A deep pit forms in your gut, your palms moisten, your heart rate elevates and breathing shallows… all at the sight of those flashing blue and reds.  I knew he was coming for me.  Cops and I don’t have a great track record of getting along.  Now, aside from the obvious involvement in prostitution and some other various crimes (mostly necessary for survival) I really was a good citizen.  I wasn’t into vandalism, I didn’t drive recklessly; being stupid for stupid’s sake was never part of my entertainment agenda.  Without being ignorant, I realize that the people you associate with or the neighborhood you’re in (or your skin coloring, dress, makeup, etc.) leads to officers of the law making certain assumptions about a person… and I get it, statistics and learned behaviors do allow for certain things.  It’s when I’ve been all cleaned up, out of a bad environment and a minor infraction gets blown out of proportion that that target (that must be) on my forehead becomes all the more obvious.  It’s as if cops somehow just knew that 5 days out of the 7 I’d been breaking the law, but because they caught me minding my own business on day 6, they were going to give me a hard time anyway.

I know you might be thinking… “what’s her point?” so allow me to relay a few scenarios… Keeping in mind that by the grace of God alone I don’t have a criminal record.  Sadly, I’ve met a lot of dirty cops– those guys you see on CSI who would rather take a stack of cash, a stash of blow or a back seat sexual favor rather than withhold justice… they’re real (but I hope not as prevalent as my bias leads me to believe). I’ve had a cop hit me with his gun because my friend smarted off.  I’ve been offered a ride home out of the rain only to be asked for a generous “thank you” in return.  I’ve been issued a speeding ticket while on my way to the police station in fear of my life, all the while begging the cop writing the ticket to just simply help me.  I’ve watched as one officer guarded the door for another as he negotiated prices with my father.  I’ve been humiliated, intimidated, and pressured while trying to file charges against my abusers.  I’ve been laughed at and called every name for whore, hooker, and slut that you can think of that I wont write on here.  I’ve been cuffed as a minor, thrown into the back seat as a minor, raped as a min– well, that doesn’t even matter that I was a minor.

Cops and me just have had a track record of not getting along, so when I got pulled over tonight, for the first time in years, it activated a lot of old fears.  I’ve been very blessed recently to have met some awesome members of law enforcement.  There really are men and women out there who care about preserving justice in a dignified manor and I’m thankful for each and every one of you… but I still have these old wounds.  I was pulled over tonight because one of my headlights was out and was let go with a warning (my first warning ever- whoo hoo!).  I feel very fortunate not to have gotten a ticket but that was about six hours ago and I still can’t get myself to calm down.  I immediately went into “hyper-alert”, my mind reeling with plan B’s, plan C’s, plan D’s on how to escape.  I don’t need an escape plan here but it’s just a natural response for me.  Oh how I wish it wouldn’t be that way… if you are one, or if you know of a “good” cop out there, do me a favor and point him/her my way.  The more of these legit men and women we see standing up for what’s right, the better for all of us! Thanks…

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.

What the heck IS “Trauma” anyway?

It’s pretty logical that one scary situation causes another.  Little Bobby Joe watches a scary movie his parents didn’t know about.  In the scary movie a big monster attacks a little boy after jumping out from under the bed.  Bobby Joe slams the TV off in fear. (Scary situation #1)  That night Little Bobby Joe is crying at bed time and refuses to accept that he is safe in his own room. (Scary situation #2, caused by #1)  Both situation’s fears are real and similar, but one definitely caused another.  Also, just because the threat isn’t real, doesn’t mean the fear isn’t.

There is no “fix it” button for trauma.  As much as I hate that there’s not… no such button exists.  I feel pressure from myself and others around me to follow a series of tactics or to mark off a specialized check list that holds the magic cure, but still… nothing short of gradual improvement.  I’ve always been very hard on myself too– no one wants a lightning speed recovery more than I do.  I guess this is why I get so frustrated with other people’s unending suggestions for happiness.  Don’t they think I’m trying to be better?  I’m not a dumb person– I’m doing the research, I’m doing the hard work.  I don’t need unsolicited people to bombard me with “Are you better yet?’s” because I’m doing enough of that on my own.

Trauma is its own monster, with its timeline, personality, and quicks that are completely separate from the person who possess it.  Until you intimately learn how your own trauma operates it’s an ugly process that moves much slower than most would like.  To me, one of the most bizarre aspects of this process is that the symptoms of an initial traumatic instance may not show up until years later. This is what happened with me and is part of my new favored word, frustration. I felt a fake “fine” for years after the trauma began but it was when I finally got into a safe environment that most of the symptoms of that trauma appeared.  It was then that I began to experience weird reactions to normal things.  Crowds that I used to love started to freak me out or I’d be sitting on the couch and my heart would started to randomly beat rapidly.  Where I used to be in complete denial of my abuse, I started to replace that numbness with feelings of shame and guilt.

Trauma is tricky to say the least and has all of these scientific labels attached to it.  All I know is that it feels like I have some horrible disease… complete with the lack of understanding from most doctors and the unfortunate social stigma that AIDS/HIV used to carry.  I don’t like feeling so different from the rest of society, like I have this huge secret that no ones knows (which is actually all true I suppose).  I wish my circumstance was as simple as Little Bobby Joe’s and his fear of nighttime monsters under his bed.

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.

I said goodbye to a dear friend yesterday.  It sucks.  I’ve said goodbye to a lot of people in my life and society tells me that I’m supposed to say here that it never gets any easier but I don’t think that’s entirely true.  I think it’s your first real goodbye that’s the worst.

You’ve had no previous experience to built up emotional calluses at this point; you’re heart is exposed and set up for pain.  You’ve not learned the protective measures of building walls, or guarding your emotions.  You’re probably young and throw yourself fully into life.  Everything is phrased in terms of “This is the best!”, “It was the worst!”, “She’s my bestest best friend”, “I love him sooooo much.”, “We’ll be together forever.”  Your life is a life of extremes.  Not yet have you been taught any different, so it’s that first real goodbye that sets the trap of relational distance in motion.  Maybe like me you’re harmed by a family member and you say goodbye to your trust in them, or, one of your dear friends is killed and you say goodbye to her company. You see, a “goodbye” is just a loss, the beginning of a grief process, that’s disguised in a conversation.  Maybe it’s something as seemingly simple as the deep rejection of a peer group because you don’t look like they do.  Your first goodbye triggers new thoughts of “I’ll never trust again” and “I don’t need people” and such…

I quickly became Queen of this belief system.  I think I said too many goodbyes too soon in life.  The walls around my heart went up in record time and at record heights and my second, third, fourth, and fifth goodbyes were much easier that that first one.  (It all made me the perfect future worker for the sex industry.)  I refused to attach myself to real relationship so cutting off a connection wasn’t terribly painful.  I refused to feel pain any longer and did what I dare to say every trafficked girl does who survives… I numbed out.  You have to.  Survival = numbing if you’re in the life for any length of time at all.  Another level of your sexual purity is taken, you block it out and go back to work.  You’re friend is beaten and disappears, you shrug it off and move on.  You’re betrayed by another, you burn up their pictures and pretend that they never existed in the first place.

The trick, like I’ve mentioned before, is finding a healthy balance.  Since I’m one of the amazingly fortunate few to have survived this horrific Game*, my life is now about finding balance.  I truly became a master of this thing called disassociation.  I would let nothing touch me then, but I’m working desperately hard to learn how to let the good things come close to me now.  So, when I say that it sucked to say goodbye to a friend yesterday, I guess it really was a good sign for me.  Life is loss; it happens and that’s OK.  People will make their own choices and circumstances out of our control will occur, but I have to let life touch me again.

Goodbye Jess, I love you so much and hope to see you again soon.  I hope you have much happiness and safety in the months of life ahead of you.

*”Game” here refers to the workings of the sex industry and is often how pimps refer to their lifestyle: “I’m pimping, I’m just playing The Game and I aim to win.  I’m gonna own the most hoes in my stable (brothel). I’m gonna make more money than any other of the players out there– I play to win!” Sickening isn’t it?

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.