Memoir Writing Sample -
Loving the Life and Losing Me
The life and journey of a former prostitute who now helps other women get their lives together to better support themselves and those who may depend on them.
April of 2012 was the day when I finally surrendered. As commander and chief of my life, I had fought the good fight on the battlefield. The problem was that I was exhausted and couldn't find any more joy in my pain. I won many battles. I lost so many others because my focus was singular. My sight was narrow, only in front of me, so those around me became casualties of war. I affected many people along the way. Mostly in negative ways, but the core of my spirit had another purpose. Even in my darkest times, I tried my best to help others. My knowledge may have been negatively skewed, but I was always generous. It was hard to recognize when someone else was struggling on the battlefield because I was too concerned with how my own personal journey would fare. For years I thought only of myself. Even when I projected my thoughts onto objects and other people outside of me. The end goal was always about myself. I was a slave and a master of my fate simultaneously. As a result, the war lasted for almost four decades.
I was sitting on a porch crying. The tears wouldn't stop falling. My powdered cheeks had been flooded by water and makeup. They soaked the top of my shirt, and no matter how much I wiped them, they kept falling. It was sixty degrees in Chicago that year, which is pretty good for that time of year. The clouds were huge. They blanketed the street like a game of peek-a-boo. It seemed to move to a beat for a song nobody knew. It had me dazed but not far from my thoughts, even though it reminded me of party lights at the player's ball - light then dark, light then dark. Its movement could have been uplifting yesterday, but it only made things worse today. My life didn't feel the same. I was not the happy hooker I had been for over 40 years. It was the first time I sat and cried when thinking about my life. Before that day, I would have been proud to say I was a prostitute. I stayed cute, bra or thigh highs full of money, and something to do with my days other than a boring nine to five.
The funny thing was I felt sorry for nine to fivers. It didn't make sense to work all those hours, be stressed out, and still couldn't afford to do the things I could at the drop of a dime. I didn't have to worry about bills. If I wanted it, I could have it. New York, no problem. California - sure. Nothing was off-limits. The lifestyle even had me in the presence of greats. Something many can never say they have done in their lifetime. Jobs were foolery, and I had the answer to all the problems. At least, that is what I used to believe. It wasn't an easy lifestyle, but it paid better than most, no taxes, no paperwork - just cash. No man took advantage because I beat them to the punch, and if you claimed you slept with me, it cost more than you claimed. I made you strap up, pay big, and then stole everything you had without ever knowing.
If it didn't make dollars, it didn't make sense. I was self-employed, working anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. I would stand out in front of your house and make that money if needed. Money was what it was about, the money and the sparkle. Everything I did, I did willingly. I can honestly say that nobody had to convince me. It was a part of my life long before I understood what life was. So when you came to me talking that shit about a job, I had to school you, not the other way around. Many can't say their life was as glamorous as mine. I loved that shit: the glamor, the glitz, the jewelry, and the money. I loved being a prostitute. I even loved the things he did to torture me. When he did nothing to me, I felt like he didn't love me. I loved 'the life' more than loving myself.