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.