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.