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Donna Mae DePola - Guest Speaker Chat ...May 25th 2013 ... for more information please read this!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
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Mrs. E said maybe it didn't have to do with control.
"Maybe you need to be in the role of the victim."
Victim? Me? No, I do it because I get pleasure out of controling them! Escort, I mean. Courtisane. Whore. Whatever. I did it again. Well, there's a story behind it but I haven't told Mrs. E.
The story is that I've now been unemployed for 8 months, I've gone through all my saving, applied for welfare. 589$ a month. The people who say people on welfare are free-loaders probably don't know the value of a welfare cheque. My rent is 515 + utilities, and I'm in a bachelor! Why welfare rather than a minimum wage job while I wait for a real job to happen? Because real jobs don't just happen - you need time; time to look for jobs, time to apply, time to be available should an interview arise. So I applied. Welfare. That word I've been afraid of since I was 17, since I first whored myself. I did it. I thought it was a milestone. "See, there's another last option before the last option." But my brain didn't register it. My brain went "whore, whore, whore, whore." That's the real story, not this one. The real story is I got the cheque, I told Mrs. E, she was proud, but I didn't tell her I'd whored myself anyway.
How did it happen? Oh, it was history in the waiting. I'd been thinking about it all through these 8 months. Even before that. Even when I'm employed. Even when I make a lot of money. No, not enough. Gotta whore, gotta gotta whore. So I built my nth website. I took my nth pictures. I built it and I advertised it and they came, but I didn't come to them. I took down the website. Then, I kicked myself for taking it down so quickly. I thought of other options. I registered on this website: seekingarrangement.com. Lo and behold, an ex-client contacted me. Bang.
Now, at least, I had a reason. That's what I told myself. I tell myself the non-story about going on welfare. The real story is that I didn't tell Mrs. E she was right. I need to be a victim. You see, I don't understand how I'm still alive.
So I saw him. LH. I even invited him to my apartment because he was a trusted, elite client. My top three. I don't know where I came up with the top three, but while he was ________ me, I was praying in my head. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name... I was praying and closing my eyes real hard to try to escape in my head. Our Father who art in heaven, our Father who art in heaven... It didn't stop. Top three client huh? Top three long-lasting clients, I'll say.
Before he came over, I thought I would die. Literally. I thought he would kill me. I always think that whenever I want to see a client, since I've seen clients, since 3 or 4 years ago. That's precisely why I never go through with it: because I always think "this is THE time" - this is the time I'll die; this is the time I'll be the murdered prostitute; this is the time I'll be like all the other ones.
Victim.
Victim.
Victim.
Best friend dead. Other friends, where? I feel like I'm the only survivor of a war. I don't understand. I'm all little playing in a sandbox and I have no friends because they're all dead. There was an earthquake. The earth swallowed my friends. They all died. Why am I still here? I don't understand. I want to dig a hole in my sandbox and lay myself to rest in it. I want to die.
I don't want to die.
I saw him again.
First time - our Father who art in heaven, time - he left me an enveloppe. 500$. He texted after to see if that was ok. Yeah, sure it's ok. Rent is paid. I called my friend and told her. I told her I prayed the whole time. She told me to stop praying. To stop seeing clients. I swore I wouldn't see him again, that it had fixed me.
It hasn't fixed me. I'm fixed on money.
500$ gone in three seconds. Cheque to the landlord. I still haven't paid my drivers licence. I still haven't paid hydro. I still haven't PAID.
Victim victim victim.
I saw him again. Last night. This time I didn't pray. This time I closed my eyes when he kissed me and maybe from his perspective it looked like I was into it. But I was just digging a hole in my sandbox and laying myself to rest in it.
500 more dollars.
Our Father who art in heaven...
Our Father who art in heaven...
I want it to stop.
csg
"Maybe you need to be in the role of the victim."
Victim? Me? No, I do it because I get pleasure out of controling them! Escort, I mean. Courtisane. Whore. Whatever. I did it again. Well, there's a story behind it but I haven't told Mrs. E.
The story is that I've now been unemployed for 8 months, I've gone through all my saving, applied for welfare. 589$ a month. The people who say people on welfare are free-loaders probably don't know the value of a welfare cheque. My rent is 515 + utilities, and I'm in a bachelor! Why welfare rather than a minimum wage job while I wait for a real job to happen? Because real jobs don't just happen - you need time; time to look for jobs, time to apply, time to be available should an interview arise. So I applied. Welfare. That word I've been afraid of since I was 17, since I first whored myself. I did it. I thought it was a milestone. "See, there's another last option before the last option." But my brain didn't register it. My brain went "whore, whore, whore, whore." That's the real story, not this one. The real story is I got the cheque, I told Mrs. E, she was proud, but I didn't tell her I'd whored myself anyway.
How did it happen? Oh, it was history in the waiting. I'd been thinking about it all through these 8 months. Even before that. Even when I'm employed. Even when I make a lot of money. No, not enough. Gotta whore, gotta gotta whore. So I built my nth website. I took my nth pictures. I built it and I advertised it and they came, but I didn't come to them. I took down the website. Then, I kicked myself for taking it down so quickly. I thought of other options. I registered on this website: seekingarrangement.com. Lo and behold, an ex-client contacted me. Bang.
Now, at least, I had a reason. That's what I told myself. I tell myself the non-story about going on welfare. The real story is that I didn't tell Mrs. E she was right. I need to be a victim. You see, I don't understand how I'm still alive.
So I saw him. LH. I even invited him to my apartment because he was a trusted, elite client. My top three. I don't know where I came up with the top three, but while he was ________ me, I was praying in my head. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name... I was praying and closing my eyes real hard to try to escape in my head. Our Father who art in heaven, our Father who art in heaven... It didn't stop. Top three client huh? Top three long-lasting clients, I'll say.
Before he came over, I thought I would die. Literally. I thought he would kill me. I always think that whenever I want to see a client, since I've seen clients, since 3 or 4 years ago. That's precisely why I never go through with it: because I always think "this is THE time" - this is the time I'll die; this is the time I'll be the murdered prostitute; this is the time I'll be like all the other ones.
Victim.
Victim.
Victim.
Best friend dead. Other friends, where? I feel like I'm the only survivor of a war. I don't understand. I'm all little playing in a sandbox and I have no friends because they're all dead. There was an earthquake. The earth swallowed my friends. They all died. Why am I still here? I don't understand. I want to dig a hole in my sandbox and lay myself to rest in it. I want to die.
I don't want to die.
I saw him again.
First time - our Father who art in heaven, time - he left me an enveloppe. 500$. He texted after to see if that was ok. Yeah, sure it's ok. Rent is paid. I called my friend and told her. I told her I prayed the whole time. She told me to stop praying. To stop seeing clients. I swore I wouldn't see him again, that it had fixed me.
It hasn't fixed me. I'm fixed on money.
500$ gone in three seconds. Cheque to the landlord. I still haven't paid my drivers licence. I still haven't paid hydro. I still haven't PAID.
Victim victim victim.
I saw him again. Last night. This time I didn't pray. This time I closed my eyes when he kissed me and maybe from his perspective it looked like I was into it. But I was just digging a hole in my sandbox and laying myself to rest in it.
500 more dollars.
Our Father who art in heaven...
Our Father who art in heaven...
I want it to stop.
csg
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