When I last spoke with my counselor, she said something that really hit home. She said that it seemed as if I turned myself into the person my attackers viewed me as. The other night, I met some really great gentlemen from Canada at work who had me dancing all night long in VIP. One of which, Peter, took me into the Champagne room, where I made like $600 in an hour and a half. WE were drinking Dom Paringon and I got pretty drunk. Peter was throwing money at me, and asked me whether Id be willing to name a price and meet up with him after work. Being pretty buzzed, and really wanting the money, I agreed and had him come over. As we were negotiating the price, he counted me out $500 in $50 bills and handed them to me, asking if that would cover everything. I said come on dont do this to me have heartedly joking, and surprisingly he told me you know, you dont have to do this, kind of like he didnt want me to go through with it, not for him, but for me. As I counted the money, I asked him what he would do if he were me and in my position. He shook his head and answered that he didnt know. That it was a tough one. I replied, yeah it is tough and it makes me want to cry. At this point I bursted into tears and completely broke down; was telling this guy what this job was doing to me and how it made me feel about myself. He asked me why I told him to come over in the first place, and I explained to him that its like Im two different people. Theres Emily, whos super sensitive, vulnerable, very sweet and caring, and who wants better for me. Then theres Celeste, whos s very tough, almost rude, who doesnt care if she hurts anyones feelings, and who gives into this stereotype society has created for me. Celeste is the one who tells me that, because of the way this society is; my role is simply that as a sexual vehicle for men to achieve satisfaction and entertainment. And since this is my role, and although I may not like it, thats the way it is, theres nothing I can do about it, so suck it up and get paid for it. After all if you cant beat em, dont you join em? Its much larger than simply turning myself into something my attackers viewed me as, but is whom society views me as. Why not get compensated for being a prop in this fucked up world we live in. Because either I get paid for it, or I dont. Either way, things will be the same and people will take advantage of me because of my sexuality. If I get paid for it, at least its not all in vein. I can make a very great life for my self being a stripper and living off the money of perverted losers who Im above. I almost feel as though itd be silly for me to stop dancing, why wouldnt I want to profit off of something that is going to exist whether or whether not I continue to dance. A problem with this, however, is the fact that my ability to get along with others, especially men, is non-existent when Im working as a dancer. Im just so pissed at them for being who they are, and how they think. So in a way, I dont ever want to be around a man, but in a way, I know I definitely dont want to live alone for the rest of my life. But would I rather live with someone capable of disgusting thoughts and actions, someone I know thinks is better than me because hes a man, someone who deep down doesnt think that rape is a big deal and actually masturbates to the fantasy. No! Absolutely not. So what do I do? Im either dammed if I do and damned if I dont. So I guess I should do what makes me feel most comfortable. Do I feel more comfortable not being a dancer? Maybe, but I know Im not at all as confident. Its like I dont know what I have to offer, it what Im offering isnt my body. What else am I good for? I know Im extremely smart, but no one ever notices my brain, trust me.

Another thing Ive noticed, is that since Ive been dancing, Ive stopped cutting myself. And its like I traded physical pain, for sexual pain. I used to hurt myself physically, because it was a more familiar pain. When I began this ritual, my parents were hitting me. Cutting myself was something I did to externalize the eternal pain I was feeling. Harder to think of my emotional pain when my fucking arm is on fire with pain. So I physically hurt myself to deal with the emotional pain I didnt know how to deal with. With a cut, you can put a band-aid and some ointment on it. But what do you do when your heart is broken? Over time, since sexual abuse became the more familiar pain, being a stripper is what I do to punish myself and externalize the inner pain I have surrounding sex. Thats some deep shit.