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prettydysfunctional

The chaotic ramblings of a retired adult industry entertainer.

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writing

I have to

Survive

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.

 

 

 

There is nothing

“We want to know how it felt to do porn.  More details!”

I can’t offer up more details since there isn’t more to say.  I was numb to all of it.  I still am.

I wasn’t raised religious. I wasn’t taught that sex is sacred.  My own mom was a whore.

At about the age of 8, my dad told me that he expected I’d get knocked up instead of going to college.  At 18 my mom sat me down and told me that if I was going to be a whore, I should be a high-class whore, and not a low class one (I don’t believe that my other siblings were given that same riveting talk).  Nobody had very high hopes for me.

Porn felt like having some lame sex.  That’s about it.  Nothing deeper.  No crazy or conflicted emotions involved.

Looking back on it stirs up a few feelings of “blah” and “ugh”.  I’m not full of regret, but I’m probably working my way towards that.

I’d say more, except there isn’t more to say.

Exposed

Exposed

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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