I don’t want to dampen your day. My blog speaks a lot on the topic of pain. I am not always a depressed person. I have learnt to be quite thankful and positive about life situations. However, pain is an inevitable part of life. When pain happens, I have no outlet to express myself in real life. I don’t like to talk about my sadness with others — so this blog is an outlet for myself. Even though I speak about dark things, please know that I have an optimistic perspective of life (and have optimism for those in a similar situation). Whatever happens in life is always for a purpose. Broken pieces can be put back together. And although scars remain, only scars produce the following beautiful, invaluable traits: character, substance, passion.
Almost all prostitute comes from a history of pain. It might have started in their childhood, teens or early adulthood. It might have been a neglectful or abusive parent(s) or exploitation and trauma from home or outsiders. A woman who is loved properly and is well protected is very unlikely to become a prostitute. The sex industry pulls women from downtrodden backgrounds.
I come from a dysfunctional, broken family. Never had a Father figure. At times, I was prey for predators. Being a child or teen without strong familial protection makes one ripe to many societal ills and unhealthy coping mechanisms. My siblings and I all had issues due to coming from our dysfunctional family — I became a prostitute, my brothers used to sell drugs and my sister developed an intolerable and spiteful character. We all coped in unhealthy ways also. Pain and trauma usually leads a child into two directions when they become an adult: they can become abusive/neglectful themselves (because that’s all know how to be) and/or they resort to drugs, drinking, and other self-destructive habits to cope. One can only hope to heal by becoming introspective and developing empathy for oneself and others. Part of healing is unlearning the self-destructive coping mechanisms, unlearning the negativity, unlearning the pain that has shaped oneself. That’s where I find myself — unlearning, trying to understand, trying to heal.
One would never guess that I come from a broken family. I do very well at hiding everything. If need be, I can speak intellectually, dress well-to-do and behave eloquently and cheerful. My “normal” persona gives off the idea that I come from a decent family and that I went through life relatively unscathed — which is misleading. In reality, I come from a family that has experienced drive by shootings, addictions, domestic violence, criminal activity, suicides and certain family members serving prison sentences. And, of course, I added prostitution to our lovely family legacy. Having said that, I love my family deeply. My family also has many good aspects–and thankfully, certain family members have improved themselves and their situations. I am grateful for my background and family. My character and passion comes from the struggle — it wouldn’t have come from an easy life, unscathed.
Even when I feel strong and determined, pain still remains from all the brokenness. When I see my younger relatives with deep scars from cutting themselves on my their arms, I get sad. When I hear that a teenager has already lost hope for life, I want to die inside. What causes a young boy or girl to slit their wrists? My heart breaks knowing I cannot even reach out to give them hope and tell them I will give my life to make them happy. When I see a monster who abuses, exploits and harms innocent elders or young ones, I boil up with anger. I wish everyone was well prepared for the monsters in this world — who seek to harm, abuse, exploit the vulnerable. I cry to imagine any child having to go through the events I have seen, and I feel grief knowing that this trauma is still happening.
I have accepted there can’t be any consistent peace. My family is fragile, and I have to learn how to reconcile my own desire to have stability with a very unstable situation. Soon, it will be the 6 year anniversary of a loved ones suicide. I play her favorite songs, and cry thinking about her. I miss her so much. I just want to hug her. I just want to laugh with her. I get angry thinking about the generational trauma that inevitably caused her suicide — a Mother from a broken family who gave birth to children in a broken family, a Mother who was abused and then became abusive herself. An abused child who grew up, became exploited and got addicted to the drugs and alcohol they turned to at a young age to cope. I remember when the idea of suicide came to me in my early twenties. I made the realization I couldn’t do it, because I am deeply worried about the younger kin of my family. I thought, “If I have no hope, then what hope would they have?” I wanted to be strong for them. But sadly, history repeats itself in generational trauma — most don’t step back and learn from the generational trauma, they get consumed by it and become it.
All these feelings, I cannot share so easily. I sometimes feel isolated because my peers consist of normal individuals with relatively normal, decent families. I write on this blog as my outlet.
This is the life of a prostitute. My heart hurts today. I breath deeply to soothe myself. If a client comes, I cannot show my pain. When a friend has a celebration, I cannot show my pain. I put on my smile, and try not to think of the tragic things that have happened. I am sometimes amazed that I haven’t resorted to drugs or other intoxicants to numb myself — I saw so much drug abuse in my family that I am terrified of alcohol and drugs.
That’s why love becomes so special to a person who comes from a background of trauma — this idea that we can relax our heart and let ourselves be vulnerable in a way that (hopefully) won’t hurt us. We crave the things that were denied to us: wholesome love, protection, trust and security. But when love has hurt you from it’s origins (starting from the family), then love is something to be feared.
Be kind to prostitutes…
The reason that many prostitutes take drugs or drink is because their pain/trauma is so unbearable that they want to feel numb. Most prostitutes have post-traumatic-stress-disorder to varying degrees.
When I see the hatred that society and specific people have towards prostitutes, I feel sad to know there is such a lack of understanding and empathy. I feel sad to realize how quick people are to condemn women who resorted to a career that only pulls in women who have no proper protection or care from family.
PS. This post is less concerning me, but rather expressing the pain I feel for others….
Please pray for those who have lost hope, to those who have no protectors, to those who are suffering silently…..my heart cries for you.