In my history, I have learned that every time I am passionate about something, it leads to being burnt out…I’m terrified that my only monetizable asset is my ability to be a motherfucking hologram, but instead of being a rad Tupac I’m the Manic Pixie Dream Girl for sad middle aged white men with too much money.
This is an asset that depreciates with age and weight fluctuation, and doesn’t really utilize any qualities that I truly find valuable (that was not a tits and ass reference, but those are also applicable). I have learned that working three jobs, or putting everything I have into one particular position that I feel strongly about, and it all leads to having zero life at all or major depressive episodes while still barely making rent (if that!).
-Me, to friends, in a recent email
Who knew that being a MPDG could be a professional choice?
Some of my best connections with clients have revolved around their total idealization of me. The dynamic actually mimics several ill-advised relationships I had several years ago, and when I first made the connection that some of my better paying clients fall into that category, I celebrated. If I’m going to be someone’s MPDG, I would like to be paid for it!
The downside, though, is that the other side of my professional life is stagnant at best, and I’m not sure how to get out of it.
The demoralization that accompanies:
- applying to approximately one bazillion jobs and still getting nowhere
- working a ridiculous amount of hours for a paltry paycheck
- being mocked in an interview for a cashier position for being “overqualified” while still not being nearly qualified enough for anything in the industries I have experience in
is wearing me thin.
It makes me wonder if this is the only thing I can do well.
The circumstances of my life are causing me to reconsider a notion that I have held consistently true: that sex work was a choice for me.
I started doing sex work on a lark, but it was a desperate lark. I was miserable at my old job, had applied for a ton of “legitimate” jobs and gotten nowhere (I SENSE A PATTERN HERE), and needed something to get out of the awful funk I was in.
Being a dominatrix turned out to be fun, and opened a world of new things for me. I don’t regret the decision in the slightest. Not all of the clients fit the description from that email above; some of them are incredibly kind, wonderful people, and I’ve enjoyed my interactions with them. The struggle is that I feel like my options are significantly limited beyond that. It seems like it is the only profession I could possibly have that will actually provide some financial stability without making me miserable.
I know that the voice within me that thinks all of this is pathetic is largely fed by the stigma against sex workers and what it supposedly means to be one. Acknowledging that voice at all makes me feel like a traitor to myself and my community. A part of me would just like to know that there are more options that are available to me (realistically speaking). I want to know that there are options that don’t rely on my tits (I mean, listen, they are fantastic, but they aren’t going to stay that way forever).
My recent band-aid for that has been to take on a ton of new projects and teach myself a million new things. I have cooked a ton of new recipes lately, experimenting with food in a way that I haven’t before (and hey, it’s all been generally healthy!). I am trying to write more, although I’m struggling with inspiration at the moment. I taught myself a new knitting stitch. I have made about a dozen projects from Pinterest, ranging from a map lampshade to a wine cork bulletin board. I have taken up embroidery, and I have started learning code from Codecademy. The list of things goes on and on. I’m mostly trying to keep my hands busy.
How typical for one part of my life to be a wreck while the rest remains pretty damn fantastic.
I cannot be the only sex worker that feels stuck like this. Am I?