I have worried that if I am honest about my pain in my posts that people would think I was just feeling sorry for myself and dismiss my writing as the same rehashed sob story.
I need originality because I want this site to be something special. I don’t have anyone my life. To take the honesty up another painful notch I am going to admit that people don’t bond to me. I don’t know if i was damaged in early childhood foster care and developed, or shall I say “mis-developed,” maladaptive social skills. Or maybe i was born already damaged and that’s why long term foster parents told the judge no thank you when offered the chance to adopt me. Either way I came out of that experience unable to sustain relationships. My birth family didn’t look for me, nor were they interested in meeting me. There were no childhood friends or college buddies,and I didn’t even know exactly what i do or don’t do, I only know that people drift away. They might dislike me, but they never feel an emotion as strong as hatred toward me.
Into that lonely existence came drugs, which necessitated a constant source if quick cash. I was 23, young and beautiful enough to skate in my looks without worrying about my off putting nature.
In fact, the indifference people felt was an asset. My inability to stir strong feelings made me feel safe in a high risk occupation like meeting up with strangers, often for sex, but not always. What always happens is that I was alone with unknown men, totally at their mercy. And unbelievably, in spite of everything I had been taught to expect , I never had a trick hurt me. I’ve never been hit, sexually assaulted, stalked. Because i don’t matter enough. After years of work in the same place I have had only a handful of regulars. I was never a kept woman but depended on the kindness of a succession of strangers. I was always ashamed that I couldn’t cut it as a sugar baby, and this is easily the most embarrassing truth I’ve shared with you my dear readers. I owe imthe truth to you because you are the only people who seek me out on a regular basis. I’m honored.
I once had a friend who had been a medic in Vietnam he was a black man and I think he cared about me before he died. He used to scold me and say quotation marks you always be falling in love with the tricks! Quotation marks. That’s not what you’re supposed to do I wouldn’t see it that I fell in love all the time but I did care what they thought. I recall one heartbreak I thought we had had a good time. We actually had a good conversation, and I looked forward to seeing the person again then I read the online review he posted. Not good: he didn’t like my place he said it was a mess, which it was at the time he had assured me that it was all right, that he didn’t mind but of course he did. he mentioned that we had a great conversation but I was good company, I looked good but that he would not repeat. And those small limp phrases seared my heart I have the most superficial connections? Did God make me do flawed that spreading my legs isn’t enough to bring people back. my friend who died had once laughed at me and said it was convenient for me to make my problems a cosmic conspiracy because then I did not have to take responsibility. before he died he had been helping me to see where I went wrong socially, all the little things that I was not aware of until he mentioned them to me. No one understood that even though I have this great vocabulary I have no idea how to proceed socially and have no idea why I go so very wrong I only know but nothing has changed. And I live in fear that I will grow too old to be able to pander my physical where’s because then we’ll I have I hope I will have my writing because if not… no I dare not contemplate