Rebecca Mott on why prostitution is torture. This is not an easy read, but it deserves to be read by as large an audience as humanly possible.
I was tortured.
That is the hardest thing to say to myself – hardest thing to let into my mind.
Almost impossible for my body to go with that I was tortured.
I can write to the torture with detachment, with my heart firmly locked away from what it was for me. I write as an archetype, never allowing in me.
I cannot see the degradation without glass in-between, I will let in the pain in case I self-harm, I cannot grieve in case I shattered.
But in this post, I will attempt to go to the middle of what it means to me that I tortured.
I enter a place, where truth lays weeping, showing me pain but finding language forming in her mouth.
Words are being born for the prostituted to say what it is and was to be in a world where torture was our norm.
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