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It’s like building a brick wall…one pebble at a time.

That’s what healing from childhood sexual abuse and trauma, domestic abuse and trauma and PTSD is like.

It feels like I am building a wall out of brick pebbles one at a time, and every time I get one side of the wall built another part starts to break down and I have to start all over again.

I’ve been in this place of needing nothing and wanting for nothing (except rolling papers because I keep forgetting to buy them) before. It’s a comfortable place to be, everything I crave is at my finger tips, that which I don’t have I can easily provide for myself or through the aid of my mom cause she’s awesome and I’m super lame.

Either way I want nothing, except to feel better, to feel like I am being a productive member of society and all I can do, all I am capable of sharing this experience with others in the hope those who can affect change will one day listen. It’s all I’ve got right now, that and a bitter resentment to everyone who thinks I should be doing more.

I was contacted by a person who admitted right away that they are a survivor of sex trafficking I’ve never even met anyone else whose been trafficked like I have before.

I’ve met and spoken with Prostitutes and Sex Workers (I think they’re the same thing but I’m not entirely sure so I use both,) but it’s not nearly the same as being sold as a sex slave, as a child to grown men. It’s not the same thing because what I went through wasn’t sex work. It was slavery.

I had to step away from the computer for a moment because it just hit me, Slavery is still a problem on this fucking planet.

We just don’t acknowledge sex trafficking for what it is because we don’t want to admit that slavery is still happening, but I and Diamente Kedyte and millions of little boys, little girls and grown women and men are currently and have been experiencing the lifestyle of a victim of sex trafficking at the hands of Slave Owners.

We are beaten and tortured into submission and everything we believe about ourselves is chipped away until we are left with a shell of something that vaguely resembles a human, but isn’t quite sure what that means anymore.

Do not ever tell someone to just get over it. Fuck you for even thinking that, you should slap yourself across the face.

When I worked in addictions one of my coworkers asked me once “Why can’t they just get over it, like life is not that bad…” Jesus help me I wanted to punch them in the face, but I refrained, because I am a fucking grown ass adult who can handle stupidity without getting violent.

If healing from PTSD were easy, Soldiers of War and children would be the happiest people on the planet. But it’s not it’s fucking hard, it takes time and it often looks like we’re not doing anything of worth, if you’re looking in from the outside it looks like laziness and manipulation when in reality it’s anxiety and depression.

We are trained to flinch at the slightest movement, trained to believe that at any moment our lives could be over if we don’t do as we’re told. We are beaten, enslaved and told that no one cares about us over and over again until we believe it because it’s what makes us compliant and easy to throw around. We are beaten down until we break, and it takes everything we have to survive.

To get out we have to do things that some of us myself included will never admit to out loud, to get the shit out we do whatever we have to do to express how we’re feeling and sometimes the way we present those feelings are not safe for others, which is why so many of us self isolate.

Every single day, getting out of bed is the challenge.

Brushing your teeth is the challenge.

Taking a shower is the challenge.

Putting on clean clothes is the challenge.

And some days these things are fucking insurmountable, THAT is what it means to be a survivor.

It’s harder than working out, because we’re not fighting to get into the ring with the next bad ass, we’re fighting to live. We’re fighting for reasons to keep living even when it seems like we’re never going to get away from the darkness that comes with being free.

It’s harder than anything in the planet except probably being a mother of a child whose been sexually abused and some cases it’s even harder than that.

Don’t you dare judge me. You haven’t earned the right. You haven’t seen the steps I’ve taken, You haven’t walked in the shadows that I’ve walked and you don’t wear my fucking scars. I do.

I will respect you because you exist, but if you want me to be in your life you have to fucking earn that, and after everything that I’ve been through, earning a place in MY life is the hardest thing you will ever do.

Sending all my love,

Siddha Lee Saint James

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