Content warning: SA

The day before I left for London, I was crying. Fuck – I was crying a lot. I started sex work when I was 18. Took a long break after being sexually assaulted way too many times and going to court. Gradually been exposing Myself over the last few years. Only recently telling people I’m a sex worker, despite the overwhelming imposter syndrome and neurodivergence. The past feels more like a previous life rather than My current. So much has changed, and so much has stayed the same. More on that another time.

When I was 18, people never asked Me if I was safe. They never asked about the men I encountered, or the stories I had. I wrote diary entries about being depressed, but My exterior was a strong contrast, now known as ‘masking’. Fast forward to the present, I hear that question fairly often, and to be honest, I’m quite overwhelmed by it.

Back in the day, I used to only check references. This did not guarantee safety, but at least it was something. These days, I do more, and I take My time. Whenever a feeling of doubt enters, I do My best to switch gears. It affects the flow of My compatibility process and the connection with a potential client, but it’s the way it has to be. This procedure and the doubt that I’m not doing enough, exhausts Me.

The idea of “being safe” is fucking tiresome. Instead of teaching people not to be a threat, we tell those who are vulnerable (to said threat) to be alert. Back then, I thought I was doing enough. Asking Me now if I’m “Safe”, makes Me question every action I do further. It’s like when someone asks Me, “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”. I think so? I was was fine without the doubt. When I feel sure of something and someone questions it, I question how I could feel so secure up to that point.

I cried because I worried I’d be in that place again. That I’d be doing all the right things, but still attack or blame Myself if anything happened. What then? Another 10 year break? Self eraser? I have no time for either.

I could go further into this, but let’s not. I got back from London yesterday, and doubt leaked in. I wasn’t ready to go – or was I? I’m not sure which way to go now. Left, right, left, right. I feel like I know Myself and which way to go. Until someone asks Me.

– GOOD GRIEF / DXXXRK