To be exited is a long and often thankless role.

It is about finding who you are when just being human seems a mystery.

I write this blog to see and know what is human, what it is to with but beyond trauma.

To be exited with the knowledge of endless rapes, knowledge of how human can torture every part of an human mind and body, knowledge of what goes on in the sex trade is made nothing – so nothing can matter.

This is to drown on dry land.

How as an exited woman can I make sense of a world that refuses to allow the prostituted, exited or not, to be fully human?

How do I live in a world that constantly changes the rules of male violence to allow prostitution to be made normal?

I live in an environment that is Alice Through the Looking-Glass, where black is white, good is bad, and I know my head is going to explode.

In a world where the voices and demands of punters and sex trade profiteers are put on pedestal – and exited women are more than silenced, they are called mentally ill, made non-existed, and thrown away.

In a world where all male violence is a game, role-playing, harmless fun.

A world where being behind closed where many strange and entitled punters is safe.

A world where everything is the free choice of the prostituted and in many ways it is the punter who is oppressed.

This world does not exist, but constantly it is made to exist by the lies and brainwashing of the sex trade lobby.

What is so hard is how many, including some so-called allies, choose to believe their propaganda.

To believe the sex trade lobby – the authentic voices of sex trade profiteers and punters – is to think, know and say that the prostituted can never be made fully human.

Well, as an existed woman, I am bloody sick of being nice about you throwing away the prostituted.

What does being nice bring but pity, apathy and being patronised.

Instead, I want to question some common assumptions that are drowning me and my exited pals in this desert.

Why do you see limited choices for all oppressed groups except the prostituted?

Why do you think indoors prostitution is safer than street prostitution?

Why do you say the only push into prostitution that matters is poverty?

Why say it is S/M sex, boys being boys, or harmless fun when it called torture and rape in the world outside the sex trade?

Why do you say there no such thing as internal trafficking into prostitution?

How do you justify external sexual trafficking as economic migration?

How can you think that punters are a small minority when most long-term prostituted women have been consumed by hundreds of punters, most one time users?

How can prostitution ever be made safe – when the norm is serial rapes, all forms of mental/sexual/physical torture is common?

Do you really think this extreme violence is new – when it from all centuries and in most cultures?

Do you have serious and thoughtful answer to any of these points – or do you hide your head in the sand.

Answer me by seeing the prostituted as human – that is a good start.

I have been unable or unwilling to write for some time.

I will try to explore why, try to fight the trauma, try and see through fragmented memory.

To see into my prostitution years is so full of emptiness.

An emptiness of not knowing the structure of linear time, the emptiness of death surrounding all memory.

I have to live with that space where time is squeeze out, and all I have is some kind of emptiness.

A space where death appears to be a friend.

That is why is why I come to see my prostitution years as killing time.

With and through trauma, I am learning how to see and feel that time.

I do not yet know the language that speaks to that space.

The space inside my Self as a prostitute – what I was, how I had to lost thought, where did I place my feelings, and how I allow myself to lose time.

To be prostituted is to live in emptiness with death of feelings, death of hope, and death of time.

I need to force life back into that time.

Memory is my life-saver – even as it full of gaps and silences.

To see the hate and oppression that fuels all prostitution is vital – for it slows down self-hate and dissolves self-blame.

To connects with other exited is vital – for it stops the isolation and give some language to grief, pain and confusion.

This is the start of finding a language that fits that time.

Though words can never fully encase a time so full of holes.

Words do no justice to the depths of that grief.

Words cannot hold the amount of torture, amount of constant rapes, amount of men who choose to be punters.

All words can do is try to communicate a space that seems to say the horror, but does always feel that it just a surface.

I speak or write words, but always have a pit of rage, fear, and grief that so big it becomes an empty space.

I cope by killing feelings, killing memory, killing wanting too much.

I kill time to just live day to day.

That is some of what it is to live inside complex trauma.

Do say if makes any sense.