Working hard in my little hole, sometimes my only outside leak is the lovely, lovely internet and its infinite library of insane and offensive footage. As I tried finding footage of Stephen Clancy Hill’s fatal plunge, I stumbled upon Jezebel’s article about the documentary, Exxxit: Life After Porn. Just shown this past weekend in L.A., the film briefly follows the lives of former porn stars. It features one of my favorite porn stars (among many!), Asia Carrera. I actually discovered her blog right around the time I started writing on my own, just a year or so after I left the business. After she left, Asia went from being a mother and happy wife to a widow and nearly penniless, with only her porn name to barely help her through. I’ve literally read her entire blog twice, crying and laughing whenever possible. Ugh. It hits me hard when she talks about her social phobias and depression, I’ve been able to cope with being alone but at one point not too long ago it felt soooo crippling. And I tried to hide it well.
God, so I’m here in the village and it’s been… hmmm… well, actually it’s been over a year since I’ve seen my therapist, I recently had a good cry but it was long overdue (will explain later). And, now that I think about it, it’s also nearly a year since I had an actual, real 9-5. I’m serious. And how I went from living with two roommates, being in a serious committed relationship with two kittens, and an honest-to-goodness goal of “cleaning my life up” for the better to… well… single, hustling for cash (and cash only, Dammit!), one fat happy cat and a laundry list of things to do, things I LOVE to do, and not being paid a penny for any of it.
It’s a scary and exciting time for me, one I hadn’t felt since I first moved in the city, in 2005, when I dumped that stupid waitress job at the coffeeshop and spent an entire year making money off of my body, fun drug parties, endless nights and… well a bottomless pit of untreated depression and – whatever. It’s what I have to say about it now. It was a wonderful time, but a time that I didn’t really feel whole.
Therapy meant that I had to pull away from the industry, stick to a simple job, and learn to live a simple life again. But life wasn’t simple, I would switch jobs quicker than underwear and boyfriends quicker than condoms. Ugh. And I always felt so fucking unfulfilled and worthless by their sides, and by the sides of my friends who got their shit together and were able to stay at jobs for over a year. How did they do that?
Funny. My friends once uttered the same question as they watched me diligently write some essay for one of our Honors courses. Ha! I should have traded secrets with them!
Anyway, post-therapy and despite the dangerous unpredictability ahead, I’m fucking excited. I feel like the kid I used to be, when I kept on going on the scariest roller coaster again and again, anticipating that my arms might get ripped off after fluttering them through high-velocity winds!
This weightless adventure actually makes it easier to return to sex work. Finally, I have no one holding me back. No roommates, boyfriends… not even me! And I can finally figure out what sex work means to me.
Has it been easy? Not always. So far, I have some clients and I’m not the type to spend my money carelessly. But, as any harlot would say, when it’s a dry spell, it’s a fucking dry spell. For me, a couple of days of no emails is an eternity of no responses. That said, it leaves plenty of time to work on my writing and, gasp, what’s this… am I producing artwork again? Holy shit! Emotional breakdown.
Maybe I’m not at my point where I feel desperate, but even at my most concerned I can’t possibly see myself sending out another resume or struggling through another interview. The constant run in my pantyhose was an obvious sign that I was not made for the assistant/receptionist/secretary role. Not only that, but I would have to, once again, cover my deep traces in the adult industry. Yet again, I would have to keep mum until someone finds out, or they friend me on Facebook and read an article. Put two and two together. Boom. I’m gossiped about in the office and eventually it becomes kind of weird. It happened once and within a couple of weeks I just stopped going to work altogether.
I hate hiding, which is funny because I’m an introvert. No, it’s not about hiding. I just don’t understand why I need to feel ashamed about something I loved to do, or even used to do for work. I shouldn’t have to feel like I can’t talk about my performances. I didn’t commit a crime.
Woe oh woe to the porn performer. Anyway, my life after porn was a long adjustment, but I’m grateful to have an opportunity now to know what happiness should feel like.
