Late last night, I finally cried about my Dad. As I was crying my tears changed to crying how much prostitution stole my emotions from me. How I am slowly learning to feel without thinking I am weak or mentally ill.
So I cried for Dad, I also felt joy that I could grieve without shutting myself down.
I had grown so used to being a robot.
I never cried when my grandmother died, even through she was the woman I was closest to.
I never cried when my best friend took an overdose. I just refuse to believe, and run back into prostitution as my way of not thinking.
I never cried when I had an abortion, even those I wanted to feel something.
No, I didn’t know what grief was.
My emotions were dead. Yes I was walking and breathing, but it was just another act.
How could I feel, when I was living in a world where torture was my norm.
I lived by not acknowledging I was in great pain, that it was making me sick.
I lived by saying I could leave any time, always knowing I was mentally trapped.
I lived by not allowing feeling for others, and by hating myself.
I lived by never seeing my own reality.
I lived by being dead.
So, I lived and I managed to exit. Now, I am living with survival.
Now, I feel all the pain I pushed away. I know the cold hate that made johns torture me.
Survival feels like I am drowning.
I know it is worth it, this living business. But Christ, sometimes being numb seems so inviting.