NATURE

As an exited woman, I have found my move to Devon and small town life a life-changer.

I have always been a big city girl, never imagine living without its chaos and choices. 

Never imagine liking stillness, quiet and a regular lifestyle.

But moving to Devon is best thing I have ever done, even with its many faults I have found a home.

Say that again - found a home.

Before I have had places to live and survive in, but never a real home.

I had a roof, but no sense of real safety, no sense of being rooted or belonging.

I love Manchester, but still live to run away at any sign of threat or danger.

In Manchester, I live to die, I would still self-harm and dream of suicide.

I got cats to stop suicide - but still wander the streets carelessly looking for danger and men full of hate.

In Manchester, my home was a living site of broken mental health and outward images of my response to trauma.

My home was a wreck, so untidy it was a health hazard. But I was too ill to know that.

I wanted mess to prevent anyone entering my flat - all the time destroying my will to live.

In Manchester, I was lost but imagine I was found.

Moving to Devon, made me see how ill I was.

This affected my writing. 

I found it hard to write without stopping.

I needed to stop and see the quiet, see the stillness and slowly allow peace into me.

I needed to face how ill I was, and learn to receive help.

I found the love of my sister, I slowly found a few people I could trust with my past.

But I mainly found the joy of a regular life, the joy of living in unexciting times.

And I remember my love of nature.

I do not care to know the names of birds, landscapes and trees that I love - I just want to slow down and admire them.

I love living where every day I see the sky changing, every day I heard the racket of birds, every day is the same but different.

Nature is healing but indifferent.

I stand looking into beauty, seeing history, seeing wildlife, seeing change with purpose.

I am small here, but expand into the trees, into the moors and reaches out into Cornish dreams.

I have found a home - a place to have a family, a place to rest and change, a place that is mine and loves visitors.

I found this has stopped my writing - so I have decided to start from scratch.

I needed to change what I write to.

I needed to be deeper and in some ways speak to the personal without censorship.

I needed to be personal to be political.

For I believe that everything I write is political - for I want society to change enough to end all of the sex trade.

But my belief is deeply personal -for my body and mind desires this revolution urgently. 

It is my body that knows the grief, pain and confusion of being exited - as my brain carries my past.

Nature helps me to have the energy and clearness to start again.

I am not sure where my writing will go, but hope you can journey with me.

 

STARTING OVER 

I am starting over with blogging.

I have been away from writing for a long time. Call it resting.

Or call it discovering what being human is. I am unsure - only know I am changing, maybe even becoming what I always should of been.

My old blog is gone, though with help from a nerd, it could be recovered. Personally, I would love help from someone with patience and computer skills to get my old blog back online for me, or to have a permanent record of all that work.

But that writing is unreachable for me, so I start over.

I want this blog to be more about trauma in all its multiple aspects.

I see confronting and explaining trauma for the prostituted as a political act, not a personal diary.

Trauma in the prostituted is usually extreme and complex.

Our trauma is historical as a group - reaching back to the first man who choose to barter to rape a woman.

I have no idea when that happened, more than likely long before human made objects or a written record of it. Maybe even back to cavemen bartering goods or food to rape.

Our trauma is not locked into one culture, one country or even only enclosed in cities - our trauma is everywhere but made nowhere.

It is the trauma of living inside torture.

It is the trauma of having no access to full humanity.

It is the trauma of serial raping.

It is the trauma of being silenced.

It is the trauma of being deny basic human rights.

It is the trauma of no protection from society or laws.

That is just the surface of our trauma.

Now is the time to hear our trauma - know our pain, know our grief and know that we can lead in destroying the sex trade.

To hear us will not be easy.

Your instinct may be to speak over our truths, to speak for us rather than beside us, or just to translate our words into a language that fits your outlook.

To listen means stopping all that, and be more humble and hear our multiple voices.

There will be fury in our words, deep sorrow as we speak, some confusion as we remember, and descriptions of numbness where there should be agony.

This is hard to hear, but it leads to revolution in how destroy the sex trade.

We, the prostituted, can show you the route to weak places in the sex trade, where we can plant dynamite to destroy it at the roots.

We can give a deeper understanding of why men choose to hate women.

We can show you what that hate means to our bodies and minds - as a warning to all women or just to say stop lessening what it is to be prostituted..

This a short opening to my blog. Please follow and see where this journey goes.