It’s not about your socks. It’s not about your sacred hoodie. It’s not about your underpants. It’s not about your shoes or your cock.

It’s about your second selves.

The ones that are whispering in your year that the sex work you are doing is killing you.

That is not a politically correct message, but there it is.

Frankly, your tricks can smell you coming.

It’s the smell of vulnerability. This is what so many of them are out there hunting for. In the past, you have agreed to be tied up. You use the excuse that you need the extra money.

Now, a word of caution.

Whenever a trick agrees to pay more for something you do not normally engage in, he’s telling you what you want to hear. It is a lie. It is always a lie. Always.

You know this. Your willingness to be tied up has gotten beaten up so badly, you’ve required surgery.

How is it that you intend to keep doing sex work with the ostomy bag. Do you hide it.

I’m here to tell you that shit scares the shit out of them.

I am here to tell you that looking at continuing to do sex work is an obfuscation. It means you are clouding the real issue. The real issue is the hole your shit is poring from.

What I hear you asking all your second selves is how could you have done this – how could you be that vulnerable – how was it, you let a violent trick tie you up and beat the shit out of you.

Literally.

What I hear you saying is that your shit is a message to everyone who would exploit you. That you will shit on them if their behavior doesn’t stay within the sexual boundaries you have recently invented. That would include not acknowledging the shit bag.

You are conflicted.

It is not a conflict to take into the landscape of sex work.

Acknowledging that the bag of shit exists.

I know you think sex work has allowed to to not starve and it has kept you alive.

But today, it’s killing you.

The shit flowing into the bag of mixed messages is telling everyone that they better stay away. I strongly suggest that you could articulate the idea they people should – stay away from you for now, don’t get close, you need time to see this new you – the one with the bag of shit, and your coming to terms with it is going to determine whether you chose to live or die. It’s not about your socks. Your clothes. Your friends. Your tricks. Your lovers. It’s about your choices. There is a universe of them out there. And the ones you have decided to act on are killing you.

It’s called suicide. By whatever means. You have the option of speaking to that voice you carry around that wants to die. You might want to get to know it – what power does it have over you – apparently, it has the drive to turn you inside out, and everyone can see your shit and your guts but you.

https://www.instagram.com/timbarrus/