breathing enough for him to to give me the kiss of life only to carry on torturing me.

I see endless punters fucking me in pub toilets, in graveyards, in subways, and behind  bins.

I see hotel rooms, flats and rooms above clubs where punters have time and space to torture me as much their porn brains can.

I see cameras filming my moments of Hell.

On this Good Friday, I hold my adult prostituted Self and tell over and over – I love you and will never forsake you.

This my message for Good Friday.

 

 

Questionnaire

I thought I would ask my regular readers some questions. Please answer if you have the space and time. These questions are from many angles, but will remind me why I do this blog.

1. How do you find the style that I write in? Is it too simple or too complex, or somewhere in the middle?

2. Do you find I am too repetitive? Or do you think my repeating thoughts, ideas and phrases need to be done? Please explain more.

3. Would you be interested in me writing deeper about trauma and exiting prostitution?

4. Would you be interested in my exploring fragmented memory and its deep connections with prostitution?

5. Do you read other exited women’s writings, especially from other cultures and times in history? Or is most of your information on being prostituted from outsiders or allies?

6. Do you think that exited women can and should have separate voices? Do say as much as you can.

7. Would you do more to support exited women when they are attacked by the sex work lobby? Such as noticing and responding to attacks on Twitter, on their public writings or when they give speeches etc.

8. Do you question or respond to the media stereotyping how we should view the prostituted, especially when the constant refrain is that is just work, and the image is  of the Happy Hooker?

9. Do you ignore jokes about the prostituted, do ever confront men who speak lightly about prostitution?

10. Do you think that countries who have parts of the Nordic Approach are fully enforcing the radical changes or not? Please explain.

11. Would you be able to think of how exiting programmes can improve and made permanent?

12. Do you think that exited women should have more of a leadership role in how laws and exiting programmes are made and carried through? Do say more.

Please write as much as you can, and if possible also send money to my PayPal account, I can give you my email if you need it.

Dancing is All That is Left

When I embedded in prostitution, I refused emotions.

I refused to know grief, I refused celebrations, I refused crying from pain, I refused loneliness, I refused needing love.

But I still could dance.

Not the manic dance of the lost, but the ordered dance of wanting to be invisible.

I never lost my love of music, never lost desire to be be free.

But, even in the dance, the sex trade and punters found many ways to trap me.

Punters would laugh at my passion for music, making me small enough for to be back in their control.

The sex trade set up my love of dancing to get punters in.

I was made to dance with old men who could take me away and do whatever their money could buy.

I was slowly growing to hate music, hate dancing, and hate myself for imaging I could be that free.

I could have nothing private, only the brief moments of cutting and dreaming of death.

I write to this place, not for pity, not to shock – I write to say why we must destroy the sex trade, not replace it with yet more ways to destroy the prostituted.

Let me speak to the revolution that I believe in, the revolution which could mean I could dance in real freedom.

I see the Nordic Approach as a wonderful beginning, but not an end.

To start, we need to take the Nordic Approach more seriously, and fully implement what it appears to be saying.

We must take seriously the criminisaling of punters.

This means a fine of the minimum of 10% of their income, imprisonment for repeated consuming of the prostituted, and long sentence for violence to the prostituted.

We must take seriously that is a grievous crime to profiteer from the sex trade.

Sex trade profiteers must go to prison for a long time, must have all their criminal earnings stripped from them.

Finally, we must make exiting a priority.

This means not the harm reduction model, or short-term non- focused counselling – but a long-long holistic approachs.

This involves multi-disapline approach – with safe housing, access to education and jobs, childcare, long-term specialist counselling, and whatever individual needs of the exited women.

Alongside that we need to educate why prostitution need to go, and do training with police, medical services, social workers, teachers and parents on how we can build up changes to make that happen.

That is a start of a revolution that would make me remember how to dance.

Some Women Just Can’t Take It

One of the statement that the sex trade lobby repeats over and over and over and over again about exited women –

They were not suitable for sex work.

They did not have the mental strength to do the work.

They were men-haters so should be doing sex work in the first place.

They should of done some research before entering sex work.

 

Where do I start with such foolishness or such deep mental cruelty.

The sex work lobby appear to believe that there is some kind of training for prostitution.

That all that is needed is a strong will and awareness, and then the prostituted woman will be safe and happy.

The sex work lobby makes invisible that the cause of all harms done to the prostituted is by punters and sex trade profiteers.

Instead all the blame and guilt is placed on the prostituted for being “weak”.

Classic victim blaming is easier than looking at the punters and sex trade profiteers.

Blame the prostitute, then we can rest easy – especially as inside the blame is the concept that the prostituted can never be fully human.

So let’s look at the so-called weakness of the prostituted.

A typical line of the sex work lobby is the false idea that the prostituted will know and be able to stop violent punters.

The sex work peddle the line that there is only a few bad apples, that the majority of punters have respect for the prostituted, and would never cross her boundaries.

This shows the sex work are made up of mainly punters, sex trade profiteers and their academic allies – for this so far away from the reality of being inside prostitution.

Violent punters will not know the language of no, will not think buying the prostituted  means he can do whatever he wants – her consent is of no relevance.

Money or gifts is framed as consent – her will, her pain, her fear and her right to remain fully human is pushed away.

So how in that reality, does any prostituted woman have any control or ability to stop his violence.

The sex work have the theory that prostituted can and should access the punter, and turn him away if she has a gut reaction that he is the bad apple.

Ha! That is a sick joke.

It is extremely rare that punters look or act violent, even when they do it almost impossible for a prostituted woman to turn him away.

He is the consumer/customer, he must get what he has paid for – it is his right and entitlement.

For a prostitute to turn away a punter is to place in the line of danger, or to lose access to money.

A punter usually ignored her no, and may use it as an excuse to be more sadist, even to murder her for her moment of resistance.

It is common that prostituted who no too often, are sent to more dangerous aspects of prostitution as punishment.

It is a common ploy of the sex trade to punish prostituted women who dare to say no, by getting sadist punters in, usually gang rapes and extreme anal is used.

Saying no as a prostituted woman can be a death wish.

So how dare anyone call the prostituted weak!

 

 

Listening to Soul

I am huge fan of classic soul, it has been the saviour of my life when all else seems pointless.

I am buried inside Motown, Stax, Philly Soul and Northern Soul – in a place where I can write to my lost years but hear hope and joy.

Most of this blog has been written with soul music being turn loud.

I cannot face my personal hell in silence, I need to be in the present when facing the past.

My past was unbearable, close to unspeakable – so inside music I write words that the sex trade and its allies thought would never been known.

Yes, the pen is mightier than sword – that is proven as every exited women writes her truths, write to the conditions of being prostituted, write to blow down the walls of the sex trade.

Our truths are the revolution, ours truths are what I understand hope to be, ours truths comes a place of deep silencing.

To speak out as an exited woman is to become a leader, is to lose fear of others and our environment.

We are speaking to bring down power, we are the witnesses who refuse to be dismissed.

Our truths shine a light on what it is to be prostituted.

My truths are that to be prostituted is be tortured – it is rape, but more than that, it is being battered, but it is more than than, it living with knowing you may die young, but it is more than that.

To be prostituted is to have no skin, to reject inner thoughts, to lose emotions.

To be prostituted, it is to be made into a robot.

A prostituted woman is allowed no memories, no friends, no link to her family, no place in society, no thought of a future.

A prostituted woman is made nothing – nothing but what punters force her to be, nothing but what can be sold for a profit.

That is why all violence done to the prostituted is made nothing.

Nothing is happening to nothing.

Our truths is buried memories of being someone.

Our memories is the silent screaming as we hate the male entitlement that made us into sex goods to buy and sell.

Our memories are the pain we carry in silence – pain as every piece of porn invented is force into our bodies and minds, pain as we should of died but some inner spirit keeps us alive.

Our memories is our silent grief – grief at those we lost, those who just disappear or we know died from lack of hope. Grief at lost years, grief at our los t sexuality, grief that we had ignored for so long.

And our memories is a silent fury – a fury that all women’s lives count expect the prostituted, a fury that all damage done to us is view as the risk of the job, a fury that we are not allowed to feel we were wronged.

This is hard to write, coz I am sick, so I end here.

But listen harder please.

Just Get Over It

Just get over it, is a refrain that all exited women know.

So think about that expression – who it is said to and why.

Would you say to a tortured political prisoner, would you say to soldier returning from wars?

No, but every day in every country it said to women and girls.

That is all women and girls, but my focus is targeted on exited prostituted women.

For numerous reason, we can’t just get over  – and if you had had six months of our lives, you may understand.

Get over it, is said by folk who claim endlessly that rape is the worse crime that is done to women. Said by those who see deaths of battered females outside the sex trade.

These same people refuse to see or know the lasting pain, grief and fear embedded in the bodies and minds of exited women.

Our rapes, our torturing and our deaths are made to no matter.

That we are allowed to fully exist is blown away in the wind.

See how there are no records of murders of the prostituted, see how we are framed as unrapeable, see behind the closed doors to the prostituted being made into living porn-dolls.

Think before you rape is the worse thing done to any woman, think if there may be a prostituted/exited woman listening.

What can she say then, without you switching off or turning it into a pity fest.

Can you really hear what it is to be rape so often that it become the norm?

Would you hear about how detachment, use of drugs/alcohol, acting hard, forcing all emotions out of your body is the normal way to deal with rapes with no end?

Do you really want to know that there no time for grief, anger, trauma or even sense of  self, when knowing there always another rapist/punter waiting his turn?

And can you hear that serial rapes is just the beginning of why we now have extreme complex trauma?

Do you want to know about the mental violence that imprisons the prostituted and exited women/girls?

The mental abuse that sex trade profiteers and their allies are experts at, the mental abuse that keeps reminding us we not allowed to be full human for our role is to sexual goods for punters to consume.

The mental abuse that said we can never truly leave the sex trade, it is branded on our body.

The mental abuse that states there no place for the prostituted outside the”family” of the sex trade, that we will always be rejected and deprised.

The mental abuse that attacks us as we strives to regain our lives and sanity.

This is the voices that say we are too damaged to fit into a world outside the sex trade.

Voices that question our sanity, that say we are liars, that speak loudly over and through us.

It is these voices that claim we hate other prostituted women – or in their language, sex worker.

We are called SWERFS, that is playing our self-hate and sense of despair that is inside our trauma.

And in their final hateful mental abuse, these people use the fact that most exited women have fragmented memories – see they don’t know facts, they must be lying or so mentally sick, there is no point in listening to exited women.

How should we just get over that mental violence?

My final point is we cannot get over how and why we were tortured till we became sub-human sex dolls for punters to pour all their porn hate into us.

Without justice and reparations that can never be got over.

I hear and see the echos of thousands of centuries of the prostituted being tortured and ignored.

We can never give them back their human rights to dignity, to safety, to hope, to a life worth more than just remembering to keep breathing.

But if we can make a future where no human anywhere is brought and sold for the “great” male orgasm, then maybe we are stepping on the road to justice and dignity for all the prostituted.

But for now, we need to see and know what torture means to the prostituted – and why it impossible to just get over it.

To be just raped is a relief to the prostituted, for most punters are not paying to do missionary sex.

Punters are paying to do whatever sadist porn-fuelled fantasy their money can buy.

They can do penis in the vagina sex with real women – prostituted women are there to fuck close to death, to humiliate, to degrade, to torture, to gang-rape, to film.

Every time a prostituted woman or girl is brought, she never know if she will be murder, torture, or just normal sex, or even if he just a talker.

She never is allowed safety, dignity or even the right to remember she is human.

Her role is to be his porn toy and then thrown away.

Bloody tell how you just get over that.

Go on, convince me, like you have convinced yourself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Work Deserve a Reward

I have done this blog with little or no reward.

I would love my regular readers to think carefully about making donations to my PayPal account.

If you are interested, especially if you can do this on a monthly basic, please get in touch and I can give my email which is must be kept private.

I am a writer as my unpaid job, from which I do many others tasks such as giving speeches, listening with other exited women, writing to spread out my work, reading and gathering both positive and negative articles about the prostituted, and the constant keeping on top of the hate and trolling of the sex work lobby.

All this is done through the shadow of trauma, and the constant fear of running out of food or not being able to pay bills.

I very proud of my work, but it is extremely hard – and deserve financial security.

Please think carefully about making regular donations.