When I say you can’t con a con, by the second use of the word con I mean convict. I was a convict and I usually am smarter than everyone I encounter, IMHO. I was in prison for possession of $10 of heroin. Not for stealing. Yes, I make the distinction between my choices about my life vs. hurting others. But that’s another story. You know how I got tricked out of $200 last week? I believed the guy when he said if I loaned him the $ he would make me joint on his bank account and I would have access to his directly deposited social security check, for my repayment. I believed the bank when the bank said staff would not take sides in any joint account. The bank granted his request to lie to me should I ask if everything was ok. You see, he was overdrawn. The bank wanted it’s $600 back. If I had known that he intended to close the account and deny me access as soon as the check came in, I could’ve frozed the account unilaterally, interfering with the bank getting repaid. He told the bank on Thursday he intended to deny me access and close the account Monday. Saturday, I asked bank staff if everything was ok for me to access funds on Monday. They straight up lied. “Everything is a go!” In reality their notes told them to deny me access to the account pending his arrival to officially take me off the account. No wonder I noticed it took a conference of bank staffers huddled around the computer screen to dimy say, “no changes here!”
At the opening of business Monday. the same staffers from Saturday turned me away from the teller window, empty-handed in Monday at 9:20. All they claimed to know was there was no record of me being joint on any account. I’d have to ask him why. He hid until I exited the bank. He entered the bank and withdrew the money left after the overdraft was repaid and closed the account. I found out the whole back story when I returned that afternoon bc I had a suspicion the bank breached it’s own policies. I was right. Yet another manager told me the truth, including the times he made his requests. She remained silent when I asked if the bank deliberately lied; only raised her eyebrows. She did say that I could’ve taken out my $200 first thing Monday bc my cancellation was not official til he came in. But that’s not what I was told Monday morning. God, I am furious. One reason you can’t con a con is we learn the rules by heart. I was unprepared for cheating. This story is a perfect example of a time when I just about know they treated me one way bc I’m black and him another way bc he is white. I know it, but in a way, I don’t. What was it about my look that made these strangers willing to cheat me? Someone asked if I was showing too much cleavage with my lovely augmented breasts and I admit, too much skin could’ve been a factor. No matter what, they had no right to judge me unworthy of equal protection of their rules. Do I have any recourse?
The Most Honest Language I Have Read About Race and Addiction
The above link is from an internet article from a mainstream news organization. The words anger me, but that’s not all they do to me.
Despite the fact that the white face of the opioid crisis tends to elicit the sort of public and political empathy that was never offered to black crack addicts in the 1980s, drug use remains highly stigmatized.
I Have Brutal Honesty of My Own To Offer
One of my goals in writing this blog is to present honest thoughts that I ordinarily would not say for fear of giving offense. I will write the thoughts here bc I believe, though I cannot prove, that our forbidden thoughts are very similar and we can find a community within honesty despite the apparently divisive nature of the opinions. My honest thought, when I heard that whites are suffering with addiction was “Good for them.” My true feeling was one of relief because now that addiction is a white thing too, it’s much more accepted. As a black or half black, person with addictions, I feel more accepted by society, and on a deeper level, I can accept myself because, you see, white people do it too. If it makes them happy it can’t be that bad, to paraphrase a popular song. If white people do it, it can’t be that bad. I am ashamed to feel the need for validation by joining white people. I guess years and years of hearing black people clamor for integration and strive to get away from other black people, created my psychic script. I was watching a skit with comedian Dave Chapelle and there was a line that went something like:
“You know things are going well for him because everything in his life is white.”
And yes, I am seeking validation through an alliance of sorts with Dave Chapelle. I’d love to feel ok within myself, by myself. Not there yet.
I was inspired to write about jealousy yesterday and I think I know the source of the inspiration. I was probably subconsciously reminded of an acquaintance. She always described herself as “a ho” but I wonder about the truth of that because I have seen no evidence. She is another addict. She lives in her car. I’ve always been amazed at people who could keep cars–i never could! She gave me a ride three times, and declined payment. I once asked her to pick up a box of cat food. Now I will show you how she used those favors to establish a debt and justify the use of the language you are about to read. I apologize in advance for the words from someone who could feel a connection with me, but instead resents what I have. I confess I didn’t see the hatred in store for me from people like me. The money she refers to below is for cat food and egg nog (I love eggnog). I let her know that I can use her words on my blog to show what most people think of people like, well, me of course but also, like her. Ironic.
“Half truths and from your poor pitiful me point of views and so many lies just to try and gain fake followers lmao and your so horrible at proper English and how to write a short blog and stay on topic that every one reading has got to be dying laughing at your pathetic bullshiet typical Mommy hated me I tried to go to school and be the best me but I always hated my self so I became a whore and got hooked on hard drugs but I can work out. yeah these fake tits look super great even tho my hair and my skin will never recover from the stress of 20 years of drug use. I was stupid to have liked you from the start now I see the ugly belittling always has to be right never loved her self junky bum broke insane annoying bitch you are fuck was I thinking that your few good qualities would ever out way your bad leave me the fuck alone keep your money I don’t need shiet from you and leave me alone I will not be the reason your life has meaning online in blogs bitch YOU ARE IRRELEVANT keep it pushin nasty hoe”
I hope many people want to hear from this ex-streetwalker now sex talker. I learned how to sell it .my ivy league education has given me the ability to tell it. At first I was feeding a drug habit but even after I had the dope I kept working because I liked the money, so I can’t claim I was entirely motivated by that mental illness-or moral weakness, however you consider addiction . Over the course of a fifteen year career I heard a lot of personal thoughts and desires that men would never on God’s green earth tell anyone .But they told me because they viewed me as smart enough to understand yet I lacked the social status to reveal information to others because no one would care what a hooker had to say. No one feared exposure and I truly loved the part of my job that entailed listening. I noticed that many men had the same feelings but they did not know bc no one compares their deepest secrets and inner shame. But what if I could change this isolation by talking about what I learned so people could see they are not alone, not uniquely weird. I think of my beloved friend who lived his whole life unnecessarily feeling like an oddity bc he never knew that I had heard many others express similar desires. I want one person to take comfort in knowing she or he is not alone after reading my words and very soon, seeing my videos on YouTube.
Clients confided in the Ivy League educated hooker–me. Why? I was smart enough to understand anything they shared. Equally important, my status as social outcast meant even if I told their secrets few would listen to me. Of those who listen, few of that small number would believe me. Almost no one would care what a woman of ill repute had to say. I understood their secrets and kept those precious gifts safe since I couldn’t tell on them even if I wanted to! Of course, I did not want to unlock the vault and violate trust. I said nothing and remembered what I heard. learned that many men lived in shame BC of the erroneous belief that they were different than others. They did not know that their confessions had been echoed by others. I had a friend who lived his whole life never fully accepting himself BC he thought he was uniquely weird. He was wrong. His alienation was unnecessary pain. If he knew what I knew his life could have been happier. The only way I can form a community out of shared secrets, mostly sexual, but not entirely, is to tell the secrets while maintaining perfect confidentiality. My blog tells of my experiences with the emotions and musings of people in the sex industry now, and in my past (up to 15 years ago). The purpose of every post is to comfort to at least one person with the assurance that someone else felt/thought the same way. The feelings and thoughts are true, the people and events combine interviews, personal experience, and fiction. You cannot meet Caroleena bc she does not exist beyond this site. But she speaks truth. Sometimes your truth. You are not alone with your secrets. Come, let me show you.