Sitting Still

Oh well, sitting here listening to Otis sitting at the dock of the bay – trying to frame my mind round postmodernism and free speech.

In other words, trying to understand how and why modern feminism and students cannot see that the prostituted class deserve human rights, and that in the sex trade there is no such thing as free choice for the prostituted.

I have always I was a leftist and a feminist – but the more I become an Abolitionist and exited woman, the more distance I feel.

I feel betrayed by modern feminism and left-wing views – in the name of individualism and free choice, the  prostituted are abandoned to male violence.

This is a tragedy, for it is a genocide in plain view.

It appears all the rules of the left and feminism are shattered when it comes to the prostituted.

Let me speak to a few givens that are abandoned when it comes to the prostituted.

Firstly, I thought that to be on the left we can see we are more than just individual who can make free choices without outside interference.

That is never true.

All choice is affected by society, upbringing, position in class, ethnicity, education and endless factors that comes from outside the individual.

More important, an individual has little or no power to controlling whether others abuse them or not, whether they get caught in a man-made or natural disaster, or whether they are viewed as sub-human or not.

The prostituted as a class are made up of mostly females who have all access to free choice eroded from them.

This erosion is through being non-white, through childhood abuse, through poverty, through living in a war or disaster zone, through access to the porn culture, through peer pressure, through vulnerabilities that are a magnet to the sex trade profiteers.

This is the environment in which the prostituted are given access to “free choice”.

It is a like a a bird in a cage thinking it is free, for it can know no other world.

I have learnt the hard way to not rely on the left or modern feminism.

As the prostituted are being tortured, raped and murdered, the left and modern feminists discuss how to speak to prostitution without offending anyone or speaking to the conditions the prostituted are in.

To never speak the conditions, is to do the work of the sex trade and its supporters.

If we never speak to those hells, how an we ever truly understand what it is to be prostituted.

Free speech has become a silencing weapon.

By framing free speech as a place where no-one is allowed to be upset, where all language must framed in sex work jargon – that is tool to silence Abolitionists and exited women.

Often this is framed as a debate.

That is debate between a multi-billions institution against Abolitionists and exited women.

I cannot “debate” whilst millions of the prostituted are living in a genocide.

The Left have abandoned the prostituted, ignoring their oppression, and deciding against logic the prostituted are liberated and may even be privileged.

Modern feminists have abandoned the prostituted by saying it is individual free choice and empowering for women.

It has become the way to get females out of poverty.

It is has become the way to all disabled men access to paid sex.

It is spoken as the way to get over student debt.

Hell, in this postmodern utopia – to be prostituted has become the only way women and girls can be liberated.

I have no place in that world.





Are We Allowed to be Human

This is written as workers and volunteers for human rights groups are being accused of consuming the prostituted.

This has deeply triggered me, but also what stuns me is the shock that there is.

These men who make the choice to consume the prostituted are all the same, whether they claimed to care about human rights.

To be a punter is to decide the prostituted are not human enough to deserved rights.

This is hate – there should no place for any punter in any charity or human rights group.

There is nothing new about punters hiding in charities and human groups.

I was consumed by men who were in human rights groups, in campaigning groups for liberation, and men who said they hated torture and abuse of females.

These men preach ways to end torture as they torture my mind and body into hell.

These men call an end to rape in war zones, an end to rape as torture  as they carelessly raped me into forgetting I had a body.

Their wordsof freedom, of rebellion, of resisting were dust struck in my throat as they deep-throated me.

They spoke to me of resisting torture of political prisoners as they shown porn that rehearsed all forms of torture before they pour it into the  bodies of the prostituted.

The screams of the prostituted were nothing.

The inner and outer injuries of the prostituted were made invisible.

The deaths of the prostituted were made unimportant.

These are listed on human rights records, these are rarely reported by the liberal media, these are made nothing happening to nobody.

Instead, too many human rights groups and members hold up being prostituted as free choice and a good way out of poverty and oppression.

The poisonous language of sex work dominates all discussions round prostitution and human rights.

Look, at the liberal reaction to Oxfam workers consuming the prostituted in Haiti.

Too often it is said without logic or compassion, that being paid for sex in a disaster zone is excellent way out of poverty.

So, with that logic, all women and girls who are poor or desperate, should sell their bodies and minds for men’s sexual greed.

Or does that only apply to women and girls who we can Other – such poor black females, females from care, females who appears to have mental health issues, females who are indigenous etc.

In fact, punters and sex trade profiteers find ways to make all types of females into the Other and into the prostituted.

But still the liberal media and its supporters find ways to justify their men consuming the prostituted – ways of avoiding of connecting this with human rights.

I see hate-speech.

I could cry, but who cares about the tears of the prostituted.






Writing to the Unseen

Trauma is a pain that is silenced, made invisible and always framed in the wrong way.

In my blog, I try to say trauma in plain words.

Say that extended desert with no end.

Say how pain is so normal it no longer allow to be real.

Say being alert and waking in the night is printed in my skin.

But my personal trauma is a tiny part of why I became an Abolitionist.

My trauma is the the norm of being part of the prostituted class.

To have been inside the sex trade and survive is to drown in trauma.

I want all people who claim they care for the prostituted to study, listen and understand that trauma.

There can be no lasting change or route to justice, if our trauma is made invisible.

We live with impacted complex trauma, a trauma from a place of being made sub-human.

Our trauma was made from a diet of constant rapes from hundreds of men, constant mental and physical violence, and a reality of being on the edge of death.

Our trauma was made to grow by the turning away by those who could of help us have a reason to remember we were still human.

Our trauma was encouraged to hide by the language of sex work, and the constant message that we were weak if we  even for a moment thought we did not like being prostituted.

The trauma of the prostituted is the loudest silent scream that I know of.

It is a scream that the world has ignore for over 3000 or so years.

A scream that rains blood on every continent.

A scream that is shamefully made silent by all governments, all institutions hat could  help and by a public that cannot know the prostituted.

Inside that silent screaming, is a broken heart of the rejected and the search for a route to being part of what it is to be  fully human.

That is trauma in the raw.

Please listen and don’t speak over.

That would be a good start.


Back to the Track

I have been unable to write after my move to Devon.

This is because my mental energy is focus on moving and trying to fit in.

Now, I am wanting to write and be inside the Abolitionist Movement.

I have had a crisis of doubts that I can belong or even have the right to speak my opinions. But slowly, I am reaching a place of peace and acceptance.

Recently, I have been made to say that I was never prostituted for there is no evidence.

Instead it has decided that I am autistic or damaged from childhood mental abuse.

This made me scared to write.

But I was prostituted, and doubt that I am autistic.

I can never prove I was prostituted, only know it is every cell of my body and mind.

All I know, it is normal for exited women to be told by those who claimed to love them that it was never prostitution.

Who wants to believe a loved one is constantly raped, tortured and on the edge of death?

How do see that your loved one was made sub-human and into sexual goods?

But this disbelief is part of the silencing that is around the truths of exited women.

It comes from a place of refusal to see the impacted trauma that is the legacy of being prostituted.

Yes, many exited women were abused as children, and a few may of had previous mental issues – but the constant violence and hate that is prostitution is the root of most of that trauma.

Trauma is push deep down by the lack of belief, trauma is built on a lack of justice and a root back to dignity.

To not hear or believe that your loved one was prostituted is to block her route back to being fully human.

I and other exited women understand your lack of belief, we know it hurts too much, we know it is the unthinkable.

Do not try to talk as around to your way of thinking.

Do not tell us we must be lying or misremembering.

Do not diagnose us without factoring in impacted trauma.

Do think your stereotype view of what a prostitute is the only way to be prostituted. Think of the opposite and know both are true.

Do teach yourself the multiple ways women and girls are prostituted.

Do listen to exited women without judgement or preconceived ideas.

Do be open to change and ideas that hurt to the core.

Then you may on the start of believing.

To believe is sad and hurts – but to believe is freedom and a part of the hammer that will destroy the sex trade.



Hard to Handleut

OK, I have Spotify soul on, so with those classics at full pitch, I am going to write to my subconscious mind.

I start with James Brown for my title, going into Motown, Stax And Philly Soul, as I try to reach back and deep into my prostituted Soul.

No-one is born to be prostituted, it is never a freely made choice – to be prostituted is come from a place of vulnerability or a place where all self- made choices are stolen from you.

Yes, to survived the years of prostitution it is normal to shout loudly it was your free choice, and that no- one has the right to say otherwise.

The prostituted will want to be the Happy Hooker, want to imagine they have full control, want to know they can come and go as they wish.

No prostitute want to see the reality of the sex trade when she is inside it.

Who can cope with knowing you are inside a death machine – an institution that makes rape and sexual violence your work, an institution that steal your pay, an institution that make you dead as you are still breathing.

Sex work has no connection to being prostitution, therefore that term has no meaning.

Prostitution is slavery, all prostitution is the conditions of trafficking, prostitution is pure male hate.

To say it is either sex or work, is a major betrayal to all the prostituted class.

To say the term sex work, is to confirm that the prostituted are not worthy to be fully human and to have human rights.

I have been crying off and on for a week, coz I see so little that the prostituted are seen as fully human.

I am finding it impossible to write so I will stop.

Ten Years of Blogging

Dedicated with deep love to Chelsea, Lauren, Simone, Jacqueline, Natasha, Nikolaos, Beth, Kelly, Lily, Chris, Trisha, Kerri, Kristen, Alisha and Tanja.


Today it is my tenth anniversary of this blog.

Jeez, not sure what that means or is. Maybe paper or plastic.

But I am amazed at that I have kept going for ten years, and deeply saddened that my blog has to exist.

I will try to write to this moment in time, with a broken heart and fragmented memory – I will write striving for hope.

Ten years is a short and long time, ten years is hard to frame when for too much of my life staying alive for that long seemed a distance dream.

That was the past, and this is now.

I write to find that undiscovered land – the place where I learnt I could think in ten years, and not be amazed I was awake in the morning.

This blog is a landmark, it is my gift to the future.

I hope in that future, this and all the words of exited women will be museum pieces or parts of research into the reasons men ever thought prostitution could be acceptable.

But now as I write, I am ill and close to breaking point.

Ten years of writing, ten years of campaigning and ten years of digging deeply – and how much had changed for the prostituted.

Yes, I celebrated that a few more countries have gone towards the Nordic Approach.

But most still rarely punish the punters, rarely close down prostitution or provide proper exiting programmes.

It hard to celebrate my tenth anniversary as the sex work lobby pollutes every mention of prostitution on the media.

For ten years, the lies and hate speech of the sex work lobby has been a shadow to every blog that I write.

I am proud to say that mainly pretend to ignore my work, framing it as not relevant and just an individual view.

As they ignore, they still send “advice” to improve my work.

Suggest I get help for my mental health issues, suggest I am confuse because I abused  as a child, suggest I could never be prostituted coz my family are rich.

Nice advice that goes straight to the trash.

Then there is constant information freely given by the sex work lobby.

Telling me it is a lie that prostitution is as violent as I write, telling it MUST of illegal if was as violent as I say.

Telling me to give proof of where, when and how my supposed prostitution happened – asking if was so bad where were the police or other help, if was so bad how come you are alive.

I throw their kind advice to the trash.

The sex work lobby would love to silence me, and all other exited folks who speak truth to power.

We were not meant to have survived the sex trade. We were disposable.

Our voices were meant to disappear.

To speak as an exited woman is to be the impossible.

That is to be the one that more than got away – but be the who remembers and can be a witness that shows the rotting heart of the sex trade.

The hardest part of writing this blog, is knowing that my family can never believed that I was prostituted.

Knowing this is true for the majority of exited women is saddening, but give me inner strength.

My family who I love, cannot see or know such an ugly truth, so they blame anything else for my mental health issues.

This is understandable, and as long as we stay clear of the subject, it is fine.

But, I love to build a future where all exited women were held by the good members of their families with belief.

Anyhow, happy anniversary to me – the best thing would be if in the next ten years there was no need for a blog like this.

Funk and Soul Writing

Well, hello after my break to settle my body and back.

I am back, feeling ill with a very crappy cold, coughing too much, being slightly sick and bloodly – but cheering myself by listening to funk and classic soul.

This is the music of my life, the music that raising me even from the hell of prostitution, the music that touches depths of despair whilst always showing hope.

I hear Aretha, Marvin Gaye, James Brown, Earth, Wind & Fire, Chic, Temptations, Four Tops, Supremes, Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Stevie Wonder, Sam Cooke, Gladys Knight, Jackson Five etc etc – and I can be no-one but my essential Self.

This music has been my guardian angel all my life.

Soul and funk is more than entertainment to me, all too often it has given a reason to  live and thrive – and many times Soul and funk has saved my life.

During my years of prostitution, one survival mechanism I had was to get music in the background, if it was Soul or funk, I could and did disappear into the sound whilst I perform the actions of the good whore.

I could act the whore whilst feeling nothing, even imagine I was dancing, as I sung in  silence the well-remembered vocals.

I would fold my confusion, pain, fury and lack of hope into the passion of those singers.

I refused to know my emotions belong – instead they belong to Philly Soul, to Stax records, to Motown and to Altantic Soul.

I only remembered allowing in these simple emotions to music.

How to those of us made sub-human express emotions?

Emotions was never natural, it was learnt – so I will enternally grateful to soul and funk for being my teacher.

I hit the heights of expression when I discover Mavis Staples.

This was late, when I was exited, when my body and mind was ready to accept the complexities of grief, of pain, of reaching towards joy, to knowing it is ok to hope.

I learnt I could cry, scream, laugh, and shout alongside Mavis, and I learnt how to ease some of my past, and place it on the side to find the joy of the moment I was in.

As I grow towards joy and hope, I place disco into my heart and body with soul and funk.

Disco is the music of pure joy, it is hedonistic in a good way.

It is the music that cuts across sexualities, stick it tongue out to racism, a music that dances haters to exhaustion.

It is the music that I need to close out the hell I lived through – disco refuses that world, and just allows me to know I deserve happiness and the right to be selfish in getting it.

I refuse to accept that being inside the sex trade has the power to destroy access to emotions, to kill happiness, to wreck an exited woman beyond hope.

Listening to disco, soul and funk teaches me how indestructible the human soul is.