The thing below is something I posted in the sex workers group, and it's basically a summary of everything emotional that was related to sex work. But it's probably the last I'll say on the matter unless I go back to it. But it's sort of where I stand right now. And honestly, even almost a year after I stopped, I think about it every single fucking day.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
i've always been curious. I got accepted into a good psychology degree this year, and a bit torn between that and journalism & international relations, but regardless, one of my main aims within the psychology realm was to clinically study the unique psychological impact sex work had upon a person, and in the positive construct, use the information to apply to the greater community, but on the negative side, apply specific psychological methods in overcoming some of the unique issues they face.
but in that, it's still hard to define exactly what has changed within me, as the transformation has been subtly life changing, until you almost wake up and have no idea of who you are, or where you've really come.
and I'm one fo supressing emotions, and forgetting major things and remembering conversations with strangers to the word years later. It's bizarre, I've blocked out significant child abuse, yet can remember at least four to five hundred client faces, stories, and interactions.
I'm just wondering how it's changed you personally, from the great to the horrible, the regrets to the times when you were proud, yet somehow it's all so inexplicably interwined it's hard to find where something began and another ended.
Positively, I am open minded, confident, free, compassionate and well, utterly free. Nothing has given me the freedom like the adult industry. The same women I looked on with curiosityindustry, not only in personal expression and sexuality, but, strangely like I can go wherever I want in the world, and have a means to pay, support, travel, see, explore and be whoever I want to be. I've learnt more from working that I think I'll ever learn in a psychology degree, I still have faith in humanity and the most complex things are reduced to a simplicity of human nature. I have self confidence, and in it's expression I am ultimately powerful, beautiful and female, and coupled with my faith in self and intelligence, somedays I feel unstoppable. I can satisfy anyone and anything with more to spare, and I guess at such a young age, this knowledge gives me more power in the sense that age will only give it certainty, and youth the freedom to do something.
On the negative side, physically I'm desensitised. The same strength and courage that allowed me to do and sell parts of myself, that block also blocks out pleasure when I need and want it most. It's taking a lot of time and nuerological rewiring to get back to that point, but that same wiring was also wired as a child through abuse, so it's a double edge sword. It's amazing that one year later it's so easy to slip into that frequency, turn on the pornographic audio and let it ride. Likewise, it's still hard to say no, when it's easier to give in as I let them take nothing from me, where in reality it's doing me more harm than good. I'm still struggling with the balance between what I've learnt and the morals, self respect and pride I was taught, and the lonliness in watching friends drop, judge or departmentalise me away based on stereotypes, fear and jealousy. From working full time, and being so sexual all the time (and in a strip club) to regulating my behavior in public life, being so used to getting attention and what I want through sexual means and judging where it is appropriate, and then realising it's become an essential part of my self, and where to draw the line and say, fuck you I'll be whoever I want to be and adjusting myself to social norms and the lavoiding the abels of "slut" and "whore". at what point is sexual freedom accepted, and is it only in a personal reflection of happiness within self that those labels fall away?
Juggling other workers variances on privacy and sensitivity, juggling their shame, my own imposed subsequently, and the resulting sense of peace, happiness and freedom. Remembering when my body was in shock after doing twelve or thirteen clients a night. Listening to your body and hearing it hurting. The strange fucked up pride when other workers said "Hey you've had a big night, well done.", the pleasure of the money in my hand, the soreness of my body. Sometimes it feels like my body cries, rebels, and can't be invaded anymore, no matter how hard I try to control it. The automatic tensing of my ass, no matter the relaxing thoughts, the fuckheads that have big cocks and fuck you until you bleed, my initial innocence and nievity, in retrospect watching it being taken advantage of, the pure immense mathmatical numbers of it all. The smells, the ugliness of their bodies, the constant air freshner, baby wipes, soggy condoms, arrogant fucks and the disrespect in their eyes. The alien feeling amongst women, as if you are a witch, something that can take their men, their lives, their souls, that you jepoardise every fucking useless moral they stand for. The hope that I'd come into a den of wise women, of comfort and friendship and knowledge, yet was thrown to the wolves and as a survivor I only got their respect. I guess everyone learns the hard way and then the pure joy in saying fuck you when I earnt more money. Then the simultaneous insecurity that it was only because I was young and prey to the peopophillic intents of men. Those times where they are too rough, too gentle, to insecure, too vulnerable. Inspiring rage and disprespect. Trying to hold onto my sanity and my compassion, trying not to hate them. The lesbian advances of many, and not out of a true desire for women, just a degraded bitterness because they'd grown so much to hate and disrespect and pity men they wanted a truer strength in their lives. Watching my dad cry when I told him. Watching my brother cry. Watching my mother go on anti depressants. Watching the failure in their eyes. Trying to describe the deeper transformations and humanity I was being blessed with, and them trying to show the innocence I still held, and how it was being abused. Empty nights. The normal men that left. Trying to find one with courage.
Stripping and finally finding a job I loved. Freedom, exhibitionism, something that was slightly socially acceptable. Suddenly not being ashamed of what I'd done because I never regret it and would do it again, but watching the discommunication and seperateness amongst women. Thinking that the one place in the world where I thought women would be anciently connected and bonded, they had become so souless and afraid of their own inner thoughts that talk turned to not how they were doing something so soul changing but merely shopping for a new hair colour. Reminded me of the post abortion room where doped up women cried silently in their tears everyone to frightened to hold each other. Jealousy, bitterness. The receptionist who had worked for over twentry years and no longer tried to pretend she thought she had a soul.
Trying to talk to god, the feeling that sex was so much more than we ever imagined. That what I was told at the beginning was right, but everyone was saying the wrong way to get there. That every single time I screwed someone a part of my soul left me and swapped with a part of their soul. Empty nights with a bottle of whisky trying to contemplate the fragments of soul I held and did not understand for all it's anonminity. Feeling like I was shattered across a continent, and wondering how my bits of self changed, helped, impacted or were fleeting in another.
Finding some of the most courageous and beautiful women I've ever seen, and feeling like I am shaming or demeaning them every time I pretend I have not done what I did or do not say it. A desire to give hope to it all, to help them. An occasionaly rage and hate towards them, that they could take something from me, that they have the arrogance to think they can fuck me without paying, that they will ever get to even see a word from me if it wasn't for what I did. Subsequent shame, shame in self, shame that I can be do dispassionate. I used to try and find something beautiful and human in every one, something worth deserving of companionship, intimacy and the pretence of love. It just takes so much.
That urge to go back to it all, the confusion that it's become. Something deep and ancient pulls me back, maybe because it's one of the first things I was ever really good at. The desire for money that grew because if I did not need, craved, desire money and posessions everything I was getting in return for my soul was useless. Unless I made them worthy and worthwhile, everything I had done was in vain.
Reminds me of talking to my now ex, when we were talking about his twice decade long substance addiction. I raised the same point, I guess we hold onto things sometimes purely because if we don't give the wrong power and worth, everything we lost to it was stupid and pointless.
I don't regret a single fucking thing., I don't regret kissing them , or selling my ass, or anything else for that matter. I'm proud and finally beginning to be happy within myself, but more than anything in life, the industry has given me billions of shades of grey. Nothing is black and white anymore. I am thankful for it.
I am glad I did what I did, whether I can do it again, seems more of a violation of what I have learned, and succumbing to material greed.
Just trying to find where this all fits into my life, whether it will crucify me, whether honesty will truly set me free, either in someting I considered mundane or where I want to be.
xoxoxox.
i've always been curious. I got accepted into a good psychology degree this year, and a bit torn between that and journalism & international relations, but regardless, one of my main aims within the psychology realm was to clinically study the unique psychological impact sex work had upon a person, and in the positive construct, use the information to apply to the greater community, but on the negative side, apply specific psychological methods in overcoming some of the unique issues they face.
but in that, it's still hard to define exactly what has changed within me, as the transformation has been subtly life changing, until you almost wake up and have no idea of who you are, or where you've really come.
and I'm one fo supressing emotions, and forgetting major things and remembering conversations with strangers to the word years later. It's bizarre, I've blocked out significant child abuse, yet can remember at least four to five hundred client faces, stories, and interactions.
I'm just wondering how it's changed you personally, from the great to the horrible, the regrets to the times when you were proud, yet somehow it's all so inexplicably interwined it's hard to find where something began and another ended.
Positively, I am open minded, confident, free, compassionate and well, utterly free. Nothing has given me the freedom like the adult industry. The same women I looked on with curiosityindustry, not only in personal expression and sexuality, but, strangely like I can go wherever I want in the world, and have a means to pay, support, travel, see, explore and be whoever I want to be. I've learnt more from working that I think I'll ever learn in a psychology degree, I still have faith in humanity and the most complex things are reduced to a simplicity of human nature. I have self confidence, and in it's expression I am ultimately powerful, beautiful and female, and coupled with my faith in self and intelligence, somedays I feel unstoppable. I can satisfy anyone and anything with more to spare, and I guess at such a young age, this knowledge gives me more power in the sense that age will only give it certainty, and youth the freedom to do something.
On the negative side, physically I'm desensitised. The same strength and courage that allowed me to do and sell parts of myself, that block also blocks out pleasure when I need and want it most. It's taking a lot of time and nuerological rewiring to get back to that point, but that same wiring was also wired as a child through abuse, so it's a double edge sword. It's amazing that one year later it's so easy to slip into that frequency, turn on the pornographic audio and let it ride. Likewise, it's still hard to say no, when it's easier to give in as I let them take nothing from me, where in reality it's doing me more harm than good. I'm still struggling with the balance between what I've learnt and the morals, self respect and pride I was taught, and the lonliness in watching friends drop, judge or departmentalise me away based on stereotypes, fear and jealousy. From working full time, and being so sexual all the time (and in a strip club) to regulating my behavior in public life, being so used to getting attention and what I want through sexual means and judging where it is appropriate, and then realising it's become an essential part of my self, and where to draw the line and say, fuck you I'll be whoever I want to be and adjusting myself to social norms and the lavoiding the abels of "slut" and "whore". at what point is sexual freedom accepted, and is it only in a personal reflection of happiness within self that those labels fall away?
Juggling other workers variances on privacy and sensitivity, juggling their shame, my own imposed subsequently, and the resulting sense of peace, happiness and freedom. Remembering when my body was in shock after doing twelve or thirteen clients a night. Listening to your body and hearing it hurting. The strange fucked up pride when other workers said "Hey you've had a big night, well done.", the pleasure of the money in my hand, the soreness of my body. Sometimes it feels like my body cries, rebels, and can't be invaded anymore, no matter how hard I try to control it. The automatic tensing of my ass, no matter the relaxing thoughts, the fuckheads that have big cocks and fuck you until you bleed, my initial innocence and nievity, in retrospect watching it being taken advantage of, the pure immense mathmatical numbers of it all. The smells, the ugliness of their bodies, the constant air freshner, baby wipes, soggy condoms, arrogant fucks and the disrespect in their eyes. The alien feeling amongst women, as if you are a witch, something that can take their men, their lives, their souls, that you jepoardise every fucking useless moral they stand for. The hope that I'd come into a den of wise women, of comfort and friendship and knowledge, yet was thrown to the wolves and as a survivor I only got their respect. I guess everyone learns the hard way and then the pure joy in saying fuck you when I earnt more money. Then the simultaneous insecurity that it was only because I was young and prey to the peopophillic intents of men. Those times where they are too rough, too gentle, to insecure, too vulnerable. Inspiring rage and disprespect. Trying to hold onto my sanity and my compassion, trying not to hate them. The lesbian advances of many, and not out of a true desire for women, just a degraded bitterness because they'd grown so much to hate and disrespect and pity men they wanted a truer strength in their lives. Watching my dad cry when I told him. Watching my brother cry. Watching my mother go on anti depressants. Watching the failure in their eyes. Trying to describe the deeper transformations and humanity I was being blessed with, and them trying to show the innocence I still held, and how it was being abused. Empty nights. The normal men that left. Trying to find one with courage.
Stripping and finally finding a job I loved. Freedom, exhibitionism, something that was slightly socially acceptable. Suddenly not being ashamed of what I'd done because I never regret it and would do it again, but watching the discommunication and seperateness amongst women. Thinking that the one place in the world where I thought women would be anciently connected and bonded, they had become so souless and afraid of their own inner thoughts that talk turned to not how they were doing something so soul changing but merely shopping for a new hair colour. Reminded me of the post abortion room where doped up women cried silently in their tears everyone to frightened to hold each other. Jealousy, bitterness. The receptionist who had worked for over twentry years and no longer tried to pretend she thought she had a soul.
Trying to talk to god, the feeling that sex was so much more than we ever imagined. That what I was told at the beginning was right, but everyone was saying the wrong way to get there. That every single time I screwed someone a part of my soul left me and swapped with a part of their soul. Empty nights with a bottle of whisky trying to contemplate the fragments of soul I held and did not understand for all it's anonminity. Feeling like I was shattered across a continent, and wondering how my bits of self changed, helped, impacted or were fleeting in another.
Finding some of the most courageous and beautiful women I've ever seen, and feeling like I am shaming or demeaning them every time I pretend I have not done what I did or do not say it. A desire to give hope to it all, to help them. An occasionaly rage and hate towards them, that they could take something from me, that they have the arrogance to think they can fuck me without paying, that they will ever get to even see a word from me if it wasn't for what I did. Subsequent shame, shame in self, shame that I can be do dispassionate. I used to try and find something beautiful and human in every one, something worth deserving of companionship, intimacy and the pretence of love. It just takes so much.
That urge to go back to it all, the confusion that it's become. Something deep and ancient pulls me back, maybe because it's one of the first things I was ever really good at. The desire for money that grew because if I did not need, craved, desire money and posessions everything I was getting in return for my soul was useless. Unless I made them worthy and worthwhile, everything I had done was in vain.
Reminds me of talking to my now ex, when we were talking about his twice decade long substance addiction. I raised the same point, I guess we hold onto things sometimes purely because if we don't give the wrong power and worth, everything we lost to it was stupid and pointless.
I don't regret a single fucking thing., I don't regret kissing them , or selling my ass, or anything else for that matter. I'm proud and finally beginning to be happy within myself, but more than anything in life, the industry has given me billions of shades of grey. Nothing is black and white anymore. I am thankful for it.
I am glad I did what I did, whether I can do it again, seems more of a violation of what I have learned, and succumbing to material greed.
Just trying to find where this all fits into my life, whether it will crucify me, whether honesty will truly set me free, either in someting I considered mundane or where I want to be.
xoxoxox.
VIEW 27 of 27 COMMENTS
yeah he's a big frickin guy. very outgoing. and a great big heart.
baltimore is on the east coast of the us. near washington dc. where's brisbane?
and how are you?