The chaotic ramblings of a retired adult industry entertainer.



I have to


I saw this prompt this morning and thought that I would go to town with writing.  Now it’s the end of a long, exhausting day…and all I have going on is some insomnia and a case of writer’s block.

I miss my children.  I’ve cried so hard that I thought I would break.  I’ve wanted to die so badly that it hurt.

But (unfortunately for me), I have to keep going.

Otherwise, they’ll have no other options than to believe the lies that they’ve been told about me.

If I kill myself, I become the “crazy” that they grow up being told that I am.

So here I am.  Living.  Pursuing.  Succeeding.  Kicking life right in the ass.

Folks could say a lot of things about me.  But I’m not crazy, and I’m not a failure.

So every day I endure.  Because I have to.

Not for me.  For them.




Single Mom Life


I don’t get those “I love being a single mom because it’s twice the love” and whatever women.  Maybe I’m just envious of them.

I think that being a single mom sucks.  There, I said it.  And I don’t really care what feminist, mom, or progressive person hates me over it.  Of course, I love my child (because someone always has to go there).  But these circumstances are not how I’d ever wish to raise a kid.

We are so alone.  I joke on Facebook about a family adopting us for holidays.  But it’s not a joke.  Holidays are incredibly lonely and boring for us since we have no one to celebrate with.

He’s constantly in daycare or with the nanny.  Over 60 hours a week.  The mom guilt over that is all-consuming.  I know kids all over the world have it worse.  And I should chill.  But this is my baby and I’m not going to just chill.  He deserves better.

I’m constantly sick, stressed, and frazzled.  I just want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go.  I want to just be sad in bed alone for a while.  But I can’t ever truly relax because he’s always in the back of my mind somewhere.  I want to not live in fear of catching germs because there’s no greater hell than trying to take care of a hyperactive toddler boy when all you want to do is puke.

I have the basics down (food, clothing, shelter).  But the enjoyment part is missing.

If there’s a secret to this, will someone please let me in on it?




I wish that I was ugly.

My opinion of my own looks is very poor.  I see every wrinkle, line, blemish, and bulge and wonder why I’m often referred to as “pretty”.  I understand that conventionally I meet the standard definition of attractive.  But when I look at myself…blah.  And it’s nothing that self-love, or affirmations, or even therapy is ever going to fix.

You’d never know it based on my life decisions.  My poor grammar probably doesn’t help either.  But I’m actually smart.  I’ve even been officially tested and all that jazz.  School is a breeze for me, I read very quickly, can pick up languages with ease (except for Spanish, Spanish and I just don’t get along lol)

So I often wonder what my life would have turned out like if I hadn’t spent my entire childhood hearing nothing positive about myself, except for: “you’re beautiful”.

I didn’t have any encouragement or positive role models anyways.  But if I was ugly would I have focused more in school?

If I was less popular in school, would I have partied less and gotten into less trouble (that snowballed as I aged)?

Would all those men who eventually destroyed me, have ever been in the picture?

Most importantly, would the porn career that’s wrecked me, have even happened at all?

No way of ever knowing.  But I like to fantasize about an alternative life.  The one where I was born ugly.  And now I’m a happy chiropractor living somewhere in a flyover state.  Loving my job, my house, my and taking vacations.  I bet I’d even have an equally ugly husband and a couple of unattractive kids.  Probably a couple of dogs and cats in the picture too.  Sounds like a wonderful life.

I wish it were mine.

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