I’m looking back at the two previous posts so far, and I’m seeing a pattern begin of me talking about me and not so much about the issue at hand, and the one thing I want to make clear in my endeavors is the truth about sex trafficking. I’m sitting here thinking “Shit! People are going to think I only know how to talk about me!”…which I do do…a LOT, lol. But here’s the thing: I can’t form a blog, JUST about sex trafficking, and NOT make it about me, because my only experience in the world with sex trafficking, is my own. And the only way I know how to help anyone else understand my experience, is to tell them my life’s story, literally. Some days, my writing might be right on point, other days, it’s going to jumbled and emotional, and may even portray the lack of coffee and sleep I’ll be experiencing. Please be patient, because as we travel through this story together, it’ll eventually all come together, and everything will make sense.
I’m sitting here on a Sunday morning (my day of the weekend to be up with the kids), drinking coffee, typing away, telling the kids I’m doing homework again, and listening to the Mickey Mouse clubhouse in the back round. My house is still wrecked and my homework is still untouched! As a parent these are days I know I’ll never get back once my children are grown, and although they’re still both pretty young, I’m already getting a glimpse into the future. And holy shit, I am terrified! My kids, especially my daughter, are crazy. They are curious, adventurous, mischievous, and they are smart, and they scare the shit out of me! Everyday they’ve both learned a new thing, and what I’m finding to be a pattern, is that these new trades tend to be awful ideas and tricks about how to get to places in my house that they’re not allowed to be, such as on top of the fridge! I really won’t be surprised if I’m totally grey before 30. But alas, even though I’m super tempted to go sit in my closet with my phone and play word games and eat chocolate, I’m going to finish writing this, start cleaning my house, and entertain my children enough that they’ll let me finish what I need to do. This is not to say that they’ll make any of that easy lol.
I know that at the very end of his life, that my Daddy loved me, and maybe it wasn’t enough, but it was the only way he knew how. He really did try to be a good father, to instill values that as a parent, I don’t find necessary, and I think that there are other things that should have been included in his parenting, but I know now that he didn’t know how to teach things he knew nothing about.
I think that as we go through this journey of my life, it’s going to sound like I’m angry and bitter and resentful about my parents, and it’s going to sound like I lay ALL the blame at their feet, but I don’t. I am angry, and I DO blame them separately for separate issues, but I do take SOME responsibility for some of my actions. I leave you today with this thought, and it trails back to yesterday’s post: I was a child when my father died, and I was a child when I found myself using my own body to find the things I felt were lacking in my life, and I was a child when I was exploited and trafficked, by adult men who profited from my body being used by grown men willing to have sex with a child.