I HATE those Salty Drops of H20

I hate crying. I HATE crying. It makes me feel vulnerable and weak and dumb and I hate it.  As a kid, I think I naturally was a sensitive person, but tears were off limits in my family. I was not allowed to cry– at least not without consequences. Emotions were off limits. No feelings allowed. At a young age, I used to cry at everything… When I was corrected, when my brother made fun of me, when my father yelled at me, when I was frustrated. But sometime in those early years my parents grew sick of it and declares tears off limits.  I don’t know if they had my sexual future of a forced prostitute planned and were just trying to condition me, or if they just didn’t want to deal with it, but I quickly learned that crying was not an acceptable form of expression. The problem with hiding one emotion though is that it’s hard to hide one and not the other.  Hiding my tears meant that I, in effect, ended up hiding most of my true emotions…  Wants, needs, hopes, fears… it all of it became plastered into a strong box, only to be opened more than a decade later.

I hate crying because I was taught to hate it. I was taught that it made you weak, and unattractive and stupid and incapable. I still remember the moment I decided to officially numb my feelings. I had been hurt, yet again, by someone who was suppose to love me- someone who was supposed to be family. I decided then that I would no longer set myself up for this type of pain. I didn’t need people, I didn’t need people’s love. All I needed was me– and God– I knew I could survive on my own. Maybe it wouldn’t  be happy but at least it’d be survival. I refused to cry tears over a loss I should have expected anyway.  You see, in the sex industry, there’s no room for feelings… To feel is to die and to go numb is to survive… It’s the only way. I’m usually a fighter, so I chose the later- I chose the option of numbing out.

Let me let you in on a dirty secret though… I’m crying as I write this, knowing in my heart of hearts that it’s all a bunch of crap. Yes, going numb is a survival mechanism and I wouldn’t have made it through my trafficking situation alive if I allowed myself to feel every touch, every rape, every word. BUT, there is no real life without feeling- there’s only existence. I don’t want to just exist, I want to live.  In order to “live” I must feel, in order to feel I must allow the tears. I still hate it– I still hate crying (and I’ll smack anyone who draws attention to me doing so) but I’ve got to accept that it’s part of the package of living. I no longer will be punished for this kind of emotion, I’m a free me. It’s sill hard though. I still want to crawl in a box and hide. I still want to switch the knob to “off”, I still feel weak when I show what feels like vulnerable emotions, but I’m a work in progress.  My heart is hurting tonight and so I’m going to allow myself to cry… Just don’t tell anyone.

May this blog serve as an education to those who do not yet know or understand the atrocities of trafficking and may it serve as an encouragement to those who understand it all too well.

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