Monthly Archives: January 2008

Just to Cheer Myself Up

Posted on by rmott62

I have found that I am getting after-effects from my writing. So I need cheering up.

I have always love the radio. One programme I listen to is “Desert Island Discs”. I thought I would think of several things I love and make  8 of each. This just for fun, but will properly give away some of my personality.

Hobbies – birdwatching, looking at city architecture, eating out alone, collecting books, walking, drawing, photography, playing patience.

FILM

Westerns – Shane, High Noon, Unforgiven, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, Stage Coach, Dodge City, Rio Bravo, True Grit.

Suspence -Rebecca, Klute, Don’t Look Now, North by Northwest, Eyes Without a Face, Les Diaboloques, Cat People, Strangers on a Train

Film noir – Postman Always Knocks Twice, Double Indemnity, Gilda, Chinatown, The Grifters, Body Heat, The Asphalt Jungle, The Lady From Shanghai

Comedies – The Producers, Hellzapoppin’, Bringing Up Baby, A Night at the Opera, The Thin Man, The Maltese Falcon, The Man Who Came For Dinner, The Women.

Musicals – West Side Story, Carmen Jones, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Gigi, Easter Parade, American in Paris, Cabaret, Meet Me In St Louis.

BOOKS

Novels – Carol, An 1000 Acres, Villette, Wide Sargasto Sea, Vanity Fair, Dracula, Blonde, Bastard Out of Carolina

Fiction Authors – Joyce Carol Oates, Dorothy Allison, Rita Mae Brown, Josephine Tey, Patricia Highsmith, Wilkie Collins, Edgar Allan Poe, The Brontes.

Non-Fiction – Pornography, Film Noir; encyclopedic reference, RSPB birdbook, Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers, rough guides, Guide to Jazz, Inside Hollywood; Globe Photos, Rocking the Cradle of Sexual Politics, Thou Shalt Not Obey.

MUSIC

Pop – Blondie, Pretenders,  60’s girls bands, Beach Boys, Kinks, early Elvis, Abba, Village People.

Pop Songs – Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow, Hound Dog, Hanging on a Telephone, Really Got Me Going, 9 to 5, Twist Again, You’re So Vain, Psycho Killer.

Soul Stars – Aretha, Otis Redding, The Commodores, Sam & Dave, Ruth Brown, Eddie Floyd, Marvin Gaye, Dusty.

Soul Songs – RESPECT, People Get Moving, Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, Dr Feelgood, Green Onions, It Takes Two, Peace Train, Across 49th Street

Jazz & Blues – Charlie Parker, Jazz Messengers, Bessie Smith, Leadbelly, Sarah Vaugh, Art Tatum, Ella Fitzgerald, Dexter Gordon.

Right, that has cheer me up, and put my mind in another place – so that is good,

Now, you can see another side of me. Maybe some might like to play that game. Just make your own catergories.

Bye for now.

Mind Meltdown

Posted on by rmott62

Yesterday, I melted down.

I felt dizzy when I woke up. As this has happened all my life, I ignored it.

All my life, I have ignored warning signs in my body. I know they are telling me to listen. But, too often I don’t want to hear.

I know to hear is to to know.

I went and read emails, listen to the radio. I carry on carrying on.

Then my landline got disconnected.

It was like the thin thread I clinging onto collapse in my hand.

My mind melted.

I did not from where or how. I was crying. No, I was sobbing.

I thought I was crying coz my cat was ill. But she is doing well now.

I thought I was crying because there many health problems in my family. But, I knew that wasn’t true.

I knew why I was crying. But, I could let myself know.

I know that if I wrote in an honest and direct about my teenage and young adult years – I would cry.

I lived in those years as tough and hard. I buried all vulnerability into a deep grave.

I survive by giving out nothing. Men could hurt me, they could torture me. But, they could never know me.

As, I was crying, I felt my heart coming into life.

My teenager and young adult are beginning to trust me.

In the past, when I try to speak her truth, it was never heard. She know that and felt betrayed.

The first time, I try to speak, I was told I had made it up. I was attention seeking. So, I shut up.

Only I shut for many years, and the violence continue.

When I try a second time to tell”feminists”, I did not fit their stereotype of a prostituted woman. They did listen about my stepdad, but gloss over the violence I was living with.

This made me hate myself for thinking I could trust anyone. I also hated my child who got pity and understanding.

It made me go harder, and put myself in more danger.

For, I came to I point in my life where I trust no-one.

I had to make my own rules. At that time in my life, my only rule was “pretend that nothing matters”.

Now, I am crying. I see that time. I see and want to make it better. All I know is didn’t last forever.

I write this not for pity. I write for there are many prostituted girls and women who look hard. Many who appear not to care about nothing.

They are that because they have cared too much. They have had their trust destoyed. Everything that make them unique has been ground into the dirt.

Prostituted women and girls are not stereotypes. Each one has a story worth hearing. To listen means not putting your words on top.

Now, I write my truth, I believe it can heard. Now, I know I can be direct as my teenager has always wanted.

When men do sadistic sex acts on prostituted women and girls – they assume it will become unsayable.

Well, that is why I say it.

It is not comfortable. It is not the polite language I should speak.

No, I speak the words of my teenager. I speak her rage.

Rage that it was thought ok to be hurt over and over like she was just a doll. Rage that the men could think it was nothing. Rage that it has made her ill for always.

I speak her confusion

Confusion that no-one care. That if she thought that someone could care, it too often throw in her face. Confusion that she thought she was addicted to the violence. Confusion that she did know how to make it stop.

Finally, I speak her grief.

Yes, grief. Now she can grieve.

Grieve that she was so desperate for any human contact, that she went with violent men. Grieve that she felt her only real friend was death. Grieve that all she know was sexual violence.

I feel my teenager is getting some kind of peace. She can rest a little.

It is a good beginning.

My mind melts with love for her.

The Lies I Have Been Told

Posted on by rmott62

I have just read some of comments that men write to the Guardian CiF space. I had forgotten the lies that men say to make prostitution acceptable.

Everything they say is to hide a few simple truths.

They hide the violence.

They hide the racism and other ways they place prostituted women and girls into catagories for their “pleasure”.

They hide that prostitution and pornography are inter-connected.

They hide that it is men who are “using” prostituted women and girls.

They hide behind “it’s just a job”.

Now the last point that it is “just a job”, I have heard that one all my life.

This usually is placed alongside that it is the woman’s “choice”.

Now, I will try to be calm here. But that is utter and insulting nonsense.

Many men in CiF went on and on about how prostitution is concensual. Although some point out that there is a buyer (male) and a woman who is offering a service.

But, this an exchange of two equal consenting adults.

Well, that is a nice fantasy. But are men so stupid or selfish that refuse to see there is no equality in that “exchange”.

Can a prostituted woman or girl refuse to give sexual services without fear of consequences – often violent mentally or physically.

Can a prostituted woman or girl say no to sexual acts that may disgust her, or place her in danger. After all, he has paid for a service, isn’t it his right.

 A lie I was told over and over was there two types of prostituted women and girls. Some did a nasty and dangerous job. Others were well-paid, could choose which men they went with , and would only do this “job” as long as it give them satisfaction.

This is a very dangerous and seductive lie.

As I read Cif this theme was the most popular. In their universe there is –

Street Prostitutes

They are seen as drug-addled. They are controlled by pimps and traffickers. Have to do whatever sexual or violent act they are is ask to do.

They are victims .

And Escorts.

These women have chosen freely that work. They are well paid, can choose their clients. They can refuse to do sexual acts that make them uncomfortable. They are strong, independent women.

Men do have wonderful imagination. Their need to have a “willing ” prostituted women means that the real woman is completely destroy to fit into their wet dream.

There is no guarantee safety in prostitution, whatever type of prostituted woman is being used.

Men throw street prostitutes out of moving cars. Men beat up high-class escorts. Men stalk strippers after work.

And men will murder any type of prostituted woman or girl, just because they assume they can with get away with it.

Too many men see prostitution as a “victimless” crime.

I believe these men know and see the violence that prostituted women and girls have to live with, but they say it is her chosen lifestyle.

They make their own behaviour invisible.

These men made me believe that as a prostitute that I “enjoy” sadistic sex. That I loved being degraded. That I know it was a game when I nearly died.

It certainly was not rape. It certainly was not torture.

If their lies could destroy who I was – I would become who they decided I was.

Men lie about their use of porn. They lie that porn does not feeds their violence.

Instead it is labelled escapist fantasy.

But, when with a prostituted woman or girl, they make themselves a porn star.

Porn is forced into prostituted women and girls. That is the purpose of their job.

All porn is poured into prostituted women and girls. From having to pose like page 3 model to the violent nightmares of Hustler and Penthouse.

Porn makes men believe that prostituted women are always happy, even when “normal” women would be in pain. Porn said that prostitutes will always smile and say you are a stud.

Porn tells men that prostituted women and girls do not feel pain, if they do that does not matter.

Porn said women are nothing. Just an object to f-cked. Prostituted women are more “honest” than other women who are frigid.

This is how men see women. These men that feel entitled to use prostitutes, see all women with hate.

Men will portay themselves as “pathetic” for using prostituted women and girls. They say they are too ugly to get a “normal” relationship. 

Men will make themseves a victim.

Men that use prostituted women and girls want the power of having complete control over another human being.

He can choose to be gentle. He can choose to be sadistic. He can play mind games with her. He can treat anyway he wants. It is his money to do as he wishes.

Where is the freedom for the prostituted woman or girl?

A lie that is constant is prostitution is mainly a drug problem.

What!

I cannot imagine being a full-time prostitute again, without having something to deadened my reality.

In my experience, drugs or alcohol have a limited ability to make being a prostituted woman or girl bearable, especially when you have to have enough to sink the Titanic to stop the pain getting through.

Many  prostituted women and girls come from abusive homes, and become addicted to drugs to not know their reality. Many have drugs force on them for then their “pimp” can control them.

That the violence and rapes that are constant is hidden when “drugs” are mention.

Violent men are made to vanish. For, a drug-addled prostituted woman or girl is the real problem. For many, there is a belief is that she brought the violence on to herself .

To end, there is a lie that is said to silenced me and any other women that dare to speak out against prostitution.

There are many more important thing to campaign about. Do I not care about Darfur, or global warming or any other more important issues.

Well, I can care and campaign about more than one thing at once. But, that is not the point.

Does it not matter that prostituted women and girls thoughout the world are being tortured.

Of course, it doesn’t because it their “choice” that made them a prostitute.

Well, whilst that lie is believed, I will fight for the authentic voices of prostituted women and girls to be heard. Not only to be heard, but to silence the lies that destroy them.    

Stuff About My Cats

Posted on by rmott62

I thought I would introduce my cats to you all. This is because I am so grateful for all wonderful responses to my writing on the painful aspects of my life.

My cats make me so happy, and in the beginning give me a reason to live.

The oldest is Florence. She was a found cat.

When I received Florence, I was a complete wreck. Florence was found in a plastic bag in a bin.

She was on the edge of death.

It was instant love with us. She purred half-heartenly and fall asleep by my neck. I didn’t want a cat, but she made me hers.

I thought I could look after nothing – I could hardly keep myself going. But, nursing Florence back to life, made me believe in myself.

Florence made me see my childhood.

I was told by the vet it was my love that stopped her dying.

I remember how much I had wanted love at my home. That was in short supply. This lack of love made me seek it desperately.

When I saw Florence receiving my love in an unquestioning way, I felt my first stirrings of grief.

I also saw how small she, I saw I could abuse her so easy.

Seeing that made everything so clear. I saw in a real way abuse is a conscious choice. It is not a lack of control, it is the enjoyment of controlling and revelling in the power-trip.

Love is better. As I see Florence I know that.

The younger cat is Jessica.

She is wonderfully spoilt. She has never lost her joy of life. She is a contintual kitten. 

With Jessica I can remember how to play. How to stop everything because she is bored, and wants me to stroke her until she has had enough.

Jessica likes her own space, but when she wants me is very demanding.

I have written of my cats, for they forced life back into me. In many ways, they stopped me from going towards death. 

Think Just a Little

Posted on by rmott62

I am writing because I am sick and tired of listening, viewing and reading pro-prostitution and pro-porn arguments being used to undermine radical feminism. I get very angry when women claim to be “radical feminsts”, and then claim that they have no problem with porn and prostitution.

That is a complete contradiction in terms.

I became a radical feminist, because I saw that then I speak out about the harms of prostitution and porn. I could speak out and be believed.

But more then being believed, I found a movement would attack the concept that porn and prostitution was here forever, and just needed to be control.

The more comfortable I felt in radical feminism, the more I could speak of my dream of abolishing porn and prostitution and did not feel that I would be ridiculed.

So, hearing pro-porn and pro-prostitution arguments can make me furious, but it can also hurt me a great deal.

Porn is often protrayed as a way to liberate the reader’s or viewer’s sex life. It is seen as harmless fun. It is private, and so no-one’s else business.

When I hear pro-porn advocates, I do not recognise much of what they are talking about. Some of what may be “erotica”, but I don’t see it as porn. For, as they speak porn appears so harmless.

Porn exists out of the harm that is done to “performers” in the pictures and films. Porn “novels” are not about understanding the characters, but about increasing the degradation done in the sex acts that will be described.

Porn is a completely selfish way to view sex. Most men that view porn do so to get a hard-on, it is that simple.

Many pro-porn attempt to make it more complicated. The claim that porn is good because it prevent sexual violence. There is no proof for that.

When women do say that their abuser use porn or copy porn when they sexually attacked – that is dismissed as an one-off or hysterical.

Well ,I have heard, read, experienced too many women and girls that make that claim.

To me, it seems quite logical that if read or view porn for a long period it will make you view women and children as non-humans.

Porn sells the view that women and children are always available and willing to provide sex for men. Women and children are there for men’s “needs” any time, any place, and will perform whatever fantasy the man can imagine.

These fantasies are fuelled by hatred of all women and children. Porn allow the men to be king for as long as they can fantasied.

All hate is allow – race hate, hate of the disabled women and children, hate of the poor women, hate of rich women, hate of lesbians, hate of children – god, it is endless how much these men can hate.

The porn industry makes a massive profit out of this hate. So, like any business that believe in profit it feed in more and more images and words to encourage their hate.

It is naive to believe that hatred can remain in the head if the consumers of porn.

No, it will end up on the bodies of women and children.

This leads me to prostitution. Many prostituted women and girls are on the receiving end of this porn-fuelled hate.

Men know that they act real-life porn on prostituted women and girls, and no-one will care. So, they can rape, torture and mentally abused a prostituted woman or girl, and be made to feel that it is his entitlement.

After all he is paying her, and the customer is always right.

Prostituted women and girls have no rights to their own safety. They have no right to complain about the conditions of their work.

Some pro-prostitution “feminsts” make the claim that prostitution can be empowering, and that prostituted woman controls the man.

Although there are a few privileged high-class prostituted women where this may be true – there is no guarantee of safety. For a man can beat up a high- class prostitute as easily as a street prostitute.

Men that hate women do not care what type woman they degrade.

Many pro-prostitution women say that it is wrong to want criminalise men who pay for sex. Why?

Men are paying for the right to “own” a women or girl . The right to have his “needs” meets without regard to her welfare.

If a woman said this is ok, and claims she is a feminist – I feel sick.

Just look at the conditions that the majority of prostituted women and children work and live in. See that far too many are living in conditions of mental and physical torture.

Imagine having to be raped or tortured. Imagine that being done, then imagine that you must smile. You may need tell your torturer that he is a stud. Imagine that, and then know that he is one of one of many. So many, that they become faceless.

If you can justify that, and still claim to be a feminist. Then shame on you.

Are you saying that prostituted women and children do not matter.

No, back to the beginning, The reason I am a radical feminist is because I know the women and children in porn and prostitution do count.

They are full humans beings who deserved to be respected. And given the opportunity to live a life without violence. 

(This is dedicated to Debs and Allecto, for their courage in confronting women who cloak themselves as “feminists” while saying anti-women remarks).  

On Being Brave

Posted on by rmott62

I am often told that I am brave, and I feel uncomfortable with that expression. For I feel for most of my life, I had little choice but to be “brave”. When you live inside male violence, not giving up is brave.

Only when, I view my time then, I can see that I could not let fear in for it would of destroy me.

As a child, I was known as a “brave girl” for I never cried. The last time I remember that I cried, was from pain was when I was six. Then I cut my knee and got poison in the cut.

Then I cried – only for my mum to say I was a baby.

I never cried again in public.

As a teenager, I made a fantasy that I was brave for I could not feel pain.

This was proved as men treated my body as a dustbin. They would hurt me in all parts of my body, and I felt nothing. If I did feel pain – I know to smile. I know I had to pleased the men to stay alive.

I never thought why I felt so little. Why I made everything into films.

I never thought I was in a constant state of fear.

I had closed from seeing that I had reach a bottom.

Now, I can see that time. I do not think “brave” is the right word for who I was then.

Courage is nearer, not right, but nearer. For me “courage” is a more emotional word.

It expresses a situation where there seemed to no exit except imagination and the will not to be destroyed.

It takes courage to know to be passive and silent, when so much wants to fight back, When I was abused by men, if I had been brave and fought, I think I would of been killed.

Instead, I went into myself, and place my hate and anger in my heart. For, I know if I got away from the life I was living, one day I would say who those men really were.

Courage is prepared to be patience. Courage believes that there is life outside male violence.

Now, I can speak out, I feel so proud that child and young woman lived.

As I say their truths, I will not turn away when it is hard. For, if they had the courage to believe there could be a future. Then I must have the courage to lie bare their realities.

The F Word

Posted on by rmott62

“The F Word” have used part of my work in an article about prostitution. It is written to show the reality of living as a prostituted woman or girl. Also, I wrote this piece to show the hatred that men have when they used prostituted women and girls.

It is a very graphic piece, and could trigger.

I am glad it in “The F Word”, for I feel many younger feminists view prostitution as not so bad. This is because the voices of pro-prostitution is so loud. I hope that my words may encourage some women to discover more about the lives of prostituted women and girls.

I have already had a really positive response. See my first post “Hello World”, a comment by Anne Onne.

Grief

Posted on by rmott62

Yesterday, I thought if I wrote about what makes me happy, that the aching grief in me would dampened down. But, instead it got more painful.

So, I have decided to face my fears head-on.

The Ipswich murders have reminded of the reality of day-to-day dangers that I and most other prostituted had to survive. The terror of that period that part of my life is wanting to be heard.

I could not feel fear when I lived as a prostituted woman and girl. To show even the smallest sign of fear would given the men who used me too much pleasure.

I learnt to become an actor. I show the men nothing of myself.

Instead I became silent. I could pretend to be “happy” in order to try and prevent it hurting too much. I buried myself.

This was necessary to survive. But, it did not keep me safe.

Most of my grief comes from this question.

Why am I not dead?

When I hear of murdered prostitued women and girls, this question rattles round my brain. I have no answer – only I feel like screaming or crying.

I know women who had so much to live who could live any more. I was no different from them.

This is how too many people choose to see prostituted women. They will be ignored in life, and make them invisible in death.

I should be dead because I try so hard to die. Suicide is not easy.

I wonder if my spirit that I ignored was too stubborn to die.

I should be dead because many men played with my life and death. It was a “game” to bring on the edge of death, then to “save” my life.

I know the reason I have blanked out so most of that time is because I went in and out of consciousness.

Being on the edge of death, made me unable to know where I was. I would forget who I was.

All I was a lump that laying as still as I could, feeling like this moment of terror will never end.

This is my grief. I try to use language to describe it, but it always feel like I can never make it better.

I feel that as I had no justice, I find it hard to feel at peace.

Time for Pleasure

Posted on by rmott62

I wish to write about my pleasures. I feel that for too much of my life, I had no space to let in happyness. I was scared to be vulnerable if I was happy. Also, I thought it would be taken away from me. Now, I feel I have a stable life, I can do things for enjoyment.

All my life I have loved cats. I have little interest in most animals, but cats have always been in my heart.

When I was a child, we lived with kittens and cats. My mother had a strange attitude to them.

Often when, my sister and I came home from school, we would find the cats had disappeared. We were told they were bad – so had gone to a farm.

As we lived in London, and know no farm, this was hard to believe.

All it did, was make me feel that I must very good or I would disappear into a farm.

I love cats for they make me remember I have a heart. I love that when a cat is close to you, it becomes territorial about protecting their owner – even when there is little it can do.

I love that cats kept their wildness.

I love watching football, rugby and cricket.

All my life I felt I shouldn’t like sports so much. After all, my background was posh – and posh girls should thinking about academic careers, not wondering how their team is doing.

But, football has given me so much.

When I lived inside male violence, I always hang on to football. I made one reason to stay alive was to see how Arsenal were doing.

As a child, I went to matches. There I found a place where I could put all my negative emotions. I could scream, swear, jump up and down. I did not have to be well behaved.

In the noise of the crowd, I could disappear.

For me, football give a place I could belong.

Now, I still watch as much football as I can . Now, I like speaking about football for I can distract myself from pain in my life. Now, I do not feel guitly for loving football. I just know that I can talk others things as well.

I love music. I lived with all sorts of music all my life.

My grandmother run a ballet school, so I grow up with classical music.

I love soul, jazz and r’n’b, but I also love country, rockabilly, and 80’s pop. I suppose the only music I find hard is hard rock and model jazz.

Music matters to me, for there a huge part of my life that I could not hear music. From age 12 to 27, I would not allow music in.

Looking back, I think I was afraid of music. Afraid of how it forced me to feel. Music made me vulnerable.

Even now, I cannot cope with samba, for the drums being on a heart beat makes me feel like I am breaking.

I can remember occasionaly getting drunk with women who were also living in their own hell, and screaming though albums. I still a soft spot for Lou Reed’s “Transformer”.

For me I enjoy listening to late 70’s and 80’s pop for I can get back some of what was stolen from me.

Finally, I love the arts.

I read all the time. I enjoy fiction mainly – for I have learnt a lot about the complexities of what staying alive is. 

Reading has often put me in danger. But, I never stopped. I was often on the receiving end of male violence for reading.

It shown that I still had a brain – which made men furious. Also, it took my attention away from the men.

Reading for me is a form of resistence.

This I learnt at early age. My stepdad would rip up my favourite books. So, I would save up my pocket money and buy another or the same book.

When I was prostituted girl or woman, I often carried a book. This really confused the men.

I love films, especially classic Hollywood films from the 30’s and 40’s. Film noir is a passion of mine. I love old horrors, must have Vincent Price, Peter Lorre or Boris Karoff in them.

 But, I watch lots of films. I use them to escape. I use them to find out stories of how humans are with each other. I use films to imagine outside of my life.

These are the major loves of my life. All were needed to give me hope, and a desire to go forward.  

Me and PTSD

Posted on by rmott62

I have lived with the after-effects of male violence for most of my life . I wish to write about what it is like.

The way I see trauma is that it is an outside force pouring poison into the “victim”. I say this because I feel that it is no accident to have trauma. It is not a mental disease, although it does affect mental welfare.

When the outside force is male violence , then trauma is a natural reaction to such hatred.

When living with male violence, I felt nothing. I thought I was hard. Thought if I did not feel, then nothing would matter.

I was not living, I was just breathing.

It was a time that I refused to see. I was in a place where I could not see an exit, so I pretended I did not care.

Now, it is another life time ago, I can let myself feel.

For me, this begun by finding that I was believed.

I had always thought that my reality could not be spoken about. I could not believe my own reality – why would anyone else. I could not understand why I live with so much violence – and not be dead.

It made no sense.

But, I got to the point of collapse after a rape too many. I lost the energy to keep my silence.

When I saw I was believed, words would not stop. I spoke for three years. I cannot remember what I said. All I know was I could feel the ice breaking in my body.

It was then I had body memories. For me, this is the hardest part of trauma. I get and have terrible pains thoughout my body. When I see a doctor, there is only minor things physically wrong with me.

It is all in the mind.

The pain I get is all down the left side of my body, especially my leg, arm and ear. I get many pains in the parts of my body where I was abused. But, as I was abused in almost every part of my body, I cannot predict where the pain will come from.

I have found the pain is not a bad thing. It reminds to remember my truth. I often get pain when I running away from my life. Pain slows me down, and helps me reflect. Pain makes me write to express reality, not the fantasy others may have of my life.

As I slowly uncovered my reality, I am getting space for becoming the person I can be. I have found that I enjoy relaxing. This I never known.

When I lived with male violence, I never stop being on alert. I live tense. I was used to catnapping, never allowing myself to be so vulnerable as to sleep. I thought it was normal to be on guard.

Now, if someone said I am laid back, I see that as a massive compliment.

I let myself enjoy my pleasures without wanting to keep others happy, or to stop them being angry. I do not feel a need to have to pleased others if I do not trust them.

This is important, for I have learnt to know I have an instinct for violent men. That was always there in me, but when I lived with male violence, I made myself ignored my gut reaction.

I remember the first time I meet my stepdad, I hated him, and had a strange feeling of fear. But, being a good girl who like to please, I smiled at him. This is how I was for too much of my life. If I was not being polite, I was silent.

Now, I feel if I don’t trust and like men it does not matter. For, I will not give the benefit of the doubt, to have it smashed over my head.

What I never know would happen is by being more selective about who I will trust, have made me a lot closer to my male relatives who are trustworthy. As I defreeze, I have my Dad and my brothers back in my life. This gives me so much.

As I see clearer, I see my abusers as sadistic criminals. They had no pity for me, so I will have no pity for them. I will write, speak and remember them for who they were -not as they forced me to see them. I know that their violence was planned. I know I was abused because I was a girl or woman who happen to be in their eye-line. It could of been any girl or woman.

I was never the cause. The men who went out of their way to destroy my life hated all women and girls.

As I grow into PTSD, I have found that I can feel grief.

This feels like a victory. I have always been so hard on myself. Always punishing myself for “letting” the violence happened to me. When I feel grief, I feel pity and compassion for who I had to be. I can see my past self, and do not want to shout at her – but, instead I want to hug her and give her hot chocolate. I know she may hit out at me – but I can hang on in there.

I think I have said enough for now, I am sure I will write again about trauma. It is not the whole of me, but it is a part I no longer run away from.