Archive for the 'rough' Category

19
Aug
10

But that’s alright because I LOVE the way you LIE

Rihanna has become one of my heroes of late. Eminem has always represented all the guys I’ve ever dated, so it’s fucking brilliant that they decided to do this video together. He’s a great artist. Amazing lyricist. A known abuser and now recovered drug addict. Always the image of a great and loving father. A crazy alter ego that has violent and misogynistic thoughts on every album. On this song Eminem forces Rihanna to sing the role of her victimhood in a way that soon may become more of a verb more than her own name. The archetype of a triumphant and Glamorous Survivor. “Tougher than a lion.. no pain is forever, Yep you know this.” The one we all want to be once the bruises (if there are physical bruises) heal. “She Rihannaed through that situation..” I just heard one of my ex boyfriends’ names being used as a verb by way of another boyfriend I am attempting to ex out…”I Jimmyed that relationship so I could stay at her house another week.” he said. (which means he freeloaded rent and board off of a girl he was dating in exchange for mediocre relationship moments). Ah, the oh so familiar financial abuser that too many “independent women” seem to pair up with. I think Ne-Yo wrote that song for those guys, rather than as a fucking compliment to any women. It was dedicated to all the free loading men that Beyonce and Destiny’s Child in Pay My Bills talk about..

I’m not sure why the boyfriends that I started to get after 22 became tumultuous. (GREEK CHORUS: Because you became a sex worker, LOL! LOL!)  I’m not sure why after being single for 9 years did I fall in love with someone who was so similar in both beautiful and fucked up ways as this other first love of mine who was a closet heroin user who i spent 10 months with in the Mission District of San Francisco trying to heal, love and mentor when I was 23. Different illnesses and issues, different people, same manic cycle, similar beautful lies… I hear myself in Rihanna’s voice as she talks so lovingly about Chris Brown and his future. She wants him to just “grow up and learn from this experience.” She still loves him. Love doesn’t go away right away. she says and I know this so well. An abuser is often the adult victim of child abuse or assault and the other partner often feels sorry for that little boy inside the man that lashes out at her while she tries to mother him. Repeating the cycle of the abuse between the childs parents and the tension between the abused mother and son.

I wasn’t beat up and left in a car before I was supposed to attend the Grammy’s but I’ve been deeply entrenched in other forms of relationship violence almost all of the relationships that I’ve had for the last 10 years. I would throw ‘benign’ objects (like a bag of fast food, a large soda; separate occasions) at one of my ex boyfriends to get his attention and wipe the stupid blank look off his face when I told him to get a job and pay some rent, for instance.  I’ve had another someone I was in love with threaten by text message to do a drive by on my house and set my kar on fire…I told him if he was going to do that he should be the one to pull the trigger [so I could look in his eyes while I died for “love.”] but I knew it wasn’t a serious threat, it was a twisted thought from a very lost person.

I never thought he would do it, but the fact that I have, like Rihanna heard what it sounds like when this person that you think that you are in love with tells you that they are going to kill you [if you stop loving them].

*   *  *   *  *  *   *   *   *  *

I was the one who demanded that Jimmy and I go to counseling together but soon realized that because I was the one instigated physical violence, I was therefore the ‘abuser’ and they wouldn’t see us together as a couple while ‘physical abuse’ was occurring in the relationship. So I quickly learned to control my physical reactions and started to use my voice and just scream my frustrations at him, which did not come out as words but aimed to be a vocal assault of some sort to get him to stop his behavior and see that I was becoming enraged. One time I remember gesturing punches towards his face that were controlled enough to not touch his face but show that I wanted to physically assault him because I was so angry. Things got better over time. We learned how to work better with each other. But I was unhappy for 8 months having this roomate that I didn’t want and couldn’t seem to get rid of before I finally called the cops on him. One day, he decided to get something and he wouldn’t stop calling and knocking on the front door when he arrived uninvited. I was trying to create a new space boundary since he had finally left my house. He had finally packed up his stuff to move out after pleading with him for months to leave. but he was back on a day that we weren’t scheduled to hang out and I didn’t feel like letting him in or answering his phone calls. I have 3 phones and a front door and he was blowing up all of them. In a panic I called 911 and they arrived after almost 40 minutes and 2 calls. I didn’t really feel that he would hurt me, but I had just been pushed to the point of police intervention by this guy after months of warning him that I would do exactly what I ended up doing.  I asked his parents for help with the situation and they shook their heads and told me to call the cops and that I allowed this to continue and they couldn’t help him because he was an adult.

I firmly believed that if someone is knocking on your front door and they won’t go away that you have a right to call the police to ask them to go away. “Are you still in a relationship with this guy?” officer 1 asked.
“yes.” I said, “but he is not supposed to be here right now. I want him to leave and he won’t.”  I had told him that we would stay together in a relationship but he would agree to move out, and I believed that we really were going to be able to do this.
“We don’t police people’s relationships ma’am.” officer 2 said. “someone has to go to jail nowadays, people’s lives are changed because of these calls.” It was a hard call because it wasn’t exactly a DV related 911 call, but it was. I don’t remember how I finished my conversation with them to close the door, but I remember seeing him in the back of the car in cuffs while they searched his car and crying at the sight of what I had just done. I was on the phone with my therapist while looking out the window. That was the last time I saw him. He didn’t return to my house, nor did he return a suitcase and laptop that I had basically let him use during the duration of our relationship just to add insult to injury. He was pissed I called the cops on him so he decided to keep $600 worth of my stuff.

It all occured when i was brand new to Facebook last year. The open ended “What’s on your mind?” was too much of an open space for me to not pour out what was happening from my desktop to reality. I Facebooked it while it was happening without caring about other people’s triggers or discomfort. “If you call the cops on your man, does that mean the relationship is over?” and someone’s response was,” no because when he gets out its gonna be the best sex you ever had and then some!” it made me laugh. you somehow have to find light with these things, and there’s no one better than the victims themselves to make a joke out of a serious matter. I’m just going to call the abusers the victims too because even punching the drywall beside someone’s face is a sign of your victimhood. It is abusive. It is a sign that you are unable to control your anger. You are a victim of your rage and your demons. Your lust when you end up having that make up sex. Your weaknesses when you go back to them. But I have learned so much with every fight that I have endured, and I can truly say that I can fight stronger and better and not allow myself to retaliate and stoop to the level that would lead us into that raging bullfight that is in the video which ends up in unprotected drunk sex spawning a devil unplanned retarded baby. At some point you learn not to take it there, and for some people, they NEVER LEARN. “If he EVER lays a hand on me,” the high school girl feminist proclaims,”I’M LEAVING.” But may she learn that it is never that clean and easy and more often than not, they DON’T hit you with their hands to cause the most abuse.

Eminem’s recent video truly reveals the complexity of relationship violence from what seems like a young addicts perspective. It is a paradigm I am too familiar with having fallen in love with people with addictions OR who might as well be drug addicts because they act that way anyway without drugs. Yes, we still live in a sexist patriarchal world but the reality of domestic violence has changed since the Battered wife image of the 80’s and 90s that Barbara Walters is still polishing the framework for. Eminem’s video and lyrics reveal that complexity. He has a phone number on his hand that she sees. She gets so raging mad that she SPITS in his face while he holds her down. I realize mostly that in these situation that there is ALWAYS a back and forth. He says something. She says something worse. He does something to spite her. She does something manipulative and vindictive to spite him. Sleeps with a co-worker or best friend. Texting a working girl in front of your girlfriend because you know that they will call back or text to get you into the fight that you secretly ask for.  This is how Rihanna and Chris started brawling.  Over another woman’s text message.   Psychological WARFARE. Another woman’s voice, even if she is no real threat but a created threat by a manipulative and demented lover.  This is how the 21 year olds girlfriend found out about me and I about her.  I called his phone and she answered.  this is how she got my phone number to harass me.  Dirty, grimy immature antics made only from the insane minds of people so enraptured in the madness of their own NON LOVE that they can’t stop to think about what they are actually doing.  Some of them, who were born and raised in abuse need to be told better.

“You DON’T say those things to someone that you JUST SAID that you LOVE.”

“SPEAK TO ME LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE.” (I just saw a book with this title on this topic at the bookstore)

and this really IS  a new concept to them.  One that they can learn if you can teach them fast enough (and they are willing to learn).

I don’t let lovers or friends make a joke out of me as a regular habit.  Hard love and cruel jokes= humiliation to me.  I grew up as the youngest child and black sheep and am still treated like a 2nd class citizen in some ways by some of my family so I will not tolerate a relationship where I feel like someone’s little sister.  A little humor is healthy, but constant and subtle degradation through mockery, passive agressive comments, passive aggressive jealousy,  is NOT healthy for your lovers, partners or children, it adds up and spills over like a symbollic cup of violence disguised as a slow poison like the syrup of sweet Coca Cola.

I love the scene in the Eminem video where the two are sitting in the aftermath of their own destruction bonding on the light energy of their broken and dysfunctional love. I’ve felt that glowing energy between myself and the most beautiful and worst liars that I have ever loved. I believed that our love was the only true thing about the mess we were in. “Love is blind.” Rihanna says.”FUCK LOVE. Look at your situation from the 3rd person and see it for what it really is.” Great advice. Now applying it to your own life is the harder part. Only someone whose experienced a violent love like hers could even understand that love energy can exist and glow even in the ugliest and most brutal relationships sometimes. Everyone else is probably so judgmental. The abusers that I have known (physical, verbal, finnancial, chemical) have all had a magical romantic gift, charming and endearing a promise of a perfect love that lasts for a few days, a few sweet emails, until BOOM. explosion. and it always repeats.  The 21 year old that I had blogged about before that was cheating on his girlfriend to have an affair with me was an abuser.  I could sense it.  I was part of his abuse, I was the other woman, and at first I was laughing about it.  She was psycho and irritating and perhaps I have gained such a hard skin about insults via text message because I ignored so many of hers.  This 21 year olds cock WAS magical and magnetic though.  I do remember the magnetic power I had to turn away from with all my might.  This is coming from someone who is totally not dick centered, not entirely attracted to genitalia but I knew a good thing when I felt it.  It was quite possibly the best dick I’ve could remember having, but I BROKE LOOSE FROM IT without much damage!

EVERYONE has a QUICK solution to it and an opinion. No one understands but those that are in it that it is a longer process than we would often like it to be, but “just getting up and leaving” is sometimes just not a reality for most of us. Rihanna said she went back 8 or 9 times.  The abused and hurt child desperately needs to have the abuser apologize and caress their wounds and tell them that they did not mean to do the things that they did.

What are your boundaries and how long will YOU let someone go before you pull out the stops on your relationship?

Has anyone ever stolen money from you? Spit in your face? Punched a wall beside your head? Crashed or smashed your car? Used a traumatic part of your past as a verbal assault during a fight? threaten to call your probation officer with lies about you? “joked” about cutting off your dick if you cheat?

Snoop Dogg has a song about the manipulation that goes on with the new DV laws called, “First one gets to the phone, the other one’s going to jail..” The urban reality of relationship violence, hip hop, people of color and probation officers is sung about in a humorous way..A LOT of the Black and Brown community is on probation or in jail or prison so this form of institutionalized racism helps to use domestic violence to further tear families and relationships apart.  Or does it help to protect the victims by giving them ammunition to shoot back at their abusers?

Eminem’s video reveals well the cycle of violence told through the push and pull and the back and forth of the whole thing. I know for some reason that I am a red hot magnet for men and women with major trauma issues because I have my own and that often leads to the kind of relationships where people have to work out through acting out until they understand how to communicate in all the ways that they lacked as a child. I am better now because I’ve burned in those bedrooms. I think I know how to walk away. I just wonder why no matter how far I walk I seem to keep encountering these classic romantic turned abusive characters that are out of these pop stars music videos. Is it because I am so fucked up and labeled a wreck myself that I just can’t stay away from them, or could it be that relationship violence is more common that those of us that are so judgmental would like to admit. Are YOU guilty?

31
Aug
09

ANYTHING LESS THAN THE PERFECT VICTIM

is absolutely unacceptable..

“Why are you sitting there drinking Naked Juice?“she said.

Don’t one of those cost like $4?”

I was sitting on the floor, trying to get SUPPORTED.  This woman really doesn’t care about what I put in my stomach.  I had been coming to this anger management group which has been politically retitled “Rage Resolution” because anger, they think can be not managed but resolved.  This Black woman was about 10 years or so older than me, had done sex work, drugs and more but of course, because in my report back to the group that I was still broke..she erupted into her criticism on what I chose to eat for dinner that nite: a Cliff Bar and a Naked Juice.  $3 drink, $2 bar=$5 total.  “Yuppie” nutrition and meal replacements that are NOT available for consumption in a good HALF of Los Angeles grocery and convenience stores and most definitely not available in stores in East AND South Central LA.  No one would spend $5 on a bottle of protein and a chunk of calories that looked like a piece of turd but filled you up.  They would rather spend $6 on a Carl’s Jr meal with fries and a big drink.  (Cuz it makes you feel FOOL!)

But it wasn’t about the implied yuppie foods it was the fact that I was even EATING at all and daring to call myself BROKE.  Because if I was truly broke, I wouldn’t have food to eat at all.  (You could live in Aaaafrica! or Innnndia! or Skid Row! they say, but even if you came from those places or lived there now, they would NOT care about you more or less).

I shouldn’t have $10 to pay for a group full of mostly court mandated clowns who would use the 2 hour group to put their 2 cents towards strangers on how they should think and live their lives.  I was there voluntarily.  In fact, including the group I have clocked in 5 hours of therapy THIS WEEK.   I am soooo privileged.  I am eating.  I am soooo privileged.  I have money to medicate with marijuana.  Even if I don’t spend a lot of money on it, but rather sell it off to other friends so I can get mine for free.  Even if I trade sex or companionship with lovers who grow or growers who love so I can stay medicated on my transitioning sex worker budget.  Nope, that’s not good enough for THEM.  Because then you are a drug addict and they can put you into a little box and throw you and your ideas out.  Even if you have a medical prescription people will still say “medicate” as if it is a joke.  And this is also partly a joke in the medical marijuana community because our “medicating” sometimes looks like it’s fun, but that’s only if you are looking at half of the pictures.

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They wan’t you starving, bleeding, and DEAD.  But as you walk in zombie form around the world, dying they look at you and don’t feel anything different.  They don’t give you money, love, blankets, shelter.  They won’t get a gun so you can shoot yourself.  Just leave him!  Just get off your medication!  and then once you do and you are feeling the pain from that  They will just look blankly at you as if you are not their problem.  And then they go on with their miserable pathetic lives.  But they’ll probably say some ignorant comment first and call your suffering melodramatic.

The same woman who had her comment about my dinner also burst into laughter after I talked about my car/rape symbolism.  and she was a sex worker and a woman of color who used drugs all her life.  Did that make her an ally?  Hell no.

I should have kicked her ass.

My therapist knows that I medicate with marijuana.  It was one of the main interview questions that I ask them when I decide whether I can pour my guts out to them safely.  Don’t try to stop me from doing sex work.  Don’t try to stop me from smoking weed.  Those things are immutable and inflexible until I decide that they are.  I am not here to work on abstaining from any of those things…(I have already gone through a cycle of therapy trying to do that “unsuccessfully.”  I am a harm reductionist, not a 12 stepper).  One time the last 3 whiteboy roomates that I had at this “bohemian” warehouse tried to pull a marijuana intervention on me.  To appease them, I attempted to stop smoking for 3 weeks.  At the end of 3 weeks, when I broke down and told them I was going to start smoking again, one of them said,”Oh, You weren’t doing that for us.  I thought you wanted to do that.” or something…I don’t even remember but I’ve been high everyday since then AND if I see those fuckfaces in this city I don’t even acknowledge their presence.  If you want me to live my life without my medication, then WHAT do you propose you will provide me to replace it?  Oh, right, that’s not your problem.  Deep breathing and meditation? Yoga?  Walking?  Journal writing? Singing? Dancing? Art?  Activism?  Yes, yes, drug counselor..thank you.  I do all those things while medicated.  If I weren’t medicated, at times, I doubt I would be so profilic and functional.  I’ve cut back on alcohol almost “as a drug” because it makes me black-out after too many.  My first date rape at 17 was under the influence of alcohol and let’s just say that I have not really gained the trust back in how “people” will act towards “drunk girls.”  (You can even go to your free internet porn channel and it’s actually a genre of porn that you can watch (rough sex with a ‘drunk and stupid’ girl), and I have to confess because the way that I was raped was nothing as sexy as that, the clips actually turns me on while it disturbs me as a whole but I’m not on a crusade to ban its distribution or existence.  They also have Japanese Hentai porn which is the same as it’s always been Japanese schoolgirls getting raped and forced to LOVE it: also designed to stimulate and if you watch it long enough, the sounds alone will turn you on!).  Those directors are like, hey, who said Rape was about power?  We want to put the SEX back into rape!  And they and their all male video crew give each other high fives, and they slap about $600 cash in the hands of their consensual victim and she is happy too.  Because she was probably a survivor and needed to re-enact her shit too and that’s why she enjoys scenes like that…

There was a time that I used to only be able to hit the stage WASTED.  I would down a few shots before stumbling on, and then I would wake up throwing up and miserable..crawling to my bong to ease my alcohol poisoning.  But of course, if you don’t drink or smoke weed all of this might as well be in Korean.  It’s why I love Amy Winehouse.  She’s a beautifully talented trainwreck that everyone criticizes.  I probably love pot as much as she loves alcohol.  But we are raw like Billy Holiday, going through our pain and singing our pain away on and off stage.  This is not JUST a music video, this is our lives…So don’t tell us NOT to get wasted because you are not the director and producer of OUR LIVES.  But, sometimes the drugs and escape mechanisms can kill us too…that’s why I picked marijuana as well.  Maybe I’m not as suicidal and self destructive as I think I am.

When I was a student teacher at one of the most rough at-risk school in LA, and I would come home and cry every nite and then some nights had to be strong enough to go to class at night to complete my Masters Degree.  I did it all with the help of Mary Jane…She held my hand and walked me to class and kissed me on my forehead before I went in.  That’s when I was living with the aforementioned roommates…sneaking a bong hit out the window of my own room!  Even though, some would easily say prostitution or sex work is the REASON I medicate, I would say that teaching high school was also a continuation with that dance with men, misogyny and male violence.  I wrote my Masters Inquiry on it actually based on a teenage student who insisted on calling me “sexy” instead of my name.   I was challenged in different but sometimes equally or more violent ways as a teacher, I witnessed a “race riot” or fight of about 20-30 students and about 10 riot pepper spraying school police first hand so I’m not sure sometimes, if people say that teaching is safer than sex work.

I did do a 3 week VOLUNTARY cleanse for ME once last year.  I have done it recently.  But,  I believe I am highly functioning train wreck.  marijuana allows me to medicate the pain but be highly functional.  It is better than alcohol, heroin, other prescription anti-depressents, vicodin makes you itchy, valium makes you forget…(which many people in pain will float to as an option..)

Everyone wants you to leave your bad relationship but they will not be there when you are alone.  They do not even attempt to suggest a replacement for what you cling to that crutch for.   And sometimes, the pain, like the pain I feel from my mother rejecting me doesn’t go away for years.  And once you are a survivor of trauma, the world doesn’t stop being traumatic or get any safer,  so if you have PTSD from previous trauma there is A LOT that can trigger you.  But most of the time the freak outs are few and far between as I have worked very steadily on my healing and nursing my fears.  I usually reserved those outbursts of anger, shouting, and shoving with someone that I loved.  My[ex] boyfriend.  The article in Salon.com talks about the passion and intimacy that fighting really is, and why, to me Fight club is such a gay [homo-erotic] movie.  When I said that in Rage Resolution, the Black man across from me flew into a rage about it! [because that would mean that he was mandated to this group because HE was gay]  I find out later that the GUY that he talks about knocking out cold in a Del Taco was actually a FEMALE TRANSGENDERED woman.

Also on my list, is “do not try to convert me to your religion or ideology” which is what a number of people would like to do with people like me.  But I reflected last night, that I haven’t had anyone try to convert me to any organized religion since my undergrad college days.  I must give off the untouchable sinner vibe that the Mormons don’t even want to approach.  I’m sure people think that “I am as bad as the mormons.”  But I don’t knock door to door, people come to me usually.  They come to hear me speak or ask me questions, and sometimes they violently try to convert me with their rudeness,  or their “interventions of love” but that never works.  The system tried to convert me, but I am still working albeit very little but I believe if your religion is America and American “Freedom” then once you read about and experience who the laws are designed to protect, and once you realize that it isn’t you then you can easier change religions.

I was talking about how the CAR was an extension of your BODY, and your LIFE which is encased inside of it as you drive it.  When I had a Toyota SUV, my car was broken into 5 times.  The 5th time it was completely stolen and gone for almost 2 weeks before it was recovered.  That year was extremely traumatic for me.  I even walked up on a transient guy going through my truck, scavenging around.  I caught him in the act of this, but didn’t kick the door closed on his torso which was halfway inside the scene of the crime.   We had a verbal confrontation and he ran away.  He said he wasn’t the one who broke the window.

I should have kicked his ass.

If I were a “real” man, I would have.  Instead I drove to the class I was going to be teaching and shared my anger with my students.  That was almost 4 years ago.  That poor car was totally cursed.  Three years later, after I got the car back from the impound, I slid on black ice in the Bear Valley of California, crashed into a sideroad boulder and then another truck crashed into me from behind so hard that the back glass window shattered.  Have you ever been in a car that was hit by a car?  It hurts.  Marijuana (eating not smoking) and massage nursed me back to health again.  Considering all of the car accidents I have survived (one time, I hit the center divide of a freeway at 80 mph and walked away) I guess it would seem like a sort of a slap in God’s face to say that I feel so hopeless I want to die sometimes.  I know that I do not have PTSD from just sexual violence.  And suprisingly I was NOT high or drunk on anything when I looked death in the face behind the wheel that one near fatal day (and I’ve been in about 5 other not as major car accidents in 16 years, is that better than the average truck driver?)

ss-485040-carBrokenWindowI felt raped every time I would come back to a large puddle of broken glass, my clothng and CDs strewn all over, amputated stereo wires and receiver guts spilling out of the dashboard.  File a police report.  Are they going to investigate and attempt to catch the perpetrator? No.  They are not even going to pretend to care.  I paid out of pocket everytime.  Just under the $500 deductible but way over my income disposable at any given time.  I suffered finnancially and felt that this act of invasion was out of my control and one of my family members shook their heads and implied me somehow at fault.  It’s hard to distinguish between the car accidents, parking and speeding tickets (which are my fault BUT also the very profitable industry of policing and fining drivers as part of the state revenue that plays a huge role) and the car jack and break ins (which are not my fault and San Francisco is known for). This has been a symbol of all the many times I have been sexually violated and have not used the police to help me “catch the guy” or help me to heal.

I know, I am NOT the perfect victim.  I smoke weed everyday.  I eat.  I don’t have enough of a drug problem for you to discount me.  I am a sex worker.  I have a car. I still have food to eat. I have a laptop that I got from a sugar daddy but that I could sell if I needed to pay my rent.  But then if I sold my laptop, it might make me feel more hopeless, even if it helped me stay housed.  It would be a sad day indeed.  My computer symbolizes any hope I have for the future.  And once I give that to some hustler for half of what it’s worth because I am really that desperate it will be the end.  So I guess, to the critics credit, since I haven’t yet stooped that low, then perhaps I did have an option that I hadn’t yet considered.  But a miserable one to wish on someone.  I chose to forfeit something less tangible.  I dropped my car insurance until I can get more income.  I am driving illegally.  I still have things.  Services on the verge of being disconnected but nevertheless you have services.  VOICE OF JUDGMENT AND CRITICISM: “You need to appreciate your life and all that you have.  You are just an ungrateful selfish piece of shit and you need to shut your mouth everytime you think you want to share your feelings with the world.  Because unless you are the perfect victim, no one cares.  And even if you are, they are just pretending to care, by making comments about your life or maybe they’ll suddenly start caring during your funeral, but unless you are Robert Kennedy or michael Jackson, no one will even know that you are gone.”

I am parked in the parking lot of my PO Box.  A small unconventionally dangerous to squeeze in lot with a rent a cop Korean security guy with sunglasses and a nitestick.  There are a TON of parking lots like this in LA.  I’ve been hit in one parking lot (her fault) and been in one other collision which was another her fault while driving this car that I currenly drive which is OWNED mostly by Chase Bank, not me.  I recently got into a smash up that was my fault but because of car insurance, I was covered.  They were covered.  I am very very familiar with filing claims with insurance companies and how long the whole process takes.  I am very aware of how insurance companies create a barrier between the rage that occurs between the two drivers that have collided.  Like lawyers act as a mouthpiece for the convicted so they don’t tear out the eyes of the cop that arrested or beat them up.

We start to exchange information and I have to reveal to this guy, who I’ll call Kumar (cuz he looks like and his about the age of the Indian actor who played Kumar in Harold and Kumar stoner films) that I don’t currently have insurance.  He reveals to me that he WORKS for an insurance company and that he and 3 other clowns were out on lunch.  “Wow.  How hilarious.” I say sarcastically.

“And what are you doing parked in a loading zone?  Did you pull in AFTER I was already backing up?” he said.

“NO.  I was sitting here trying to have a nice day, checking my messages when you BACKED INTO me.”

“Well look, I’ll help you out here.” he said looking at the shark bite in my left fender.  “I can give you $200 cash for the damage then and then we’ll just say it’s even.”

“You mean to tell me that you work in insurance claims all day long as your day job and you’re going to estimate that damage at $200 knowing that NOTHING on a vehicle costs $200 when it’s been hit” I said. One of my mirrors is missing half of the plastic cover cuz I hit it off someone’s fence.  “Replacing the driver side mirror in it’s entirity is like $250.00 from the dealer, I said, that’s why I haven’t done it.  There’s no way that repair of that is going to be $200.  You are totally exploiting my situation.” I said. “But, hey, there’s nothing keeping you here.  You CAN just walk away and screw me if you wanted.”

“How do you know it was me who did that? Maybe you already had that damage? You’re car is pretty banged up”he said.”Like in the same accident that broke your mirror.  And this is a loading zone, you aren’t supposed to be parked there!”

“But you STILL would have hit me, if I was a truck or a car.  So your logic is not a good enough answer for you to not be at fault.” I argued.

“But then if you were a truck, I would have saw you.” he said not getting nearly as angry as me, mocking me..

“Look, I gotta get back to work, so you can either take it or leave it.” he said.

“Are you trying to deny that you FUCKING hit me??” I yelled and I could feel myself boiling up.  “I can’t even talk to you right now.  Just write your name and info here.” I said and sat in my car to cool down else I might try to knock this guy out in front of his stupid clown insurance friends.

I was already unstable and depressed about my finnancial situation, my loss of trust in so called friends and lately because so many people have questioned my right to call myself a survivor, I have been remembering and rethinking about all of the sexual trauma that I have survived in my life throughout the week.  I couldn’t believe this guy was trying to blame me!  It was all so symbollic of male privilege and power that my trigger was flicked and now I was full of rage at all the rapists and men with male privilege in the world.

I wanted to kick his ass.  To knock him out in one fell swoop and jump on his 5’8, 160 lbs body and start punching him and screaming,”What the FUCK do you mean it’s not YOUR fault???” I would start hitting him and not stop…

but I didn’t. On Facebook, I posted an article on the West Virginia rapist, “The father of five children and midget football coach did not testify. But jurors watched a taped interview in which he confessed to picking up at least 15-20 prostitutes and holding a knife to their throats or choking them while he had sex with them.”  He is a handsome Polynesian looking guy who picks up street workers with baby seat in his car.  He is a family man, community member, misogynist and violent rapist and even though he is in West Virginia I feel that he is living in my neighborhood too…

When I watched “Boys Don’t Cry” with my then boyfriend and he didn’t feel moved, and every time he insisted on calling a transgender person by the wrong pronoun, I felt like he could be even sleeping in my bed.

“We take shoving to be a provocation after which one is justified in committing violence. But kids shove. Brothers shove each other. We can shove each other. A shove is nothing. It is just a shove. There is no logical reason why it should lead to violence. It is perhaps technically battery. But the rules and laws around battery and assault, I would argue, are also formed around our the cultural assumptions of a fundamentally violent culture. We all know the dance. Why could not two men simply have a harmless shoving contest? It would be funny. Consider what the shove actually says. What the shove says is, I love you and I want to feel the violence of my love for you by having some contact. The shove says, I want some pain inflicted, will you please engage in some mutual infliction of pain? I need some pain. The shoving says, here, look at what I am willing to do: I am offering myself to you, to be beaten. Will you please attack me so I feel whole again? Here, look, I will shove you again. That is my request. The shove says, “I want you. I want you to beat me.” I beat up a guy and now I feel guilty (Salon) (via melissa)

The dance of violence between men and men is one that men who grow up are very familiar with.  Most men have gotten into at least one fight.  most men fear violence as much as women do but express it through posturing, homophobia, rape, pre-emptive ass kickings..

But women have that desire in them too.  We are raised in a violent culture, where fighting and war are the ultimate symbol of triumph, conquer and revenge: power.  I always move to want to fight with men.   My ex and I got into some screaming raging public fights, and I have even thrown lite objects at him and punched his chest like the powerless little girl that I am.  I loved him, so I trusted him enough to have further outbursts of rage like I had never done with anyone else before…this is the secret language of Domestic Violence that they don’t teach you and that the survivors aren’t allowed to really express.  But when we went to couples counseling once, and the counselor asked me if I had ever hit him and I said yes, then I became the batterer and HE was the victim and we were not allowed to receive services because we did not match their criteria.  Neither he nor I were the perfect enough victim.

but i never have done more than really close posturing and running away from angry gorillas.

My last 3 years as an agency escort was about my dance with sexual violence and misogyny.  I would act and re-enact scenes which begged the collaboration of the dance of violence and gang rape, male privilege and power.  I was literally asking for it or the system in place set us up to have to fight our way our of some ugly negotiations.  I WANTED to have the LAURA CROFT BARB WIRE ending to my next attempted rape.  Whatever it was that they were going to give me was going to be given to me in a clear cut blow.  I would feel their fist connect with my face.  I would fall to the ground.  I would be the perfect victim.  Except that i was a whore and my “friend” had just stolen $300 from him.  I thought for some reason, that I would be okay in a houseful of 5 guys who had just gotten ripped off.  I even told her she could go!  Older brother started screaming through the house like an ape banging on his chest.  He came for me.  “YOU ARE NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE UNTIL YOU GIVE US THAT MONEY.”  I handed my stack of cash out of my purse and headed straight for the door.  He chased me out the house, yelling at me the whole time to continue his little war dance over me as I drove away..

I survived that.  I drove back home from Chatsworth, shook up.  Sat at my desk while the sun came up, while I watched the Latin workers start their rounds on Metro to start their work shift…smoking my post traumatic stress disorder into a soothing enough calm that I will be able to go to sleep for at least 6 hours during the day.

I have worked very long and hard hours on my recovery and wellness from sexual trauma, and for years before I identified as a prostitute I was very focused on sexual assault awareness activism as a platform for my mission to leverage male privilege once and for all!  I did not plan to engage in this dance for 3 years, nor do I regret some of the amazing experiences that I did recreate.  I did educate and empower men, I did provide and satisfy for them and they did tip me excessively on top of the agency fee MOST of the time, and that was why I did it for so long.  I met my sugar daddy by stealing him from my agency, they don’t expect repeat business of course, and that is how the system is designed.  So if I am able to appease their egos enough so they don’t chase me out of the house yelling then we have a great time and everyone is happy for a while..

When people pretend to care or understand it urks me.  I ran from Candy the elderly Skid Row sex worker that I mentored to save my sanity.  I am too unstable to deal so closely with someone else that is more unstable and self destructive than me.  When people say “You aren’t suffering, if you were REALLY suffering you would be like THIS, or THIS or live HERE or look like THIS.  And Candy was all of those things and more.  And also she wasn’t.  She was more capable than most people thought.  She had an apartment and disability income.  Streetwork was her “side job.”  She used drugs to escape the pain and sex work to recreate and seek safety through the validation that sex work provides sometimes.  I don’t think it was about the money.  When I walked side by side with her, I would notice that people either cared for her or they looked at her with disdain and wanted her out of their business.  She was the worker that the rapist in West Virginia would prey on.  She looks “expendible” because her face and body show signs of drug abuse and self destruction, so therefore it would be fine to just off her.  We would be doing her a favor..I came to know why she used drugs to escape and I felt scared of her.  I felt like she was a reflection of who I could be if I changed from marijuana to crystal meth like her.  And if I started to escape with meth for 30 years like her…but without blaming her, I blame others first.  And I think of her when people say I don’t have it so bad because I know her and people don’t rush to help her either, and that was how she came to me, and because she was too engulfed in her pain and her addiction, I couldn’t hang on..Or else soon, we’d be sitting on the sidewalk scantily clad and fucked up, smoking crack out of the same lightbulb and spitting insults at passerbys in the park…

I got the other driver to pay $340 cash on the spot.  I didn’t lose my drivers license.  I didn’t fight him.  I didn’t go to jail with an assault charge.  I came out ahead.  Unfortunately, the money has to go towards the rent instead of the repair of the car or even the acquisition of insurance but I am usually stressing about rent at this time of the month.  Frantic and desperately waiting for the next call to come through.  If I had dealt with it any other way, I would not have gotten paid.  I had thought that money and emotional confrontations with strange men only happened in sex work, but apparently it happens in other situations too.  I am thinking a lot about survival lately.  People are confused with me because I am confused with me.  I have survived a lot.  But not as much as HER or HIM OR HER OR HER!!!!!! Everyone wants to play trauma Olympics or Oppression olympics because they are so wounded…but believe me my pain is as valid in my world as their is in their world.  I pulled over after I pulled out of the parking lot and freaked out in tears.  It was very difficult to keep my cool in that situation even though I felt like he was instigating me to lose it, even though he was completely oblivious.  He was never admitting fault  Even after he paid me, he was saying some “Next time you should…” sentence and I told him to stop talking and go back into his car.  “Even as your paying me, you are not admitting fault.”I said,”that alone can make me want to kill you!”  I’m sure they thought I was crazy.

51PLBjD2QVLI am working on touring and doing some events specifically around sex work and sexual violence.  My story is very common for a lot of workers and I find that it is so challenging to not want to talk about the glaring negatives in our profession while we push towards decriminalization.  I also find it interesting that I have never painted my work as all happy hooker or all victim of rape and serial murder but that both are simultanously true.  This blog is part of the way that I survive the violence that I am asked to hold and not speak about.  People do NOT want to hear about your pain.  And if your pain is not as bad as their pain, then they will be sure to let you know and cause you more pain.

My self esteem is very low and I am having trouble believing that anything matters or that I will live to see any major changes in how sex workers are treated, or how many sexual assaults occur.

I am also interested in the emotional finnancial connection that many women and sex workers have around money and men.  Most people have a very intimate relationship with money and ideology but many women who gained economic empowerment and perhaps surviving violence (from home or relationships) because they were able to not only survive against the odds, but also acquire above their projected or expected means can feel like they are going to DIE when it is SLOW.

I am in this book with 2 other sex workers..It’s exciting to have something to tour with and it was fortunate that Susan invited me to be a part of this proejct without me actually submitting.  And now I am peddling it wherever I perform as part of my SURVIVAL INCOME.  And would you believe that if I dare use that word like that people are all up in my Facebook!

20
Aug
08

DAY THREE: Card Carrying Prostitute

Today I drove 80 miles round trip to get decent groceries at the Albertson’s at Elko. Shaunia said she was going to shop for me, but I just needed to get out and also telling her everything that i needed might be impossible. She was trying to discourage me from going in a passive-assertive sort of way. I needed to get out. Plus I wasn’t cleared to work and grocery shopping is sort of an obsession that calms me. I like to shop for food. I do it constantly. I am a Trader Joes nut but the best we can do here is veggie patties and my Morningstar Farms vegetarian junk food bacon. Now I can be totally comfortable.

I THOUGHT THE LINE UP WOULD BE DEGRADING..
but it actually is not that bad. You are sitting in your room doing your thing and then a long annoying bell rings. Well, that signals to you the potential of income. So you stop what you are doing to greet the new person and line up in the front bar. There are about 5 girls working tonight and everyone just introduces themselves, with their hands behind their backs. the guy picks one of us and the rest walk back into the house to continue whatever it was that they were doing. Ideally you are supposed to go back and mingle because chances are you can get a tour if they don’t pick someone right from the line up. Maybe the guys are intimidated by the line up process too.

HOnestly, I think when I worked at the stripclubs going around asking every single guy in the room to dance once and the same reply “maybe later.” and then sitting with a few for a while, getting closed with the same “maybe later” and then FINALLY after an hour of straight hustling getting a $40 dance is MORE DEGRADING than this. Going around from club to club and meeting managers of stripclubs only to have them look me up and down and tell me to come back tomorrow at 9am and then NOT EVEN show up at said meeting is MORE DEGRADING than this. But then, I’ve always thought that full service sex work was easier than stripping.

My first client today was for a 30 minute show that seemed to last FOREVER. He was a ruff and tuff young cowboy, who said he was a local guy from Wells. But then you never know what their story really is. He fucked me like a jack hammer and I didn’t realize how not into the whole thing I was. This guy was harder than any client I had had escorting in at least a few years. Usually they cum so easily its fucking laughable. It’s easy, quick and painless for me. I’m not used to the ones who can last…

My cervix is injured. I got a coposcopy 3 days ago, which is a scraping of the cervix to screen for cervical cancer. I was part of a clinical research study. This was a DUMB thing to do before committing to work at a brothel. I could feel throbbing where I wasn’t supposed to have nerve endings..I wondered if it would hurt every time like this.

Today I went to the sheriffs department of Wells to get my official work card. I got fingerprinted, asked about my criminal background and then paid $75 to get a work card that stated that I was a “prostitute” and has my picture and thumb print. I wanted to take a picture of it but had to turn it into management when I got to the house. They don’t even let you keep it at all. It belongs to the house that you work at. The women who work there were trying to be nice. One of them made a joke that she knew that Wilshire was in LA because of the movie “Pretty Woman.” the other female worker smirked and said,”I don’t like that movie.” and I remarked, “We [most conscious sex workers] don’t like that movie either…” and I could tell they were utterly confused by my remark.

2nd client was great. A group of fire fighters came in and I think only my guy spent any money. I gave 3 of them a tour..he was nicer. We talked a lot at the bar. I really do ease into my escort sex through the whole hour and I think that that is really important when getting busy with complete strangers. But some whores are different. I think because of my recent procedure I am really needing to do some serious harm reduction to make everything really worth it. I am strong like a female cat. (Have you ever heard a female cat screech in agony when they have routine mating rituals with the male cat’s barbed penis??  Well, it’s not nearly that bad, so I figure I can be strong like that). I meditated on my strength to Mexican prayer candles I bought from the grocery store. It helped. the next guy was a college guy and was more on my spiritual level. At least he was sober. we talked for a while. All getting to know each other is not pillow talk or massage talk, like I am accustomed to, it is bar talk. But girls don’t have to, or don’t even really get to drink very much alcohol, which is another difference from the stripclubs who could give a shit if you become a coke addict just to keep up with the amount of champagne you are supposed to be selling for them.

So I’ve only had 2 clients since I hit the floor at around 4pm. That’s 12 hours. I did 3 line ups without getting picked and the one that I did get picked for before midnight happened when I was in my casual clothes just watching and I wasn’t cleared to work yet. Go figure. I’ve been dressing like a stripper here, but that gets a little tiring. I keep switching from glasses to contacts and stripper heels to flip flops. Caring to not caring about how I present.

I’m not sure if the trucker types like me. They are a need breed of client. I am getting a TRUCKER 101 from all the guys I talk to. I act wide eyed and naive about their jobs and most of them love my naivete. We all take turns reading a script on the CB radio and I find that fun and easy since I’m really a vocalist anyway but no one really knows that here. I haven’t yet touched my guitar yet, but among music, I have brought plenty of art and grant applications to work on while I have alone time in my room. This part is good…at least you get a lot of work done. I can see it like an art and work retreat where I make $$ in between.

4:50AM-they wake me up to go do a tour for the same cowboy and his wasted friend.  I am the only one in the house who will get out of bed, says the bartender.  I know that I don’t want to be ruff pawed by drunked cowboys at the crack of dawn, but I am used to working at this hour and in this manner, so it isn’t that bad to me, especially if after the negotiation i jump right back into bed.  If i were doing outcall it would mean driving somewhere and back for a potential no show, which is way more trouble than walking down the hall to the bar.

I give them a half assed sleepy tour in my glasses and shawl.  they are acting like fools and I just want to get it over with and see if they will pay me my minimum, which i doubt.  I am not fucking anyone right now for any less than $250 for ME.  (which is $500 for 30 minutes for them).  They want to do me at the same time.  $1200/hour.  ($600 for me).  They do not accept.  FINE.  I am not going any lower..they are drunk and his friend was too much so I feel that my price is totally fair and this is what I assesed it was worth, since my first client, the cowboy on the left got away with a great deal.  I usher their drunk asses to the bar and head back to bed and am thinking there was probably a way that I might have been able to get some of that money…tomorrow is a new day.




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