Yesterday was a great Sunday

I’m not sure if its because I had work with a new favorite client of mine, if its because I met a gorgeous man who looks like sebastian rulli – and fucked him, or if it was the Xanax.
Probably a combination of the three.

The new client
He is a good looking man, a musician (go figure one musician doesn’t care to see me and here waltzes in one who pays for the privilege of being with me), in his 30s and if I’m frank I’d be friends with him had we met in civilian life. And depending how we met I probably would’ve hooked up with him too. Its always incredibly nice to have clients who you actually get along with, have much in common with, and are attracted to.
He’s also my favorite type of client in the sense that he’s going through a rough patch and just wants someone to talk to about what he’s gone through, his fears, and his hopes – I’m good at that. Thats what I like doing best in this job. The more we meet the more he opens up, its a privilege to be able to see this side of people. The side that they usually feel the need to hide.
Sex workers arent just about sex y’all, we’re great at being confidantes in every sense of the word – or at least the best of us are.
Getting paid to be around someone like that IS the dream. But its also confusing I’ve heard horror stories my friends have told me of when they caught feelings for a client – I steer clear of it. I’ve come close once, but luckily I learned those lessons from the years of Sugar dating I did.

The Sebastian Rulli Look Alike
Some background my favorite telenovela was Rubi its about a woman who grew up extremely poor, but she was incredibly beautiful…as she got older she became obsessed with becoming rich – by way of making wealthy men fall in love with her. One of those men was Sebastian Rulli’s character
Here’s a picture for clarification:
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Yes- face AND body type look like that. Okay, now that you get the picture.

I first saw this man in the parking lot of the beach and phew….that body and that hair were the first thing I noticed. Then as I got to the beach with my friend I saw him walking as we set up our spot. He made eye contact then set up about 8feet away from us. I sat and felt giggly, which was stupid I’m a hooker when does a man ever make me feel giggly?
He got up and went to swim in the water. My friend and I took a bunch of photos by the ocean then he walked up to us to ask the time then walked away.
I wanted to talk to him but couldn’t think of anything. My friend needed sunscreen so I asked if he had any – he didn’t.
We went back to our respective spots and he started changing out of his wet suit….Oh. My. God. I had to look away but didn’t want to. His hair was wet from the ocean and his body was glistening loooooord. His incredible arms ugh. then his chest. and his abs..god, I wanted to lick those abs. I looked down and looked back up this time his back was to us…and his back was just as great-strong. the top of his butt was showing and yes, his butt was incredible. then he turned to the side as he pulled his suit off completely and plop, there it was…and it was glorious.
I giggled and my friend immediately looked then started giggling too – as if we weren’t being obvious enough before.
We took more photos and he was watching us so I went to ask if he could take one of us. of course he did. We got each other’s names then he asked if we wanted to smoke a bowl with him we didn’t but we invited him to sit with us.

We talked for about an hour. Turns out he and I have very similar cultural backgrounds. We talked about our signs and he immediately told me to stay away from him as I’m a cusp of the two signs he’s most weak for – one he finds incredibly sexy and the other has been the one he falls in love with most. I could tell he found both me and my friend attractive which I didn’t mind, most of my friends are hot after all. I felt I had some upper hand considering he made several comments directed at his history being with women like me. He remained respectful and neutral both her and I appreciated that. We exchanged numbers with him.
And me, being the shameless go getter I am, texted him. My friend decided to wait. We both agreed on a don’t ask don’t tell policy with this guy since we both liked him – unless things got emotional. A couple days later he was in my apartment.

I didn’t expect anything to happen I just wanted to see what the vibe was like. I wanted to wait a little to fuck him anyway. I figured out quickly that the vibe was sexual on both ends. He was a great kisser god damn us mixed lovers – waiting fell off the table. We went to my bedroom and got undressed I could not get over his gorgeous tan body, it was killing me. I’ll spare you all the details and keep that to myself, but lets just say I had a great time.
I finally christened my apartment! I thought it was never going to happen. after we finished we lay gasping, trying to catch our breath. I immediately asked “how would you feel about a threesome with me and one of my girlfriends?” ( RE: N …her and I actually had a threesome after this post, but I’ll share that another time)
He smiled, “I love them-I’ve had a few with my ex who was bisexual” I bit his shoulder ” perfect, maybe we can have a lot of fun together” He grabbed my thigh “I’d love to come and massage you sometime, if you’re up for that”
I had things to do and so did he so we got dressed as we talked about more things we liked.
The entire time he wouldn’t stop saying how beautiful he thought my face was whenever I smiled. And he couldn’t stop talking about how sexy he thought my body was. It was nice. Would’ve been nicer to have more time (round 2 anyone?), but who knows maybe he and I will get a chance to play a few times if fate lets me have a win for once….please fate I just want some steady dick.

The Xanax
This damn magical little pill. It works…too well. I love feeling “normal” i.e not anxious and irritable all the time. I get a lot more done – feel less depressed/anxious/like throwing up. But I am noticing I’m more irritable on the days I don’t take it. Maybe its the stark contrast of going from feeling calm to a jarring overthinking potato that makes me extra irritable. Either way that part isn’t pleasant. I’m still sticking to my 2x a week dose rule, I’m not risking adding physical dependence to a substance to my long list of personal issues. But damn it made my Sunday pull together beautifully.

I couldn’t run fast enough

I felt it creeping up on my back the past month. Its cold breath. Its presence lunging toward me in my sleep. I ran away. I gave in. I remembered how hard survival has been and crawled away. It gripped my ankle and pulled me back; I grew tired so I lay in it.
Hey depression. Did you miss tightening your fingers around my wrists? Whispering horrible things into my soul? Breathing on the nape of my neck?
I’m back. Your favorite lover to wrestle with. That lifetime push and pull. You’ll never let me go for long will you?

I’m sitting on my bed drinking my second glass of bourbon. Eyes red and swollen from crying so much the past three days. For a second I wonder how long it would take someone to find my body.
I look in the mirror and I don’t see anything in my eyes. I quickly lower them. I remember this emptiness. I haven’t felt this level of depression since 2015.

I know I shouldn’t drink when I feel like this. I know it. I understand that it’ll just heighten my substance abuse, but its hard to care when I’m here. And I don’t want to take more Xanax this week, at least with booze I know I don’t have physically addictive tendencies. I just binge. At least I still care enough to care about that.

I wonder how long this round will last. Will this be it? I’m tired. This exhaustion isn’t new to me. When I was 11 I’d cut myself and wonder what it was that made me this way. When I was 15 I’d drink until I couldn’t stand, curl into a ball, cry, and gasp “I’m tired. I’m just so tired” over and over as my friends tried to help me.  At 17 I drank and fucked everything in sight, My boyfriend at the time was an addict I was helping him get sober and he’d hit me. It doesn’t excuse my cheating, but its how I coped with the domestic violence and past sexual abuse. When I was 19 I’d run in the streets of hollywood hoping someone’s car would hit me as the man who loved me chased me and tried to catch me. I’d push and claw at him when he caught me “I’m tired let me die let me die” I’d scream. Then he’d carry me into his car then take me to his home, tuck me in bed, he’d hide his gun and watch me until I fell asleep. At 23 I cried and slit my wrists again after A died. I tried saving myself I tried the meds, they didn’t help. I’ve always been tired. Born into abuse and poverty. The gift of resiliency has helped me pull forward and kick down doors most people who come from a past like mine could only dream of knocking on. But the gift of resiliency also exhausts me. Surviving is exhausting.

The sexual assaults, the emotional abuse, the alcoholism and drug addiction, the verbal abuse, the fighting, the hunger, the poverty. All by the time I was 12. It all sits in my gut. This beautiful woman with a big smile and the ability to make anyone laugh, most would never guess the secrets my gut holds. People usually just think I’m a wild card when I’m being self-destructive, women this beautiful and intelligent aren’t suicidal right?
When will society learn?
The abuse my lungs have inhaled. The trauma my womb held. The pain my hands have fought to stop. The violence my eyes have witnessed…none of it cares how beautiful or intelligent I am. Luckily I never blamed myself for any of it – perhaps thats the root of my resiliency, but I have frequently asked why me? Why couldn’t I have just died all the times I came close? Why do I keep surviving? I’m exhausted.

I want to hide and wither away. The woman who wrote all those posts of strength and resiliency isn’t here right now, she may as well have never been.  Lately it seems laughable that I’ll survive all this pain and become the person I want to be.
All the things I’ve survived, successes I’ve had, the publications, the research I’m doing, the program I’m in – feels like nothing. I feel like nothing.
Today several friends of mine have told me how strong, resilient, intelligent, and hard working I am – I haven’t shown most of them any signs of my major depression coming back so I don’t know where its coming from, maybe I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. I’ve always been a good actress though. Part of survival.

I don’t understand how my friends have always been so patient with me. Through drunken fights to crying in the middle of the street to the cruel words I shoot out trying to push them away when I  want to isolate myself. Through it all they’ve stayed…why?
When will they grow tired of the roller coaster that is my mental state? Maybe they can still see the parts of me I can’t see in the fog of my depression.

I just want to be held. I’m drunk and need to stop writing.

Grief comes and goes in waves, thats what my therapist said

Today I’m Drowning.

All I have left of him is this pain and his stupid hat he wore everyday.
How could I ever let go? I haven’t had a day like this in months and after my interaction in February I thought maybe there wouldn’t be anymore. How naive of me.

As the anniversary of his suicide approaches I find my anxiety at a high. My heart is heavy. All I want is to be held by someone safe who wont judge me, but its been nearly two years…I can’t talk about it anymore. I can’t talk about how much I wished I had told him I loved him or how much I regret not showing up at his apartment or work place to check on him. I can’t talk about how much I worry I’ll never love like that again – or worse yet that no one will ever love someone who still has days where they fall apart crying over their dead partner. I can’t talk about how I sometimes wonder if he regretted kicking the chair from under him as he hung and tried to gasp for air, did he want to live in that moment? who did he think of? was he happy to know his pain would end – everything would end? I can’t talk about how I cry and fall to the floor or pull over wherever I’m driving to catch my breath.
I can’t talk about the fact that sometimes I see someone who looks like it might be him and for a second I think…maybe? I can’t talk about the fact that I still wonder what his life would look like today, I loved him so much I wanted him to be happy with or without me. Would we have ended up hating each other? That would’ve been better if it meant he kept living. I can’t talk about the way I miss his eyes or his laugh. I can’t talk about the fact that after our first date I jumped in my bed and yelled “I’m in love!” and meant it despite knowing that was insane. I can’t talk about the fact that I saw such of a mirror of myself in him that some days I predict I’ll have the same fate. His family said I was his light, but he was mine.
He was my fucking light.

Its been nearly two years. I can’t talk about that.
No one likes the sad girl. I put my chin up and smile, keep busy, stay successful, intelligent, funny, beautiful.
I’ve put everyone through enough after his death in terms of my mental health. People get tired.
So I cry and break alone. I hold myself tightly and play it all in my head on days like this.

Its been nearly two years. I can’t talk about this.

So I write it here, for all you strangers to read.

Fake it til you make it, honey

Nothing has been truer considering my need to move in and out of so many different walks of life seamlessly since I was a child.
My ability to adapt or at times hide in plain sight is essentially how I’ve survived.

I recently got a new job in my field – its a huge opportunity. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to pull my hair out and cry every time I open up a new file and try to digest it. Its hard. Im under-qualified. My anxiety scratches at the back of my skull ha, you think you can do this? you’re going to fuck this up. you’re only kidding yourself. my paternal figure’s voice quickly piggybacks with a bellowing laugh you’re not smart like these people you dream too much, you’re not a smart girl. 
My eyes water and my heart rate increases. I take a sip of water and straighten my posture I try to drown the negativity out you were chosen for a reason, you were built for this, yes- its hard…yes- you may make mistakes. This isn’t the first time you’ve been thrown into the water with minimal ability to swim, you always keep your head above water and learn to swim with the current.

This is just like anything else I’ve done in life….ok maybe with a lot more pressure. But there’s nothing I can do but smile, tilt my head back, charm and bond with the people around me in attempt to make the blows easier when I do make mistakes. Pretend I know wtf is going on to the best of my ability.
This is the first moment I’ve felt like “hey you ARE going to go into this field- you CAN do it” and for some reason instead of feeling immense joy I feel a constant nausea and desire to run away…..what is that?
I still know that this is what I want to do. Why am I so scared?
Of all the waters I’ve flung myself into I’ve never felt so crippled by fear.

Maybe its the xanax, molly, and coke bender I went on last week though….thats probably not helping if I’m being 100