How prostitution ruins your life — a true story
Behind the carefree smiles of every woman passing by on the street, tragedy may be hiding. And the story of Alma Jackson confirms this perfectly.
Contents of the article:
How prostitution destroyed my personality
I don”t want to offend anyone with my openness, but I feel like I need to tell my story to the world in order to heal. A psychiatrist diagnosed me with PTSD — post-traumatic stress disorder. My mind is a mess and every day I keep a vigilant eye on my future. This confession is my way out of the labyrinth of horrors into which I once drove myself.
I”m a prostitute. Even before she reached the age of consent, I started sleeping with men for money. Now I”m in my 30s and I”m afraid of what my life has become. Some of my “colleagues” say that they found themselves in the sex industry, and as soon as they find a better way to make money, they leave the field. I don”t want to diminish their experience in any way, but I was unlucky. My friends think it”s my fault. But I just want to show the ugly side of adult leisure.
Many prostitutes say they choose their own clients and only have sex with those they don”t find disgusting. Of course, I told each partner that I was happy with him, which made them believe this lie. All I needed was money. I dreamed that he would leave me as quickly as possible and leave me alone. As I said goodbye, I chatted happily. Hope to see you soon!” But really, I was grateful that another day of my worthless life was over.
My clients sincerely consider me an ideal girl and are happy to have sex with me. Alma, you are a sorceress! You did a great job today, I’m glad I was able to please you!” — This is what I often hear. Everyone thinks about them that I really enjoy sex with him, and the money is just a bonus to the comfort. Luckily, I learned to suppress some of the negative memories of the process itself and then move on. This is not my body, and I think I still have a long way to go. It helps me survive.
Stories of clients falling in love with prostitutes happen more often than we would like. One person who regularly used my services began to perceive me as a bad example of a friend. She wanted to know how I really felt about them. They were convinced that if I didn”t fake their orgasms, I would stop loving them. I was probably a good actress, but now I feel sick remembering it. They ordered her to make me feel like a doll with my legs spread and my head thrown back.
And, of course, no one noticed that I was on drugs. Without the pills, it was impossible for another sweaty body to climb on top of me several times during the night. Moreover, I swallowed the painkiller in my package. Female genitals are not designed for such rigging work. I had frequent ruptures and bleeding. Sometimes even liters of lubricant could not cope and damaged the delicate mucous membranes.
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After the door closed behind the client, I sat on the bed and counted my savings. This daily ritual worked a little harder to save up for a decent living. I imagined burning all my clothes and leaving this house forever. There I will experience so much pain, and the past will one day leave me alone. I realized that I was in a vicious circle. The longer I stayed in the industry, the worse it got. But I wouldn”t have survived without her.
Nobody wanted to save me or take care of me. I didn”t need myself. As a child, my parents beat me, my mother said that I would end my life in a landfill. And when I grew up, my clients began to humiliate me, and I was afraid that her predictions would come true. Prostitution, people who have it, where they are. to a new person for service or a new job. I hated these greedy people, but I knew nothing else. I couldn”t even finish school.
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Due to constant stress and work, I actually didn’t have a period, so I was suffocated with anxiety, and it was too late to have an abortion. I tried to connect this with prostitution, but I realized that I was not a child and could not even feed myself. Therefore, until her birth, she accepted a few regular clients. I left my child in the hospital. I hope she never finds out that her mother is selling herself.
After I gave up my child, my life crossed the line where a careless step could be my last. I began to destroy everything I touched. To change the situation, I needed to change internally, but I didn’t have the strength to do it. A normal person would have turned to people for help, but instead I became even more broken. I began to hate my clients and treat them with the same disrespect they treated me with. They beat me badly three times.
Every client who then treated me simply usually became an angel in my eyes. I admired every little thing they did for me. They didn”t shout obscenely at me, leaving further hints about dollars, and I was already happy. A child who was once told his life was worthless was happy that he could still breathe. This happens to people who do not enter this profession to die of hunger.
I”m happy for those who have a choice and decide that they can open up in the sex industry. But, to be honest, I don”t fully believe them. I don”t know what caused this, PTSD or my negative experiences. But I saw little evil. The law protects good citizens. When it is discovered that the victims have been dealt with, they begin to spread corruption. But we are people too. We feel lonely, ashamed and hurt. To avoid further aggravation, we remain silent.
Nowadays, it is customary to respect prostitution. Beautifully dressed girls post photos of resorts, expensive bags and cars on social networks and do not hide the fact that they have earned money. Even fashionable “escorts” appeared. But what they show is just tinsel. The reality is even worse. I hope my confession will become Ariadne’s thread and protect me from the angry monsters that are the sphere of leisure for adults. At least I want to feel something other than pain and despair again.
