Dark Thoughts of a Pensive Whore

August 21, 2019

Dec 3, 2018


I find myself wanting love yet hating men at times. Crying to my sister about loneliness. Upset about being hated. Not understanding. Desperately wanting to retire or be saved. If only? Fairytales right? I am not a Princess like Snow White Cinderella, Aurora etc. There is no great knight in shiny armor. Such things do not exist, merely a work of fiction or an alteration by Disney. The real events were told differently. Pure fantasy. I have come to know my place. I admit I get carried away at times. In this fantasy I want to believe in, but isn’t that a great feeling? Like some drug I’m sucked into this imaginary world. Is there such a thing for me? After all, I have a reputation and I’m one with a face. I am an escort. Dirty and tainted. Immoral. I often wonder if there is a problem with me and what? What makes a woman intimidating?


I hate when people tell me I’m beautiful. It doesn’t feel like so. It has no meaning to me, maybe if it were true I’d be in a different place. Am I not ambitious enough or am I stupid? Boring? Not worth the effort? Or am I just a sex doll? Is that what you see when you look at me? When some friends tell me about my beauty, that it doesn’t make me feel good, instead I feel the opposite and it hurts like I’m destined to be alone forever. 


I would love to be in a relationship. To be in love, to be touched, lasting romance, racing heart and butterflies filling my belly yet I feel loneliness and sadness and never being good enough.

My travels are also an escape from my stress. My mind runs a lot. I enjoy to be around different people, experiencing new things and to feel somewhat normal not cooped up at home in this cold place and feeling at a stand still. After all these years, why has nothing changed in the dynamic, what is wrong with me?


Writing lately makes me sad and cry honestly, because pouring out my soul on paper is a constant reminder. Yes it helps with the stress, at the same time I fall into this depression hole. I’m not a huge drinker but I find myself wanting to drink to feel something different, not so sad, not so lonely, not so cold, some warmth, some happiness and some hormones, you know something.

I want the high and not the fullness, not the fatigue but the good feeling and only that. To float on air, to feel light, to be happy, less headache. 

I also find myself wanting pot. I miss it, it’s been ages even though I’m not a frequent user I miss the sativa feeling, I miss the head highs and the body highs. 


I have battled with suicidal thoughts, I even know how I’d do it. Pills, drinking and a bubble bath candles all around me and soft music. If the pills don’t work, I’d drown. It’s a sure deal. Cheers to that.

My smile is a lie. It’s a mask. A shield. A cover. I’m supposed to be happy and bubbly, yet cowardly to do it. I have so much responsibility, I feel guilty to leave it to them. I also feel selfish, if I do it and the pain I'd cause. I am also in a lot of pain. Trying to be strong.  Being a escort has it’s cons, it’s a lot on my spirit, a lot on my heart. It really takes a toll on me. Constant sadness, constant loneliness, constantly unappreciated.


I'm battling with food more. It’s not so much hunger not at all, it’s a control thing for me. To fill up an empty hole. I admit there are times I’ve cried during the moment and I haven’t been caught yet. Just felt very emotional and sad. Sad about my life.

Why can’t I be more than an object? Why don’t I have meaning? Substance?

Am I special? Why am I not seen as more? 

The older I get the more I want it. In a connection sense. In a love sense. Admiration. So many things.

But the escape...



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