The Blog was originally a Facebook Newsfeed, started in the fall of 2018 as way for me to share some controversial ideas anonymously. At first, I posted no photos at all, and then I fabricated Renee, who was me but not me, my middle name instead of my first, and my image, but altered. I wanted to look the way that I felt, all fuck off and fuck you. No more happy cheerleader costume, I would wear the coming breakdown on my sleeve.
Later, I would be skewered for my popularity and my self esteem would take a dip. But the damage had already been undone. The profession had healed me all the way to my core, so deeply that it could not re-break me itself.
My cell phone and all my email accounts and my Facebook were hacked, which I became aware of when someone messaged me to tell me so. Apparently Jessica was receiving the majority of my missing texts. On another occasion, someone literally changed the Google Maps voice on me mid-drive to a voice that does not exist as an option in the settings, and then back again when my kids got in the car. Someone went in behind me twelve times in a row, for each of four emails, changing passwords, deleting files, and ultimately locking me out of the GSuite I had purchased for it’s security features. Wonder what that was about.
People told me I was being recorded, and other people openly recorded me from the stairs of my apartment. People on buses, that I had never met before, made jokes about me being on the Truman Show and laughed.
So I was angry and I raved and that made them laugh louder. And I refused to shut up on principle, I made them listen until they were forced to acknowledge some of what they had done. Then it was quiet for a while, I had won, but the blog was stained with so much shit that I had to move on. Not because of them, not because they were right and not because they had caused too much harm. But for myself. I deserved to have my peace back.
The transparency felt good and the anonymity made me bold. The page blew up a little, and then I downsized again when I got that first bitter taste of the haters. This would happen three different times, me accepting and deleting thousands of requests, each time from different groups of people and for different reasons.
My husband left me the following spring and by then, I identified so much with Renee that I couldn’t be anyone else. So when I became a sex worker to manage the extreme conditions created by my divorce, so did she.
People in the industry were kind at first, which I say to establish myself as humble. The full truth is that dozens of people lavished me with praise that bordered on worship. I had a cult following for a while, people drove hours and waited months to see me. If there was a way to be an escort, this was it.
Look at my transformation throughout the first few months. At first, my body is rigid, my limbs are close to my core, I’m not comfortable in my skin. And I’m not happy, either, not a single smile is preserved on film from that era. Not one.
As the year concludes, my limbs go up, my elbows out, “gravity defying behavior,” they call it. It signals confidence. And the face opens up too, as consistently as it was closed before.
That’s girl brought to life. The opposite of the cliche. The sex industry helped me heal from seven years of narcissistic abuse. It saved my life in so many ways.
But boy did it try. There was a forum somewhere, and every client I had for while was somehow in on this joke I knew nothing about. People sent me stuff like this:
So I made that other website, on GoDaddy, then this one because that platform sucks. Because I’ve always had a lot to say, and thousand stalkers still can’t make me shut up.
They tried again to sink me when I came back after leaving for a relationship. To teach me a lesson, they think. They taught me nothing really, just threw their fistfuls of shit until I layed down in the collection around me and they felt embarassed. How repulsive the situation, a pretty girl with her hair matted in dung. Even with their stunted empathic capacities, the vicarious humiliation was enough to trigger enough conscience for a full stop.
And I’ll never see justice, but I’m vindicated in one thing. When the laughter ends and there’s no more comradery holding up the shared delusion of a witch hunt, they know that I am not who they should feel embarrassed for. The low that they thought they had reduced me to was their own, and they are the swine.
So The Blog has been with me for a while. It has helped me maintain my identity, confidence, and sanity through unimaginable pain. I dare say it is the whole reason I survived. It’s earned me praise and its caused me so much strife I almost threw it away.
I write these posts as I think them, right here in the text box. And I think them as I write, too, and might not think them otherwise. This is an essential part of who I am now, an extension of me, or the external harddrive of my mind.
This year, the blog is gonna see something a little different. Something that gives all the rest of it purpose. Why would I be built to withstand a hurricane if only a drizzle was coming? I’m chasing a high as high as these lows were low, success in proportion to my suffering. The Blog has held me up til now, now it will be my way through.