Hookers Need Love Too

Recently, I have been struggling at my day job. Nothing out of the ordinary mind you, just the usual bureaucracy, lack of appreciation and power struggles. I imagine everyone can relate no matter what field you are in from McJob to Presidential adviser. On the other hand, I have noticed my productivity when it comes to writting has slipped drastically. This is troubling to me, so I am sitting down with the intention of writing something that reminds me of success.

This is often a good process for me, but today I was a little blocked. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, but I was sure that I did not want to complain about my job or any of the people I work with. I work with some really good people; however, like any workplace, personalities can differ. I did not want to speak on those differences because in the end, I like what I do and I have no wish to screw that up. This reminded me of a time when I was underemployed, and that reminded me of why I like what I do. In turn, I was reminded of something I wrote a few years ago. Less than a year before I started working for the organization I work with now, I wrote a very personal piece about changes in my life and helping a hooker get clean. I am sharing that piece now.

Some edits were made and I added a few sentences here and there for interest’s sake.

Let it never be said that my life is boring. Let it never be said that my life is easy. No life should lack excitement, or difficulty for that matter. Without the difficulty one may never know that they are alive. It is in the contrast where beauty, enjoyment, pleasure and serenity truly lives. I sometimes think easy would be boring and therefor not worth having.

The following is the story of my last few days (back then not now), and how I came to understand I am no longer a bad man, even if sometimes the daily grind tells me otherwise.

It started innocuously, with an email from a friend of a friend. Two years ago, my friend of friends E introduced me to the love of his life. He met her on the job, which is not that rare for people, except for the fact that his job was that of a pimp. The reality is, he would have never called himself that, nor would he have dressed or acted the part, but when it comes down to it, he was a pimp and a drug dealer. He ran a strip club that had a cheap motel attached to it. Guess what was going on there people. I of course am in no position to judge the man, not even now (then), as I sit here all clean and not you know…. pimpy. For the record, pimping was not a thing I could do, even back when my morals were more fluid than they are now. It isn’t so much that I think it is beneath me, it is just that I never could bring mtyself to tell women what to do. I lack that type of self confidence. Plus, Joanne would have killed me. So there’s that.

Anyway, Ian introduced me to this woman he had met on the job, and I was pleased to meet her from the standpoint of being happy he was somewhat settled down. I had a thought at the time that maybe he would settle down even further, and our worlds would no longer be so far apart. I long for a friend, like anyone does. Ian was a man I could talk to because he was there. There would be no pity, no entertainment value, just the resurrection of a friendship forged in our shared experience.

In my opinion, one of the most extant drives we have in the human condition is to group together. Humans strive for connection and closeness. I have often struggled with this as I feel like my world is so different than that experienced by the people I surround myself with now. I often have that feeling of being alone in a room full of people, insulating myself from their connection because I am afraid they just don’t understand, or more to the point, I just don’t understand their lives.

When I saw the possibility of Ian inching closer to my world, to my life now, I got excited. He and I had a shared history, a shared formative path that naturally lends itself to connection and camaraderie.

Then E killed himself and left her stranded in a sea of depravity. She had no guide, no life boat, no map. She was merely lost adrift with nothing but what she knew as a survival mechanism. He could not live my way, and saw in me the way it could have been for him. He could not live with how divergent we had become.

My life moved on and she was not a part of it.

Then the email arrived. In it she discussed the fact that she may or may not be about to be killed, and that she may or may not be having a drug problem. She begged for my help. She was afraid of her new manager, and afraid of what he might do to her. She needed me to come and rescue her. My first thought was that I did not owe this whore a fucking thing. Then I thought about E. I thought about what I would do if he asked for my help. There would have been no hesitation.

I would have polished my white armour and rode with haste to storm the castle without a second thought. Sure my white armour would have been docs, a plaid shirt and surplus army pants, but does it ever really matter what form your armour takes?

Sometimes we are a victim of our instincts, and my instincts told me this was a bad thing. They also told me I knew how to deal with this. I am not proud of this, but there have been points in my life where I could walk in to a room and my will would dominate the situation. Many people I have met doubt this because all they see is the clown or the chubby wubby tub toy. I am actually ok with this because it means I can float in and out of lives without too many ripples. As sad as that sounds, think of it this way, PTSD is a bitch and she won’t let people alone. This means being in my life is not easy.

The problem here is that I am not that guy anymore. I am not the large angry tattooed man any more. I am just not. As I said, many people would never see me as I was because I won’t let them. I stay a personable recluse who makes a great acquaintance. I am person who tries to be the better angel of my nature, but the struggle is real. I am a victim of my former ways; or, at least I am in my own mind. I often refuse to believe or see that I have actually changed, and that this is just a mask I wear so as not to scare the children.

Yesterday ( a few years ago) I became more.

On Friday though, I was a collection of misfiring neurons. I had no idea what to do. There was a part of me that felt responsible for her. That part was the part of me that had made a promise to sacrifice myself for E. We all had. There was a part of me that felt I had failed E when he died, and thought this was a chance to make up for that failing. There was also a part of me that felt guilty for having cut ties with this woman. I had simply let her go because she was a symbol of my failure and grief, and I couldn’t live with that. There was also a part of me that wanted to prove I was not pathetic, that I still had the courage and manliness to get the job done. Am I still a person who can step to and make shit happen? Am I still a person who can take and give a beating? Am I still a man who can fight for his friends, throw his life in the ring for his friends?

I have always prided myself on the fact that I was not scared to act when the chips were done. A part of me that thrived under pressure and rose to the occasion to do that which was necessary to protect myself and my loved ones no matter what needed to be done. I felt like I might have lost that. It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly. Hesitation creeps in with sedintary life. Comfort tastes better than the edge of oblivion and with great irresponsibility comes a lack of will to do anything, let alone stand up and be counted.

So now I had this new chance to be my old self. I immediately went to a friend or two to get my mind screwed on safely, and make the decision of how to respond.

One friend told me not to do it. Not to get involved. What this person told me pissed me off. In many ways, it made me resent this person.

This person wanted me to just sit back and let the chips fall where they may because I didn’t owe these people anything. Maybe this person was right, but I didn’t think so.

All of a sudden I was angry. All of the sudden I was confused because my anger was misplaced.

Then I began to understand why I was mad.

I am not that man any more. I am not the violent, reactionary man, but I am still a strong person, a courageous person. I am tough and I am smart. I felt my friend was not giving me any credit for this. My friend was thinking in terms of me busting down doors and cracking heads; but, I am not that guy. I am a new guy. I am a smarter more sophisticated guy.

That was when I decided to show this friend, and myself that I have changed, that I am stronger inside than I ever was before. I could do this, and I could do it all without threatening, beating, pounding, shooting, snorting, or bullying. I could use my new skills to get the job done.

Many years ago, I had decided that I wanted to help people. I wanted to help get the lost and confused, the drugged out and the abused, the abandoned misused out of bad situation and in to good ones. You see, I have some skills some people don’t. I have been there. I know exactly what it feels like to be lost and alone. I know what it feels like to think nothing is ever going to be alright again. I also know exactly what it takes to fix it.

I went back to school with the plan of becoming an addiction counselor and crisis worker. I have all the training I need and several certifications with organizations with ridiculous acronyms. I can combine experience with training to help people if given the chance.

What I don’t have is a regular job doing these things, but I digress. (I do now, and it is the job I was complaining about at the begining of this whole rant).

The point is, I have fully realized my new skill set and mindset. My friend did not give me any credit as this new person. This person who can and will help people in need by using his brain and his compassion rather than his brawn and his passion.

I went to this hooker. I went to her side and checked in to a seedy motel. I think many people wouldn’t understand why or how I could do such a thing, but I am not shy, nor am I afraid of doing things that are dirty.

To protect this hooker’s dignity, I will not go in to very much detail here because despite all her faults and bad decisions, she is a good person, a person deserving our respect. She is a person who deserves our kindness because she wants to better her life, even though she is scared and it is hard.

I will tell you this part though.

I had to confront her business manager. He was not happy to see me. His first thought was that I was some douchebag from a cheap romance movie. His thought was that I was a John trying to buy this whore from him because I foolishly thought she was in love with me.

I may have some issues with gauging how people feel about me, but I would never be foolish enough to think someone I pay to show me affection actually felt that affection. I suppose my low self-esteem is helpful here. Despite the sad commentary on my inner demon, it is helpful to have the thought, not even a hooker could love me. Cheaper that way I suppose.

I calmly explained that no, I wasn’t a customer. I explained who I was. Then he got mad. Apparently E had pissed this man off as well. Thanks buddy, you know, you could have been a little nicer to people.

Moving on, this is when the man started getting threatening and mean. The old me might have simply removed this obstacle. The old me might have reacted violently to his machinations. The new me stood my ground but also calmed the situation. The new me used psychology and a superior thought process to smooth ruffled feathers.

I explained to the man what value she used to be to him and how that value was lost now. I explained how it made good business sense for him to move on to a newer source of income.

He bought what I was selling. It took over an hour but I made him see the value of not being involved with a woman who was no longer stable, and no longer under his thumb. I also explained to him how hurting her or I was counter to his business model. This would be the only part that made me feel icky. Back when I was in the game, we all knew not to screw with “citizens.” The regular folk who walk the streets by day tend to get all policey up in your business. I know things have changed a little since I was young, but there was a time when bad people could do bad things to bad people as long as they did those bad things in bad places when nobody was watching. Conversely, if you do bad things to good people, you are pretty much just asking to be arrested, or worse. In this case, I was the citizen, and he the bad person. He understood and recognized that I would do what I had to do to help this woman. It still makes me feel bad though.

I left that room without having expressed one threat of violence. I left that room without having hurt anyone. I left that room without backing down. I left that room with my head high, my eyes forward and my mind clear.

I left that room and puked in the parking lot.

It occurs to me now that anger and rage trump fear every time, and the sympathetic nervous system is more powerful than the para-sympathetic nervous system, but that being strong has a different meaning now.

I went back to my hooker. I explained that she could not go back to her life now. I explained to her how she was at a crossroads. Before her lay two paths, and that I could not choose the path for her. I could help her down the path if she choose to follow me, but I could not pull her kicking and screaming.

That night we mourned for her old life. She explained to me the horror of her life, and I think for the first time in her life, someone listened without pity, without judgement and without anger. I listened with empathy and a kindness not born out of being righteous, but out of just being another flawed human being.

Too often, we all, including me, feel like others have it better, or are more together than we can ever be. We wear our masks, and we hide our flaws, with make-up, with jokes, with bluster or hard work or a veneer of picket fences. We fail to see that we can all be flawed. We push the world away and fail to make connections and friends because who out there is like us?

For the first time in her life she had a real friend that night.

She also got very very high.

Once I passed out she was left alone with her thoughts, alone with her decision. It took her several hours to come to a conclusion, but when she woke me up she had made her choice. She chose to live.

Then I had a choice to make. My youth had been spent doing various things that could get you fucked up. I had tried everything I could to make myself blissfully unaware of my own pains. Sometimes I still dream of getting high. Sometimes I still wake up with the feeling of being high, and then suddenly sober up and want to get high. I haven’t, and those feelings fade over time to just a shadowy memory of a time best forgotten, but they have not left me entirely. Sometimes the cold fingers of of the past try and grip on to whatever organ they can find, be it heart, head or gut; and, when they do, a person will often go through a white knuckle ride of self determination and denial of ecstasy. Not because it isn’t fun going up, but because it is absolute shit coming down.

Since I quit drugs I have smoked pot a couple of  times. I kind of give myself a pass on that, even though I shouldn’t, but it has been more than ten years since I got clean, and I am glad for that.(Holy handgrenades, it has now been 19 years!

This was the first time I had been staring down the barrel of having the means to get totally messed. I had been offered drugs a few times, mostly by E and I had always said no. I think I did it out of sheer stubbornness, not out of inner strength or determination to turn the corner on my own crap.

Yesterday morning (5 years ago) I had about an 8-ball of meth in my hands. I had the means to make myself feel better in my hot little hands for the first time. I didn’t pay for it, so it hadn’t cost me a thing to get a hold of it.

I didn’t owe it to anyone to be sober, and I didn’t owe anyone for the drugs. I could do them, feel better, feel stronger and get back that feeling of power.

At this point I had a decision to make about who I am. Am I the guy who is strong enough to say no, or am I just the guy who is strong enough not to be around it. One of the surest ways to help an addict stay clean is to help that addict change their lifestyle so that they are no longer surrounded by the temptations, ways and means of getting off on their drug of choice. This was something I did in my quest for knocking off the whole drug thing. I completely walked away from my lifestyle and the people who were associated with it.

As it turns out, I am the guy who can say no. Though it felt harder than it should have, I flushed the happy powder.

Taking a hooker to detox really changed my life. Not in the sense that anything is different. I am still the person I was the day before this all began. I am still living in the same place, and I am still poor. I am still underemployed and I am still lonely, or at least I was then.

What I am though is still a good person. I am still Strong in a way the old me could have never dreamed of. Before I left I was a new person, but I hadn’t been that person yet. Before I left I was a new man, with new skills, and none of that has changed.

Now I know who I am. And that has made all the difference.

I talked with that same friend because I wanted to explain this to them. I wanted to give this person a front row seat to who I am. I had thought that like me, they hadn’t given me any credit for being this better angel of my nature. I thought this person saw me as pathetic and weak and thought I didn’t have the ability to get the job done without resorting to violence and thuggary.

I was wrong.

Turns out this person was just scared I would get hurt. Turns out someone out there cares enough about me to be mad when I risk my safety. Turns out maybe I ma wrong about no one loving me. (turns oput I married this person! Hi cooking girl!)

I see this person’s point, and I shall not be getting this involved in some one’s care again. What I will be doing though is making sure that when I can help I will.

Today I feel good about myself.

Today I feel loved like I never have before because I love me.

Today I feel cared about because someone I care about almost said they care about me.

Today I feel good because there is one less lost soul wandering the world.

Today I feel good because I was able to do what none of my old friends could. I transcended my life and realized my potential rather than getting bogged down in my baggage.

This piece was definitely something I needed today. On a day when other’s baggage landed on my desk, I needed to be reminded that it doesn’t freaking matter!  The job matters. The people matter. The rest is ego. I have too little self-esteem to have too big of an ego so bah, whatever! I feel better, and I hope you do too, cause you are pretty awesome…. I think.