A driving force that makes this blog is a fury – a fury that burns under my skin, a fury that makes me restless, a fury that goes still after writing.

It is a fury of seeing and knowing the world has little space for exited women who shout out against the sex trade.

We are acknowledged, but rarely fully heard – only as an example or some afterthought to the wrongs of the sex trade.

Our voices are framed as whatever stereotype suit the views of what it is to be a prostitute, to be inside porn, to be a stripper, to be an under-aged prostitute, to be inside a brothel, to be an escort and on and on and on.

We must fit preconceived views or statistics, or we don’t exist.

Do you think every battered woman is a stereotype? Every incest survivor has the same background? Every date rape is for the same reason? I doubt it.

But women and girls inside the sex trade are given narrow reasons for being there, don’t fit that and be ignored.

I am told over and over and over that women inside the sex trade were abused as children, usually by their families or in an institution.

This may true for a large percentage of women in the sex trade – but there are also women trapped inside the sex trade who were not abused as children, some who even come from happy families.

Looking at whether the individual woman was previously abused or not – is a brilliant way to avoid the elephant in the room.

That the punters and profiteers of the sex trade don’t know or care anything about her individual background – but buy and sell whatever her background, buy and sell her whatever her mental state, buy and sell her because they see her as vulnerable and therefore easy to manipulate.

The background of the individual woman means nothing to her – for to them she is not a real woman, she is just goods to be brought and sold.

I am angry at the assumption that poverty is often seen as the only reason that women and girls enter the sex trade.

Of course, this is true for the vast majority inside the sex trade – but again not all.

Some who focus on the issue of female poverty, use this as an excuse to say that being inside the sex trade is just a job, and raises women above poverty.

If it is a job – then it is one where serial rape is a work hazard, then it is one that being smashed into a pulp is a work hazard, and where the end of the “job” is either having extreme trauma – or death by “accident” from severe violence, death by suicide, or death by murder.

If it is a job – then it work that you must detach your mind from fear, detach your mind from pain, detach your mind from that you have any real existence.

If it is a job that raises women above poverty – how come the vast majority of women and girls inside the sex trade have little or no money.

Their money is stolen by pimps and punters, their money is taken in pointless fines, there is no money when you only just alive after the endless rapes and beating ups – there are multiple ways to make sure women and girls in the sex trade stay in poverty, and continue to be trapped in the hell of the sex trade.

Oh, if you care so much about female poverty – then do something like fighting for equal pay in all work, fight for women to have more power in business and politics – just don’t use it as an excuse to say the sex trade is ok.

To end, the thing that makes me the most mad – the wanting that exited women show more emotions and are more grateful when being helped.

Often, there is the expression – “I’m a good person, so why don’t you trust me?”

Think just a little, and you may see the answer.

Why do assume that any women who has been inside the sex trade should trust anyone, why would she take your word without testing you?

Think that to be inside the sex trade is to be in an environment where most speak good words, act like good people – only to smashed her down into hell when she has a small piece of trust.

Most women and girls inside the sex trade have to survive by building up mental boundaries that closes out the ability to trust.

To have trust inside the sex trade can be a death sentence.

Now, you say “trust me” – you put yourself and your needs above that of the exited woman.

Be more humble – and reach out by letting her show her fury, reach out by allowing to say she hates you and all that you stand for, reach out by letting put all her hurt out in your hearing.

Then maybe trust can begin.

I cannot write, I am so drained.

I have been unable to write – I have been unable to think.

I have been unable to breathe without being sick, so writing is left on the side – but now maybe with a stream of consciousness, maybe by letting go of always making sense – I may say something to ground me enough to watch TV.

I have been diagnosed as severe depression, diagnosed as personality disorder – placed on pills that make me sick and not giving a damn.

I am labelled – but not heard or seen as a survivor of trauma.

Not heard or seen that if and when I have their illnesses – it may be because I was made into a porn-toy for round about 21 years.

A lifetime of sexual sadism, a lifetime of severe mental manipulation, a lifetime of acting happy when I was in hell.

I would be insane, if I did not have mental health issues after that.

Yeah – I suppose I am depressed.

If it is true that depression is suppressed anger – then hell yes, I am bloody depressed.

I am depressed that there is no real justice for me and the vast majority of women and girls in or exited from the sex trade.

I am depressed that most societies condoned male users of the sex trade – make out it is just part of the leisure industry, it is a natural part of being a “real man”, that most appalling reason that it prevents rape to non-prostituted women and girls.

I am depressed that any time of day and night – there is the buying and selling of prostitutes on the streets and indoors, there are men seeking violent porn on the net, there is sexual tourism, there is buying of brides, there is sex clubs, there are massage parlours and on and on and on.

I am depressed that trauma is usually background noise for a lifetime for most who have exited the sex trade.

Yeah, I am bloody depressed. And pills won’t magic it away.

Sure, I may have personality disorder.

To survive prostitution, I had to perform being the person that men wanted me to be – perform well enough not to be beaten up, perform well enough to prevent sex being too sadist, perform well enough to stay alive.

Doing that I lost my personality, I had no person-hood, only roles to stay safe.

So I may do many personalities – but no essence.

As I struggle to be part of the real world, I seek with grief and pain to find my true personality.

The crime of the sex trade is how steal women and girls ability to know their true essence.

I can’t write more, TV calling me. And sorrow is grabbing my heart.

Violence on real women and girls from porn is nothing new.

It would be easy to believe that it is only since the invention of the camera that real women and girls have been harmed by porn. It would be easy believe to think that extreme porn violence is just since film and the invention of internet.

This is not true – violence on real women and girls from porn is as old as the first drawing or piece of writing that depict sadistic sexual violence done to women and girls.

It is not a new form of violence – it is just that as the violence of porn has been and is now done mainly to the prostituted class – that is kept hidden.

Porn is not ideas or fantasies to the prostituted class- it is what is forced into their bodies.

Porn is made safe and sterile when all the women and girls inside that prostituted are long dead.

Their voices are silenced, their memories are discarded.

As we make porn into “high” art and history – those prostituted women and girls become screaming ghosts.

Look at the endless books and photographs of Roman whorehouses. See depictions of sexual violence painted on the walls – it must be art, it cannot be real.

Look at the glam pictures of high-class courtesans in Western art – no concept that they are throwaway women, only wanted as long they can be a sex object.

Read the endless male novels making out being a prostitute is life-affirming and inventing the myth of the happy hooker.

Art hides violence, art hides utter despair, art lies about the prostituted class.

But much of art is brutally clear that the “whore” class are made nothing but holes for men to put in their porn fantasies.

In Greek and Roman art, constant images of what is now called gonzo porn is shown.

Double penetration, deep-throating, anal fisting etc are not new – they were never new.

Porn is repetitive, when on the receiving end of porn is very boring in its repetition.

There are only a limited amount of things that be done to the female body – porn may of reached that limit centuries ago.

Only the changes is what is put into the body. The change is what technology is used to make and send porn to the consumers.

But the violence in porn has always been extreme, always be life-threatening to the women and girls inside the prostitutes class.

Porn has always put violence into the bodies and minds of the prostituted class – for then it is proven that they are not “real” women, for it their job to take all that hate and violence.

Porn has always been violent to the prostituted class – and made ok as most cultures and societies say it is natural for men to have porn fantasies, it is natural to then take that fantasy and poison the prostituted class.

What does it matter, they are just throwaway women and girls.

Well if you believe that highly dangerous nonsense, you should imagine what it is to be that prostitute of any time and any place.

You be her, as you know each punter/client/john is not seeing you, just seeing receptacles for whatever porn is embedded inside his brain.

Tell me you are not scared, tell me you have not got disgust – and say you will not go dead inside.

Porn throughout its existence has taught male consumers that the prostituted class don’t feel pain, don’t have real terror, enjoy life and death “games, that they love sadistic sex, that they love being mentally abused, that there no racism in their actions.

Porn make all hate disappear – for the prostituted class don’t mind, do they.

So you be the prostitute who more the likely on the receiving end of this porn-fuel sex.

You will smile and act happy, you will boast his ego, you will make every porn noise you can remember – all the time trying to remember how to stay alive.

That is the norm of porn being made real inside the bodies of real women and girls – only made invisible being “only” prostituted women and girls.

I write this not just for now, not just for my own personal pain and grief – I write for the millions of prostituted women and girls over many centuries, in most countries – who were made nothing but porn goods.

I write to say all those women and girls lived inside torture, live a life where hope was stolen.

Human history is tainted by the silent screaming of their destruction.

Porn murdered their futures.

This post is to say what I think I am – how I got to where I am now, and why I reject all labels.

I am not left-wing, I am not a liberal, I am not a radical feminist, I am not man-hater – but all those are parts of why I do this work and who I have become.

Just know if you push me into your box, my instinct is to break free.

My instinct was made from many years of surviving by being roles. Now I reject all that does not comes from my guts..

I no longer have to please others in order to live or not be sadistically raped. Now I have arrived where I can and do make my own rules.

Of course, this is terrifying; of course, I will make and am making tons of mistakes; of course, my ways may hurt those I reject or have grown out of – but it is my way to freedom and to a world without being a robot that just pleases.

I truly believe that if the prostituted are ever going to be fully free, we must stop trying to place them into easy boxes. Boxes to make others feel they have done their duty by the prostituted. Boxes to have their token exited woman who will speak for every prostitute on the planet. Boxes that said prostitution is ok if just not like this victim-prostitute.

I speak, write, yell, scream and cry against the sex trade – but I will do it my way, not the way that makes others feel safe and that now they can understand everything.

I am told with kindness, told with ignorance, told in a constant patronising tone – why don’t you stop your work. You have written so much, you must be written out. It is clear your work makes you ill, so what’s the point. You are so repetitive.

Well, my work is not over. I know my work wants to go more unsafe places – more to speak to the rage of being an exited woman; more to the utter grief of an exited woman; more to speaking out against the constant connecting of other forms of male violence to women and children; more to the language that exited women have invented to framed their experiences.

I want to write and speak out that exited women need and demand a separate voice. I am sick of always having to connect, when my guts and trauma knows most so-called connections always make the prostituted class into an appendix, an afterthought.

Examples of that – discussions of the harms of porn mostly focus on harms to women whose partners use porn, harms to children seeing porn, harms to male users of porn: rarely on that porn is harm in and of itself for what it does to the women inside porn. Most liberal, or on occasion radical, feminists discussions on prostitution are hijacked by the constant continuum of male sexual violence, which is used more often than not to silence exited women by making prostitution is just more rapes, more extreme sadist sex, and more closeness to murder.

I try not to let my brain explode now. I will scream down Everest if I could.

These are just of the multiple ways that exited women are silenced – or forced to fit in by agreeing.

We must separate out what it is to inside the sex trade; we must allow exited women to discover their own voices; we must be humble and stop comparing.

I know this post is a scream – and may not make sense. I do not care, for my playing by the rules is exhausted now.