Crunchy Cotton

Stiff white sheets of thing cotton rub up against my naked body.  With every pulse of this gross man into me I am reminded of the rough fabric’s connotations… cheap hotel sheets implies an equally invaluable me. The startch of the fabric almost seems to chafe my heart, my ego, my worth…

It’s so interesting the things that trigger me.  I don’t like sheets on my bed because it reminds me of crappy hotels.  I never had sheets on my bed at home and so the only time I came in contact with them was when I was being prostituted somewhere.

The other day I was driving and turned to check my blind spot.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my sleeping bag sitting in the back and in a flash it reminded me of years ago.  I used to frequently travel with a sleeping bag and overnight kit of sorts in my car, because “you just never know.” It’s the first time in a long time that I’d had it with me again to hang out in the back seat.  This time I was just carrying it to sit with at a baseball game, but the trigger was still evident.

Probably one of the most common triggers I hear from other survivors is that of a certain vehicle.  Maybe it was their pimp’s car or a similar model van as that of a particularly violent john.  One of my vehicle triggers is a blue pick up with a topper.  Most times I see one of these trucks I get a little sick to my stomach and my breath catches as if I’m waiting for permission to move.

It feels so trival to allow an inanimate object that kind of power over your emotions, but until time and healing passes, it’s an unfortunate reality.  Until then… there will be no sheets on my 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.

(Post originally written 3/21/12)

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