My Own LIttle Army of One and Nowhere

It's what my parents and my grandmother never say.

They are disappointed in me.

All the basic reasons. I never finished college, I don't have a family of my own. I'm 28 years old, diagnosed with a severe mental disorder (by my own admission), several hospitalizations, I chose a different line of work, and I live at home for the time being. I write, but I've never been published.

With my mother, I always seem to pick the wrong battles. When it came to NJ, I won eventually but it took about a year. And it was not easy, I had some family help from my Uncle and my aunt, and from the real RAndy. I odn't know the last time I talked to him. Now, i am not so fortunate. Everyone waas on the side of me staying in CAlifornia. NO one wanted me in D.C. I have memories of there. Good ones. d.

Depressives all say the same, partially because it's true. "You're tired of me." Depression is exhausting. For everyone. YOu. Me. Others. Trauma is worse. d. My grandmother on the couch. Angry with me. That was tangible. AS the couch she was sitting on. She's not that good of an actress. d.

Why? I didn't do anything to her. IF I confused her for a hacker breaking into hte line, it was an honest mistake.

"YOu ahve told me over the phone, I am not your grandmother."

I hated to tell her, that they could you use my voice too. But I didn't go there.

Yse. Hacked the Yse. YES!

"It's not much of a friendship if you can't tell her what's going on." My grandmother said referring to a friend I've had since high school.

People don't want to know. Really. d. People might, if you warm them up to it, be ready for a rape story. This? NO. d.

All of it preceding this was bad. MOst if it. DAys in which the hotel room was dark and quiet, and I just rested, that was good. The job, whoring, is stressful. It is either chaotic. OR boring. Rarely do you get an interestingly client anymore. I did it more to avoid the rest of life. You work 2 hours a day to avoid working the eother six. Laziness? NO. d

As far as I know, I'm theo nly person who openly writes now about being a ex-prostitute. I'll have to check on that. Everyone else uses an anon. l. I didn't think about that until after I did it, and--well--

Oops. d

--
In a restaurant. "Here are your eggs...You were a whore?"

Yeah.

oh. Okay. d. WAs it fun?

Sometimes.

OKay.

--

No one shared my vision. Comment I made in the other blog. a. I wanted to help horses, help other sex workers. Things I couldn't do without finishing my education, a battle all unto its own. There are huge cognitive side effects, rom medications, from god knows what else.

I told one fo the "Grandma's" what I feared. Not death . But disempowerment. My mother said that one was not enough, even for the press to worry about. This is not true. ONe death actually strikes the hearts of people more than the deaths of thousands. We don't pay attention to stats. But I have to have allies. I can't run my own little ARmy of ONe and get anywhere.