Rebecca Mott: Journey with Trauma and Exiting

I have been quiet, but now I back.

Back and angry.

Back and sad.

Back to the sex trade still flourishing, still killing, still raping, still destroying the prostituted class.

So I am back to speak, shout and scream out.

My voice may be singular – but hopefully when joined with exited women and our allies – it will form a revolution.

In this post, I will write some of my ideas and dreams about that revolution could be. It is sketch and stream of consciousness, for I have no answers, only thoughts.

AN EXITED WOMAN CAN DREAM BIGGER.

My revolution starts and goes on to infinity with the multiple voices of the prostituted.

These voices included those trapped in the sex trade.

Those who are made to believe it is liberating and empowering, only to find it a golden prison.

Those inside the sex trade when all choice is stolen from them.

Those who have exited, but the shadow of trauma makes living appear impossible.

Those who exited wanting to express their fury, grief and pain – only to be silenced for not being the stereotype that others want and need.

Any revolution against the sex trade must be lead, centred and made by exited women.

My revolution is not about gradual change, not about appeasement with those who and/use the sex trade.

This is where language must be questioned.

It not about or for those who named the prostituted – sex workers.

That is the language of our oppressors.

Language of change should not be there to comfort – it is there to create movement and a sense of unease.

Our language must speak to reality, speak to genocide, speak to being raped to nothingness, speak to losing sense of being human is.

That language is the founding stone of any revolution that will succeed permanently.

So my revolution speaks to our pain, our grief and our fury. My revolution must be practical, but also not afraid of dark emotions.

For without knowing that darkness, all change will just superficial.

So I demand that our allies stop silencing and/or censoring how exited women speak out.

We must be furious, we must grieve deeper, and we must say we are shadowed by pain.

This is the beginning of truth-telling.

To understand how abolition works, is to know without knowing this darkness and the emotions surrounding it – there never be real change.

How do you rid the world of deep cruelty, and if you refuse see and feel the conditions that form the oppression.

So to start a revolution that could destroy the sex trade, listen and hear that darkness that created wisdom inside the prostituted.

Our words and action can and will give route to liberation.

Do not speak for us, do not speak over us.

Stop expecting or telling us that our freedom must wait to others have freedom.

Stop telling we must always compare our reality with other forms of males – this always leave us abandoned.

Do see we decide what issues can see as moral or not – we decide hew frame our realities in all political, religious or other man-made dogmas or belief systems.

Listen when try to teach how to understand male violence.

Damned, just bloody listen to exited women

I have been away from my work out of fear.

Fear of failing. Fear of losing power. Fear of knowing the silences that keep me awake and send sickness into my soul.

But to not write – not express my grief, my trauma, my fury, my reaching out for justice and peace – makes me feel that old robot that I became when I was prostituted.

So, I have no choice but get back on the abolitionist horse.

This blog is not just about abolition of the sex trade. It is also focus on how trauma is for exited – using my experiences as example.

Everything I write is example – that a tiny example of what is common to women and girls (and some males) inside the sex trade.

Nothing I write is rare, mostly it is done to millions of the prostituted every day in every continent.

I write to end the genocide of the prostituted, not to stop the occasional rapes or sexual abuse.

I write to to show the intense PTSD that is the norm to most exited women.

I write to there is no safe way to exist in the sex trade, there never was and there can never be utopia whilst the sex trade exists.

I write to say the voices of exited from every country, culture and time must lead the abolitionist movement. Our voices have been silenced and spoken over for too long.

That is just a start.

I want to say I called my a radical exited woman.

This is for many reasons, including the desire to confront the left and some radical feminists without having to censor myself.

I feel that the prostituted have always had multiple voices of resistance.

In the male’s view, usually a punter/profiteer’s viewpoint – the Whore is considered to manipulative translated as powerful.

We know this is crap, but still the left and some radical feminist find ways to silence the power of exited women speaking truth to power.

I will a few ways of silencing, but know this is the tip of gigantic pile of lies and excuses used to silenced exited women and prevent them from their rightful leadership roles.

Firstly there is keeping us poor – how many in the left and radical feminism think we should not paid, but full wages for our work.

Giving speeches, doing research, creating outreach work and shelters, being a writer is work – and exited women are meant to do out the kindness of their souls.

Well, fuck that.

One reason I found hard to keep up with my work, was I working extremely hard with trauma shadowing me – and getting almost nothing back.

Exited women have masses to give, and inventive to make abolition real. But why should we be used and toss away by the left and some radical.

To do that is to copy the behaviour of a punter – and no exited woman should have to smile and act nice when treated that way.

This leads to another reason – that the left and radical feminism are afraid of exited women expressing grief or deep anger.

In other ways, we are still treated like non-human dolls that only show expressions when it fits into your preconceived ideas of what a prostituted woman is.

Grief is constantly silenced.

Yes, our grief is long-term. Hell, we are all linked to the grief of exited women from more than 3000 years ago in all continent.

Our grief cannot be contained until every single prostituted person is free and has a life of dignity.

When an exited woman speaks to grief, it never a single grief. We carries ghosts of women and girls who never exited.

It is a huge political statement – the grief of exited women.

Don’t dare silence our grief – for it you really want male violence to disappear, then listen to the wise words that forms our grief.

It is the same fear with fury of exited women. Righteous is a strength, but our anger is constantly tone down and silenced by the left and radical feminism.

Our anger that we always have to compared to others to heard.

We are silenced if speak to how vast the scale of male violence is the norm in all of the sex trade.

Please don’t use words like

Genocide

Mass raping

Rape to almost dead

Torture

Being made sub-human etc etc

Please don’t say that it is normal for the prostituted to disappear or be murdered.

Hell, please only sketch a tiny bit of the conditions that were your norm.

How do create lasting conditions to form abolition is we refuse to see and know what it is to be prostituted.

I am sick of exited women having to 4;protect everyone from hearing the realities of the sex trade – our allies must stop censoring our fury and desire to expose what it is to be prostituted.

To end, please write to me all you can about this post. I am very isolated, and need the solidarity that you give me.

My past is broken.

I remember through gaps and silences.

I remember a disjointed pictures. Sharp frames of silenced violence.

I remember in a haze of impressionist painting.

It is a the empty husk of me..

But, but in this blog I attempt to force life back into that past. I want to stop being a living sex doll, and become fully human.

This is hard, like swimming in glue.

But my warrior spirit goes forward, one breathe at a time.

This post is a tiny move – I don’t where it will take you and me. All I know, is this must done with love and care.

Love is something my prostituted Self could never reach.

Instead to survive love was thrown away.

Instead my prostituted Self imagined that punters fancy her.

She imagined some punter would not exploit her, but rescue her.

She would be Pretty Woman, some rich punter with a golden heart would not fuck her, but place her on a pedestal and make her his goddess.

As punter after punter after punter rape, mentally and torture her – she waited for that knight in shining armour.

Hope was killing her – but somehow her dreams made the pain less important.

My prostituted could not and would care what was happening to her body and mind.

She stopped caring that her vagina was ripped at, was pulled apart by teeth, was forced into by objects and too many penises.

She stopped caring at her headaches, lack of real sleep. Stopped being aware her constant state of alertness, and wanting to run away.

She stopped caring that punters spoke to her of murdering her, of multiple ways to torture her – always pointing out it no crime to harm a whore.

Why care when caring never stops their hate and violence.

Better to be dead, silent and do as they want – maybe then it may be quick and over.

This is a small part of my prostituted Soul.

It is exhausting writing to my heart of darkness.

I hope it make some connections.

Please communicate if you can.

I look back at my Prostituted Self with disbelief.

I am proud to say that finally, I cannot image living that life anymore.

I reaching out for a full life – with no ownership, no male violence as my routine, and no more thoughts of suicide.

I look back and can finally grieve my Prostituted Self.

I can to, with and for her.

I can introduce her to my exited Sisters, and in them we have found a family and a shelter.

I am proud to speak her truths – including all the gaps and silences, all our confusion.

I have show her trauma, saying the gaps and silences are holes in the brain.

I allow to know she was never to blame, but she is can be furious at what male violence made her.

She can scream that pain still flows through my mind and body.

She can fight at memories of constant punters, nameless and faceless, constantly torturing her.

She can yell at the ignorance as she sees her hell labelled as just work and no crime.

I tell I will speak her truths, even as I gaslighted, even as the sex work lobby portrayed me as mentally ill.

I will speak for her despite trauma.

This is my promise.

So, I am finding writing hard these days. So I put on cheerful African-American music, and let my mind go where it wants.

I been having many nights of nightmares. Mainly about sex, my stepdad and mum, being gaslighted, and general mental/physical violence.

I have few people to unload to download here in Devon.

I choose to not speak too much about the past these days, I want to enjoy and know my present.

I am trying to make a quiet and stable future, build a new life where it my choice what people know about me.

But back to the essence of my nightmares.

Most of these nightmares are focusing on being gaslighted.

I dream that I should see sex, however unwanted or violent it is, is for my own good.

I dream of being watched or force to perform sadist sex.

In some dreams, it framed as spiritual awakening , in others framed as educational.

In all my nightmares, I am fighting to be heard, seen or just to a human.

Voices in my dreams say I am a liar or just don’t understand.

Always when I wake I am sick, and it may several hours to re-enter the real world.

I guess these nightmares are a normal reaction to the trauma of surviving prostitution and childhood abuse. But, hell they are so relentless.

It hard to remember that everything is ok now, and will be in the future.

I am writing this for other exited women and our allies.

I thought you may going through similar. You may have advice or comfort in this difficult time.

Or with resources of graveyard humour, maybe jokes, music or clips from movies may help.

For instance, the title of this post is from a wonderful obscure soul record.

I feel like it getting hard to see the difference between the constant nightmares and the real world.

I need the stability of friendship and understanding of those who know trauma is real.

Please connect if you can.

I am trying to write my first proper post.

I am losing courage, losing fire, losing memory – but I know somewhere deep down I have a warrior spirit.

So I listen to Two Tone, and go back to my forgotten 80’s. With the Coventry sounds, I go back to my prostituted self.

I think to start, I should see and feel what that was.

For me, being prostituted was being in flats, in hotels, behind pubs and in my own room.

Being prostituted was more than being serially raped – it was living inside torture.

Torture of the mind. Torture of my spirit. Torture of my body.

To be prostituted is be tortured until any sense of Self is made to disappear.

To be prostituted, is to know you are viewed as nothing.

To be prostituted, is to know as you seen as trash, anything can and will done to destroy your humanity.

So when I speak to torture and serial rapes, and I am simply trying to paint a picture.

I am understating the reality, coz I am sheltering my readers. But imagine any form of mental, physical and sexual torturing – and you may understand what it is to be prostituted.

Only this torturing is constant, is done by many men, is sanctioned by society – and is made of no importance.

To be prostituted, is to have no skin, no emotions and lose what being human is.

And that is just the surface view.

So is any surprise the high rates of complex trauma that the majority of exited have.

Our brains have seen horrors, know pain, live with grief – all hidden deep in some corner of a Self that no punter, no sex trade profiteer and no judgemental society can know or touch.

For the Prostituted Self never fully loses her route back to being fully human.

She just is forced to wears masks, force to act the role of the Happy Hooker who has no past and is given no future.

To survived prostituted, these masks are vital.

Smile as you know at any time and any place, you will be tortured and raped.

At any time and in any place, you could be murdered, or just give up on life.

That is reality of prostitution.

I have been away.

I have so tired of myself, I stopped working at writing. I turned to films, music and sports to hide into.

But I am a writer as a job, so I must get back on the bike.

I will attempt to use this blog to explore trauma, to speak to what it is and was to be prostituted.

I want to use my skill to use poetical prose for this exploration.

I see my writing faction, that is it speaks to broken memories, it speaks to the emotions rather just facts.

I am truthful, but speaking out a fog of pain, grief and trauma.

Remember truth is opinion most of the time, and the foremost opinions that surrounds prostitution are those who profiteer or consume the sex trade – not the voices of the prostituted.

I speak my personal truths, and hope it connects with other exited women.

I see exited women, and some exited men as my important readers.

I see their opinions and truths as the main weapons to destroy the sex trade.

It is our testimonies that make the road to freedom, justice and back to being fully human.

This blog is part of a larger revolution.

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