This post is written to any punter who think Christmas is a good time to buy a human for his sexual greed.

This post is written to all those who see Christmas as a way to make a profit from selling the prostituted.

You are seen – you cannot hide, or pretend it can made harm-free or acceptable.

I like most indoors prostituted women had Christmas destroyed by your selfishness.

Yes, I made more money – but with more money was increased violence and being made sub-human.

Most punters that used the prostituted during the Christmas period are married or a stable relationship – many are family men.

They don’t care about the love of their families or bringing gifts of care and support to their loved ones.

No, all that matters is that their penis is happy, that they are can controlled and tortured another human for that penis.

Punters invent lies to hide this sexual greed and violence.

At Christmas – punters choose to make the prostituted into a girlfriend.

A girlfriend who does have the freedom to think for herself, who can only exists inside his presence.

A girlfriend who will perform all sexual acts without words, without saying if it is painful, without any space to breath.

A girlfriend who makes him look good.

A girlfriend that he can throw away.

At Christmas, punters come wanting quick sadist sex  – he may pay extra to push her limits, pushing the prostituted to the edge of death or into pain/terror that becomes unspeakable.

At Christmas, brothels offers deals that allow punters to control, explore their porn fantasies and become masters for an hour – sending poison and dreams of death into the women they consumed.

You thought you destroyed Christmas for me and all my exited friends.

Well, our triumph is that we still own our Christmas.

A Christmas without your sadism.

A Christmas where no-one can buy or sell our bodies as sexual goods.

A Christmas where we choose to have family, friends and our new selves celebrating that we not only survived, but can live to the full.

We don’t need your money, your manipulations, your lies that we cannot exist outside the sex trade.

All I want for Christmas is that all punters and sex trade profiteers are named and punished as the criminals that they are.

This Christmas my heart is with all the prostituted who are being raped, tortured, living without hope or murdered.

I want no punters has the entitlement at any time of the year to buy another human.

I want that all sex trade profiteers are placed in jail.

I want real holistic long-term exiting programmes for all the prostituted – including specialise and long-term counselling, access to work, a safe place to live and education.

I want the purchase of sex to be named as rape – not see as a form of consent.

Basically, I want full freedom and dignity for all the prostituted.

Hey Santa, if you are listening – get your act together, coz the prostituted have been wanting those simple gifts for over 3000 years.

Lets stop rewarding the sex trade profiteers, lets stop making the punters invisible – lets starts playing the prostituted at the centre of our attention.

Lets give all the prostituted the gift of hope – hope that their lives matter, hope that they can a future without hate and male violence, hope that they are more than a whore.

Lets give all the prostituted the gift of a stable life – a life where they control their own futures, a life where they can rest knowing violence is the past, a life where boredom is ok.

Lets give all the prostituted the gift of self-respect – self-respect that is founding stone of learning to live inside their skins, self-respect that shows stillness does not have to be feared, self-respect that makes finding real friends a easy path.

Is that too much to ask for this Christmas?

Tomorrow it my birthday – I will be 53, and I cannot believe that I here in one piece.

For most of my life, I refuse to think of a future, thinking I would be alive to enjoy it.

But I did not die – I was not murdered, I did not succeed in my suicide attempts – my body kept having a stubborn will to stay alive.

For most of my life, I could not understand why I would not die.

I was furious at life and living – my fury hiding my pain, grief and need for real love.

I spent years, decades trying to die.

I try to eat as little as possible, I stop sleeping, I walk to a state of exhaustion.

All done to run away from reality, to place myself in a zombie-state – a world of no emotions, no pain and no need for human contact.

I could know reality – it was too real, too much agony, too much chaos, too much being vulnerable, and far too much terror.

I made my life a haze, only knowing I was alive coz time keep moving on.

But, somewhere deep in me, was a force of life.

The life that heard and memorised music.

The life that needed films to see and be surrounded by.

The life that slowly know it fancies women.

The life that always follow Arsenal.

The life that notice birds, trees and architecture.

And the life that always remember it was my birthday.

Each birthday mattered – even in the hell of child abuse, the hell of prostitution – I always needed to celebrate that somehow I was alive.

I must admit today, I am depressed with memories and knowing that I am just lucky not to be dead.

But though tomorrow will very quiet, especially as my last food shop left me broke.

I have some of fave food for tomorrow, my music, some presents, TV and radio – so I will living it up.

I am here – that is amazing.

So every birthday is a wonderful gift to my childhood, teens and twenties.

I want to write about a made-up word that is used by the sex trade to silence exited women and abolitionists.

It is the word – whorephobia – or the irrational fear or hatred of the prostituted.

This word is gaining popularity with liberal feminists, with the media, with too much of the Left – it is taken up with no questioning of its use.

In this post, I will mainly write of the impact of this word on many exited women, including my own experience – in order to show whorephobia is a weapon to silence us.

It is a word that has only comes into fashion recently – mainly linked to other made-up word transphobia – often both words are used jointly as hate language to silence mainly radical feminists and abolitionists.

To be named as whorephobic is to called irrational, a hater, most likely a religious nut, a prude, and a murderer.

That is just a few of the assumptions that is behind the word.

So when it used, it makes all abolitionists and exited into bigots – so to use the language of whorephobia will make on the side of the angels.

Well no – like all the sex trade lobby language is just another trick of the devil.

Look at who is promoting the use of the word – see it is mainly pushed by those who will or want to profiteer from the normalisation of the sex trade.

By the use of the tainted word – whore – the sex trade lobby are showing their true colours.

Whore is male language to place the prostituted as sub-human sexual goods to be sold, used and thrown away.

Whore is a word that places the prostituted in an environment where she has no existence outside being a fuckable object – she has no past and is given no future.

In other words, whore is used to keep the prostituted in their place – that is to know their lives are worthless, unless it to get yet more money for the sex trade.

So who has the irrational hatred of the prostituted here – abolitionists or the sex trade lobby?

Who is allowing the millions of rapes, tortures or murders of the prostituted?

Who is making a fortune from endless use of the highly vulnerable and damaged men, women and children to feed the punters sexual greed?

If you think that is the fault of the abolition movement – then you are wilfully blinding yourself to institutionalised evil that is the sex trade.

The sex trade is highly organised, and over the centuries has control over most sexual exploitation of mainly females.

The sex trade works by pretending that all its parts are disconnected from each other.

That amateur porn is just made by couples – not connected into the porn industry or using prostituted women.

That stripping has no connection with prostitution or the porn industry.

That porn only uses grown women who have no connections with prostitution.

That indoors prostitution is a separate world from street-based prostitution, there never be an interchange of those women.

There are endless that the sex trade will pretend it just made of of separate and isolated groups – rather than the reality of all being part of highly organised and profiteering institution.

To be prostituted – is to know you can move at any time to any aspects of the sex trade, usually to a more violent part.

To be prostituted – is to know there is no safe aspect of the sex trade – for at any time male violence is the norm.

So there is the blatant hatred of the prostituted – it is the life-blood of the working of the sex trade.

So the sex trade lobby have a bloody nerve accusing the abolitionists and exited women of being whorephobic – when they are part of a killing machine.

So that word is redundant – for we are saving lives and giving back hope.

I have very ill for over a week, and now I want to explore why.

This post is about my body and my lifetime of self-hate to my body. It is a post to say – this is the harm from prostitution.

I write because many of the long-term harms of prostitution are invisible or the pride of exited women means we never mention them.

I write because to be inside my body, I must makes friends with my prostituted body.

So I write to become fully human.

I have always ignore my body.

I deny or lessen pain or sickness.

I try to ignore hunger or exhaustion.

I walk to a state of being a zombie.

I learnt to hide from reality of male violence by turning all hate onto my own body.

When prostituted, I wanted to waste away.

Now, I am obese as I eat myself into blankness.

To feel and know the pain of prostitution is unbearable – running away seems so reasonable.

Only ignoring or hating my body is a form of slow suicide.

I am now obese – I have major breathing problems, my legs are collapsing under that weight, I find walking gets so slow.

I am at the point where I can see I may be killing myself.

I am very scared to be inside my body – but to live I have no choice.

There’s the harm.