Hello again.
I’ve been home for 15 minutes now. Let the door slam behind me sharply after I walked in. Something I have gotten used to now. This incessant loneliness. 1,200 square feet of emptiness. I’m ok with it, though. I’m ok being alone now. Not like before.
I stopped writing. Stopped caring. Stopped letting people tell me what was going through my head. I had privacy. Only letting people judge me from my tweets. In my tweets, I didn’t have to divulge how awful life has gotten for me. How my struggle has become a bit of a rough ride. Prepare for turbulence. Stay in your seats.
In reality, I don’t share the facts of how bumpy my ride in life has gotten. I put that Dixie smile on, nod, and smile. Perhaps I prefer hiding behind this mysterious mask of the internet. Well, I do. I’d rather pull out that false persona I used to slap on everyday and tell everyone, “I’m ok”. That’s what she would do. That’s what Dixie would say.
Deep down, I don’t like burdening people with the dark hard parts of my life that exist. Mainly because I don’t want to see the people I care about feeling one slice of their hearts in the kind of pain I’m in. Maybe because I’m used to living in my former stripper celluloid lifestyle of plastic and happiness. Maybe because I really do care. I’m not sure I know.
Friends applauded me for leaving the world of stripping. Moving on to a new job. A job that society accepted. Even though I was clothed, I’m not sure it was much different. I had to get up every day and put on that Dixie act for a fashion house. Nestle up to designers at fashion week and pretend I cared. Pretend that my life depended on the latest line. It’s the same as stripping. Its an act.
I don’t care about that shit. I don’t care about my rapport with a fashion house anymore. I don’t care about landing new accounts, networking, creating new relationships because none of that really matters to me in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m obsessed with fashion, but just not willing to pour my soul into it for a paycheck.
I think what it comes down to is that no matter what, there is still that longing feeling inside me for something more. For someone to call my own. Even though I may not have much of a family left, I so desperately want my own. I just don’t believe that there is a man out there strong enough to be mine. Strong enough to love the dark parts of me; even the scars that cover me now.
Chris Lockhart said,
November 14, 2011 at 3:22 am
I know that we never got to know each other very well but I feel like I understand a lot more about you after this. I danced too, for several years. In CO and in Vegas. Working here I had to put on an act that would make most guys question who they are. Fortunately, as lost as I was/am, I never lost sight of who I really was, even for a second. I could have given in and made 5-7 times as much but that just wasn’t me. I did it for the money to protect the people I loved most and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to. I still think about the money sometimes because it was so easy but life isn’t easy. Starting and running companies isn’t easy. Networking 24/7, pretending you care about what these people have to say isn’t easy. I just want you to know that even as bitter about this topic as I have become, I really think that the guy that does manage to sweep you off your feet will have an amazing partner for life. Keep your head up because I think we will both get our wish someday. When the rain stops.