Friday, 10/02/2026

My heart started racing wildly the moment I picked up my laptop. Whenever I try to decide on a topic for my next post, my thoughts swirl around my head—there are simply too many of them, and I start to feel stressed. I then play games with myself, trying to come up with some mundane household chore (as a former professional cleaner, I sort through my thoughts while tidying up the mess). In moments of unbearable stress, I look for something high in sugar or carbs and wait for the rush to hit my bloodstream, hoping to fall asleep and forget everything.
I’ve hated this and fought against it for years. I’m getting better at handling it, though, and I’m not ashamed that it’s a weakness of mine. Through trial and error, I’ve learned that when the flood of thoughts becomes overwhelming, the best thing to do is open my laptop and start writing. I have no idea how I manage to weave all these scattered, non-chronological bits of information into a coherent whole—maybe it’s better not to think about it. :) Or perhaps it’s a gift.
Two days ago, I decided to transform my "trinity"— heart, soul, and body — into the best possible version of itself. I do not want to be perfect—and like everyone else, I never will be. I no longer need to prove my worth to anyone but myself, because I know it and carry myself with the utmost dignity I can muster, given the unforgiving circumstances. I simply want to feel fulfilled each day and have the strength to say, consciously and out loud, that I have fully realized my potential or my talents. Of course, I have my reasons — several, in fact!— but the most important one is simply: BECAUSE I CAN!
I can’t achieve this without confronting my memories, and that means pouring them out here.
Some might say I’m sharing deeply private information, selling my soul, or—put simply—that I’m incredibly boring.
For me, jerking off is boring — especially during reading about other people's experiences or watching cheap porn... It’s life in digital, instant form.
So the choice is simple: those who are with me come this way, and those who aren't can head to the adult movie sites — and we’ll all be satisfied.
 My reasoning is that, since I usually put others' well-being before my own, knowing that you read this will keep me writing. If I were writing only for myself, I’d likely get distracted, and the writing would fall by the wayside. Ha! Sometimes I have to outsmart myself.
I have high hopes that by pouring out my thoughts — analizing them and drawing conclusions — I’ll finally be able to release the emotions that hold me back the most, while also giving you something to think about. No, I don’t want to preach to anyone. I want to prove that, with a positive attitude and courage, we can heal our own souls—especially when, while reading, you realize you have been in a similar situation, or when you begin to ask yourselves the questions you usually run away from, blaming a lack of time or other *relative* factors. Yes, I wrote *relative*, because anything that depends on something or someone else is relative—it is contingent; and when TIME enters the theory of relativity, it is not we who depend on it, but rather it that depends on us.
Reading about a completely anonymous author is one thing, but perceiving someone whose image is shaped by our own imagination — based on photos, descriptions, and encounters — is quite another. Sharing these memories will not be easy; Our brains are so perfectly designed that they consign certain events and facts to oblivion—often distorting them or embellishing them with brighter colours — to make them more palatable and easier to digest.
We may think we forget as time passes, but that is merely an illusion; unfortunately, it impacts our daily lives and all living things around us, even if we try to deny it.
A chair can be broken, and a mess cleaned up and thrown away; yet everything that lives with us or alongside us is interconnected.
I would like everyone who reads this to try comparing their own problems with my experiences and to draw a meaningful lesson from them. This is my offering to those who need help but have no one to turn to, or who are simply too ashamed to ask. It is also my way of thanking all the friends who fought for my very existence right to the end—often battling against me personally—armed with patience, compliments, and stories of their own.

Most people assume that others don't ask for help because they are ashamed of struggling and fear looking foolish. Think of schoolchildren in their desks or a middle-aged man with a limp at a crosswalk.
Show me a person capable of doing everything alone or existing in total isolation. Exactly—such a person does not exist, and everyone knows it.
However, it isn't always a matter of weak character or ego.
Some people fear rejection—a negative response to a request for help—because they were likely treated poorly in similar situations in the past by someone who mattered deeply to them; now, they "protect themselves" by nursing that small trauma.
Others struggle immensely to ask for help because they likely faced accusations or harsh discipline for causing trouble and wasting someone’s precious time. I would consider such an experience pathological.
Kudos to all the parents who taught their children to ask for help and didn't brush them off with frustration or anger; these people won't get lost in the crowd. They won't worry about what others might think—whether they ask too loudly or too softly, or fear getting slapped in the face instead of receiving an answer.
When asked "How are you?", such people always answer truthfully, without the forced smiles reserved for awkward situations. They always put themselves and their own needs first—and good for them, for they will love themselves unconditionally. 

Before moving on to the next paragraph, I wish to broaden the horizons of shallow people and clarify the definition of the infinitive "to love." I will use a search engine for this purpose so that no one accuses me of fabricating outlandish definitions.

(No one has accused me yet, and here I am defending myself already :) ).

"To love means to hold someone or something in a special, deep regard—an emotion involving care, acceptance, and a desire for the other party's well-being."
...or one's own well-being.
Everyone with the right to live on this earth should love themselves; and if they do not, they should do everything possible to change that. Love, fresh air, physical activity, sunlight, and water are the fundamental elements of healthy survival and the balance of our entire being.
Without these, nothing else matters.
I would like to add something that I consider very important—and which I haven't found mentioned anywhere else, despite several attempts to do so: loving also entails having expectations.
An individual who does not demand of themselves what they demand of others transforms into a narcissistic and selfish person — a monster consumed by pride — but I will save the discussion of such cases for another time.

A young child, absorbent as a sponge, is curious about everything because everything is new. Through the senses, every second becomes a sensory analysis conducted in a way known only to the child. Until the child begins to speak, the mother is the most important figure—provider, primary role model, and a sanctuary amidst any threats. Later, the first questions arise, and the child begins to make decisions. It is a matter of debate whether one should offer guidance or simply observe the child so they can learn to navigate their instincts; however, it is certain that parental behaviors and reflexes are indelibly imprinted in the child's memory and drawn upon in relevant situations. The consequences of emulating one's parents vary.
I am convinced that a person's life is also shaped by generations preceding their parents, the political and economic system of the country where the child grows up, contact with nature and animals, media content, the prevalence of electronic devices in their environment, the type of music they hear, the presence or absence of routine, and empathy.
After the mother—even though a child generally retains no conscious memories from before the age of three—the most significant figures are those who enter the child's world later: fathers, grandparents, and family friends, along with the emotions experienced during these interactions. We are part of the cosmos, and it is a known fact that opposites attract; the same applies to gender—it is encoded in our chromosomes. Thus, it comes as no surprise that boys insistently seek acceptance from the most important woman in their lives—their mother—while girls look to their fathers for approval. Children who do not receive enough love, time, and presence from ideologically driven parents develop emotional or psychological disorders.
I do not want to speculate on the specific types of disorders—there are simply too many—but I am an example of "family dysfunction," and I pay a very high price for it every day.

Some time ago, one of my sex partners asked me during a get-together how I managed to stay so positive. I replied that my life hadn't exactly been sweet as honey, and I’d had a choice: either love people and find joy in the tiniest things, or hate life and resent others—a path that would have quickly led to suicide—so I chose life. I’m writing about this because on Wednesday, another sex partner of mine, Tim, sent me a link to a documentary about Audrey Hepburn; he added that while watching it, he realized we had a lot in common. I chuckled to myself, but I know Tim well enough to know he wouldn't waste my time with nonsense—especially now, while I’m in the middle of recovering.
I didn't hesitate; I turned on Netflix on the TV I’d hauled in for the cats, and I was left speechless when Audrey said in an interview that she had a choice between loving life and hating it...
At that point, I had no choice but to watch it to the end. I didn't learn anything new about the girls' issues regarding their father, but it certainly reinforced my existing convictions even more strongly.

For the second time while watching the documentary, I froze: when the actress was asked how she is doing in life, she replied that she was a "lucky girl". — That is exactly my answer, too.
I believe that Audrey, like me, had a heart as vast as the extent to which she was misunderstood in her private life — viewed only through the prism of her career and the emotional voids left by her family.

The loneliest people are those surrounded by crowds of "fans." We pretend to be funny and happy to mask personal setbacks, failures, or a stroke of bad luck. We show only what is convenient for the audience — just to please them or dodge uncomfortable questions. We understand too much, which leads to feeling alienated even in a crowd, and we constantly seek the same quality of love that we freely give to anyone who spares us even a shred of attention. We let ourselves be used just to belong, and then we cannot forgive ourselves for it.
I won’t put a specific label on these situations — they are hard to classify — but rest assured: when I call myself a "lucky girl," that is exactly what I mean.
I am happy that, while desperately and somewhat unconsciously searching for my true self, I met so many fantastic, good people. Most of them are now my close friends — and not just for sex. Those I told I loved hold a place in my heart forever. There will be a separate piece about the beginnings of my work as an escort, and I will feel gratitude toward everyone who worked hard to make it happen — every single time I think about it.
Over the last two years of my life, I’ve been incredibly lucky to experience miracles and various kinds of love. Often, friends have showered me with parental love and engaged in the kind of tough conversations I never experienced in my childhood home. These lessons didn't come in chronological order — they were more sporadic — but as I’ve mentioned before, I view my ADHD as a talent, so I have no trouble piecing the puzzle together.
Everything is finally making sense and feeling complete; I find joy in scratching my daughter’s back and grooming the cats who get jealous of her.
I’ve allowed myself a few weeks of rest and feel like a grown-up; I only make decisions when I have no doubts. Next week, I’m starting yoga teacher training. And no, I’m not getting married after all — despite needing a Social Security number — because I believe in a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.
You’ve dug up this old fossil of mine, and I have a huge appetite for life now :)
Thank you all so much!!!

I’ve grown up, and I behave like an adult more often. Responsibility means fewer funny situations for me to write about. I like laughing at myself and making good people laugh. Just imagine: because of my sensitive eyes, I’m typing this while wearing sunglasses after sun goes down:P

I didn't manage to analyze the relationship with my dad today, but I trust the universe that this — admittedly long — preamble and introduction are exactly as they’re meant to be.

Peace and Love,
Goodnight.