Because I’m a Survivor: With Decades Out of The Sex Trade The Battle Continues
Robin Zee Shares her on-going struggles while she waits on a long waitlist for help
Photo by: Suzanne Steenkist
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When I Was a Slave
I remember when I was going from one apartment to the next, from one hotel room to the next, from one john to the next. This was when I was working on outcalls. In terms of incalls, that I will elaborate on another time, but I will say this, during incalls, I was rarely let out of my room.
14 hours a day, 7 days a week, they came in and out, in and out. The only hope for me at this point was that the john would be fast and non-violent.
I clearly remember thinking more than once, what would happen if there was a knock on the door and a relative, family friend, a past teacher or doctor had answered. What if it was my father, my uncle?
My thoughts never went any further than this. They would just come to an abrupt stop. Such an abrupt stop that it left me with these feelings that only come with the possibility of that ever happening.
Recently a fella reached out to me as a result of hearing about my story and my book BorderLine Me, Beyond the Edge. He interviewed me for his upcoming book on Ada McCallum, who owned a brothel in Halifax. There’s already a lot written about her as she was well-known in the brothel world.
The interview was a little uncomfortable. Writing about something and talking about it can differ for me. But I'm looking forward to reading his upcoming book as I’m in it. This brings in some anxiousness for sure, but I just keep telling myself that it’ll be okay.
Then there’s the other side of it. On this side, I hear myself screaming, good God Robin, what have you done! I hesitate because I’m a mom now. I swerve because it’s all becoming too real once again. I struggle because the impact could not only affect me but my daughter too.
You see when I was in it, my emotions and my connections to myself and everything was on hold. Disconnected, that is how I lived my life, it’s how I survived. Professionals call it a dissociative disorder.
However, I feel now as if I have thawed and what I'm left with is raw emotions. The slightest breeze hurts because of the rawness. You know when you remove a scab and a wound is left exposed? This is what it feels like. Recently, a past john from Halifax from way back found me on Facebook. I remember I saw the message and froze. The timing was surreal.
Onion Peeling with a Lack of Resources
Writing my story and publishing it brought me back to feeling the emotions of a victim. It threw me in the deep end and like the onion, another layer peeled. As you know, onions make us cry, but for me, my eyes have been dry for so long that no one sees my tears. The dryness started a long time ago for me.
When I was very young my father used to scream at me and tell me just how ugly I looked when I cried. I haven’t cried wet tears since. Then again, if I'm to be truly honest, I've had a few wet tears here and there, but I instinctively can only release a mini portion of what I carry so deep within. I want to release all of it, but something within runs its interference and I automatically stop or dry up.
The impact of my father’s words is deeply embedded within my mind. They carry the same impact as when he bit me until I bled. From these traumas, I learned no one is safe. I can't trust or count on anyone. After all, he was my father. Wasn’t he supposed to protect me? If not your father then who?
My parents placed me in the hands of pedophiles, albeit unintentionally nevertheless, but one must remember that these occurrences were processed from that of a child because that’s what I was back then. I never did run into any family members behind those locked doors and I had no idea how they or I would’ve reacted if that had ever happened. There are so many triggers happening for me now that I can honestly say, I’ve completely defrosted.
I don’t think I’m prepared to handle it all alone but I've hit a wall as I try to access mental health resources and the support that I currently need. As I wait on a long waitlist, I realize there are very few supports available unless you can afford to pay for the high costs associated. It’s triggering because it brings me back to all the money I made, yet escaping with nothing to my name. As I sit here today as a survivor of human trafficking with decades of hard work put into healing, I also sit here on a waitlist without the supports that I need. It all feels too familiar.
A psychiatrist will oversee medication, yes, but another little pill to numb the pain won't help. I don’t want to go back to being numb by taking the band-aids on top of the band-aids approach. All that happens is the pills continue to pile on. It never does any good. It doesn't heal the problem, it only numbs it for the time being.
Despite all the hurdles to get help, I will not give up. I will bid my time, get on the long waitlist and hope that I survive until then as best I can. Because I'm a survivor and will continue to be a survivor. The life of a human trafficking survivor is not easy and it doesn’t necessarily end when you escape. This is what is known as the aftermath wish.
If you are or believe you have identified someone in a trafficking situation, you can take action. Call 911 immediately to notify local law enforcement. You may also call the human trafficking hotlines in Canada and the United States by dialling the numbers below. Both hotlines are open 24/7/365 days of the year and provide services in over 200 languages.
Canadian Human Trafficking Hotline
1-833-900-1010
United States Trafficking Hotline
1-888-373-7888
