“In short – before I was DXXXRK, I was Zex“
Trigger Warning: Child abuse, sexual assault, court experience, self harm, suicide
Good evening,
It’s nice to meet you. You may call me GOOD GRIEF or DXXXRK. I would’ve stayed as DXXXRK, but the Internet/social media really doesn’t like names with with three Xs.
It’s totally fine if you don’t know who I am, or if you’ve simply forgotten about me. Fuck, I don’t even know which version I am today, and I try to forget myself other days, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
In short – before I was DXXXRK, I was Zex. She was a big part of me from when I was 18 -21 years old.
Zex had a Tumblr. Remember Tumblr? I mean, I know it’s still around but like, do you remember it before all the censorship, and when it was actually pretty decent? God, I miss the time before the algorithm came and fucked us all over. The old Tumblr days were when you could actually connect with people. People shared shit they liked rather than piss on everything they didn’t. Tags actually worked. The kids would never understand.
My old Tumblr was called The Zex Diaries. It was where I shared all my explicit photos as a model, along with honest and depressing diary entries that I would’ve experienced as an undiagnosed (but obviously very traumatised) young woman. I only got into modelling less than 2 years after revealing to my family that I was being sexually abused by a family friend from when I was 13 to 16. I would always say the same thing: “I’m doing this to reclaim my body”.
Sang Bleu Magazine issue #6
Some time after posting, my blog was put on some site I was unaware of/can’t remember the name of, but it was supposedly a big deal. A photographer or two I worked with mentioned they saw my Tumblr name in big letters (the larger the font size, the cooler the model). It got me a lot of visitors based on that alone. Zex was interesting and explicit, but even though she showed pink, she was very shy.
Back then, everyone referred to explicit art as “Erotica”, but it took me years to understand what I was doing was extremely low paid sex work. I mean, I was being paid to jerk off in front of shitty men with cameras, who would rarely be able to continue taking photos without sexually assaulting me. Even though I was simultaneously going insane, men assaulting me was my normal.
Physical assaults didn’t end with me screaming and trying to fight back, but rather compliant. I’ve since referred to this experience as “Jane Patrol Mode”, based on the character from Doom Patrol, Jane, being protected by one of her many personalities while she’s being sexually assaulted. A part of her fakes enthusiasm rather than accepting/admitting the reality that she’s being raped. This version of rape is still not discussed enough. I was surprised to see it in a TV series.
I was good at my job. I was good at being…good. I made myself feel good. I made others feel…good. They just didn’t deserve it. I had parts taken from me, and I’m never getting those parts back.
I remember being assaulted by one photographer, some time in August, can’t/don’t want to remember the year. He asked about shooting a side-by-side portrait with him and I both nude, and I said, “Do you mean in the style of X?” (a photographer friend of mine who shoots nude portraits), and he said yes. Those portraits were not at all sexual.
We’re standing side-by-side, nude, the camera is going off via a trigger, and he starts grabbing at my body, trying to put his on mine. I never saw those photos, but I was pulling away, and you could see it in my face. I was usually very good at hiding my “uncomfortable/scared” face, because I didn’t want the viewer to know I was not in control.
“Now, I want you to pull my dick, really hard”. I freak out and the shoot ends there. I get dressed and leave. He messages me a few weeks later asking to shoot again. “Thank you for the interest, but I’m going to politely decline”, which, to this day, is still my go-to line. Idiot me told herself that would be the last time I let someone assault me without going to the police.
December that same year, a few days before Christmas, another photographer assaults me in his home. I’m frozen on the chair while he’s slowing inserting his fingers and a pearl necklace into my mouth. That same necklace being pushed between my legs, his hands so close to my vagina, I feel my pubic hair being tugged. He kept doing this thing where he’d stroke my face, but I was just staring straight ahead. I felt like a puppet.
The shoot is finished. I’m nude, on that same chair (it’s like a fancy lounge one, if you know what I mean), and he sits next to me. He tells me I have lovely nipples, reaches out and tweaks my right nipple. It’s only at this point I react with movement. I swing my right arm like a car screen wiper. I step away to get dressed and head out.
On the way out, he pretends to give me a hug, only to swing in the opposite direction to forcibly kiss me on the lips. I’m in public now, and in that moment, I felt safe enough to react. I cringe loudly, and as I try to flee, my suitcase gets stuck in the doorway. I’m bashing it repeatedly as I try to leave. He reacts to me damaging his doorway.
Baron Magazine issue #1
I couldn’t keep up with always trying to brush shit off. Tired of crying, scrubbing myself hard to get the stickiness off me, cry more, head to work the next day. Every assault would mesh together, and it all became too much.
Another model who was braver than I and a well-respected art nude model, made a public post about the photographer. He was responding to our negative reviews with retaliated ones on her and I’s account. Other models supported him and bumped our negative reviews by reposting their positives, so you wouldn’t see our negative reviews immediately on his front page. I found out later that we were not the only two he had crossed boundaries with.
With encouragement from a friend, I went to the police 9 months later, and he was arrested a few months later in December. The trial was the following year in October. I was dating my partner for only a year. I told him I felt it was best I go to court on my own. I didn’t tell my family I was going to court, but I did surprise my Mum with a visit. I told her I travelled over from Ireland (where my partner was based) to discuss the short film I had a role in with its director.
My biggest mistake was going to court on my own. It was horrible. Violating. People really need to understand how disgusting the courtroom experience for victims of sexual assault is, so having people there to back you is important for recovery, but also for awareness in general.
I know what you’re thinking – she’s talking a lot about assault, “womp womp”, but I have a reason to for what I’m about to say.
You see, the Defence brings up a lot of weird shit in court as “Evidence”. My little Tumblr blog, The Zex Diaires, and the explicit posts, along with my kinks shared on FetLife, were printed across several sheets, and shared with the courtroom. They even mentioned the sexual abuse I experienced as a child.
This is why so much of me has been erased. This is why no one knows who I am, and why I don’t mind it so much. Why I post a lot of shit privately, and why I don’t have time to waste.
My character was damaged. The defence made it sound like I was offering myself because of my job. No one prepared me for that, nor the “You use sex as a weapon” line, or “You spread your legs out for him” one. Fuck, now I’m crying. Fuck. Felt worse to hear from a fellow woman. I still wonder how she sleeps at night.
10/12 people found him “not guilty”. When I found out via email from the police, I cried in the dark.
I stopped modelling, got rid every single Tumblr post individually and changed the name of my blog just before I deactivated my account (someone later pinched the domain for its popularity – if you google it, know it’s not my bones). I’ve been making attempts to heal. Some of those men are still in circulation and it’s not great seeing them pop up, but the block feature is great. I spent years being closed, and others blooming. I’m not as afraid of having my body weaponised. After all, she belongs to Me.
In 2020, I met DXXXRK.
I’m now two months into getting my BPD diagnosis (after it was withheld from me for I don’t know for how long), and on 2nd December, I have a relapse that meets me on the bathroom floor, along with DXXXRK’s presence. I felt someone pull the plug out of my back, and I turn off. I’m not into the, “Life is all a simulation” theory, but if you are, I’m sure you’d like that.
I’ve always been under the impression this “thing” is trying to kill me/my inner child. She feels cruel and puts a lot of horrible shit in my head, but after that day, I made the decision to attempt to make friends with it, rather than fear it. She doesn’t want me dead, but rather to take a big nap.
Baron Magazine issue #1
I’ve described that DXXXRK feeling as a sticky tar-like substance, so naturally I’m drawn to both Death Stranding (the video game) and latex. Humans are constantly obsessed with their “shadow”/other self. It’s why I love including duality in my art series, GRIEF SYNDROME. Humans are being taught that we should treat ourselves as brands. A clear brand generally has one goal, one aesthetic and one box ticked. BPD flows through many boxes, or none of them. Personalities can be broad and shapeshifting. As for aesthetic, sweetie, my wardrobe is ridiculous.
Zex got me through shit back then. DXXXRK gets me through shit today. She is the sticky, tar-like substance, meshed with broken glass, but she shows much love for my rotting flesh and…maybe even yours, too.
I’m not interested in trauma bonding; I’m interested in being distracted. The experiences I had and my chronic health issues mean I’m always on the look out for someone else willing to bloom. I’ve spent so much time in my own head, that it feels good to be in someone else’s. You can’t see Me right now, but just imagine Me wriggling my fingers at you, waiting for you to let Me in.
If you got to the end, thank you. Make sure you treat yourself to a nice cuppa. And if you’re only a petal that hopes to be more, make sure you attempt to see Me.
Be good.
– GOOD GRIEF / DXXXRK
