The year 2000 was no doubt the darkest year of my entire existence. Mind you, it wasn’t until 2001-2002 that my family would begin dropping like flies; I lost 9 of them in all during this dreadful time.
Misery consumed me at this point in my life and I was as far gone as I’d ever been. You see, I had stop stripping in 1998. When I fled the industry and an abusive relationship with Jeremiah’s father I promised God that, if He’d rescue me from the lonely, vile pit I had willfully dwelled in for so long, that I would never, ever go back. Now, if you take anything with you tonight, take with you this simple piece of advice… “NEVER break a promise to God.” Believe you me, He’s a God of love and a God of Grace, but He will go all Old Testament on your ass if you push Him far enough. I did.
On all I hold sacred, I swear that it was the purest of intentions that I bid farewell to my days as a topless dancer. This was significant because, since I was very young this industry was the only professional life I had ever really known. Shortly after leaving the club, I took a job with the airlines making $5.25 per hour as my initial wage, which paled in comparison to the ridiculous amounts cash money I made in the club.
If my life weren’t changing rapidly enough, I also escaped a 4-year, sadistically abusive relationship with Jeremiah’s father. Jeremiah was just two-years old when I discovered that he was playing with a meth-infested, glass pipe; he was using it like a whistle. That was the crescendo of the madness for me. It took that much for me to finally leave him.
Urgently, with the help of my mother and friends, the baby and I fled from our large, two-story home in just one day; all while Jeremiah’s father was at work. We moved into an older, efficiency apartment near my mother’s house and were in hiding from my ex for well over six months. The photo below is the exact floorplan of the 488 square foot apartment we moved into. It wasn’t anything like the luxury properties I had resided in before but it was our haven; we were finally safe.
I asked God to save me from a life of excruciating, ravishing pain, sin, and sorrow. He did. I even prayed fervently that He would burn down the club that I had worked in for 6 years. A week later He did! An online news article I dug up had this to say:
“On the morning of Thursday, November 18th, the fire at Caligula was so fierce that it took firefighters most of the day to control it. The business is currently closed and the property has been fenced until the debris can be removed.”
God moved Heaven and Earth to save, not just my pitiful, sin-infested life, but the life of my precious child as well. So imagine his dismay when I returned to dancing in 2000. It would prove to be one of the deadliest decisions I ever made.
The irony of me leaving my job at the airlines that year to begin dancing again full-time is that I almost never went to work! I would spend weeks… sometimes as long as an entire month planning to go to work, but I could never seem to make myself just go. The thought of it made me violently sick and brought forth extreme fear and panic attacks.
And don’t forget, I asked God to let the club that I had essentially grown up in and was so comfortable in the burn to the ground! I had to find a new place to work, I was getting older, I didn’t have my old friends to work with or my former clientele to support me. I quickly became a little fish in a really big pond; something I wasn’t at all accustomed to. Fear consumed me.
What’s worse is that my cocaine addiction escalated to such an extreme that it completely overtook me. I overdosed more times that I can recall and can say with great certainty that I should have died on several occasions. I’ve had to call 911 on myself more than once because I was terrified that my heart might explode.
I would always promise myself that I wasn’t going to do coke when I got to work, but time after time I always ended up doing shots and downing Grey Goose Cosmos to loosen myself up and dull the pervasive anxiety of having to take my clothes off for the swarms of debaucherous men I would have to pretend to adore all night.
Wouldn’t you know that each and every time my buzz would kick in that I’d swiftly leave the club? It was as if I had no control over my own body. It was as if my car were on auto-pilot. I drove wild and recklessly as if a tenacious, demonic force had placed blinders on my spiritual eyes, beckoning me down the same deadly path that led straight to the door of the one person who was always willing to hook me up and get me high.
The man who had been giving me the cocaine for so many years may very well have been one of the 7 Princes of Hell. Even now, thoughts of this filthy creature make me want to vomit. I don’t think I’ve ever hated a person, but I hate this man. To say that this man took advantage of my visibly fragile state would be the understatement of the century.
There is so much I could say about this vile reprobate, but obviously, almost 13 years later, it would appeart that I am not fully healed from what he did to me. I guess scars don’t hurt, right?
All I can tell you is that there came a night when my mind was clearly not my own. That year I had dabbled with Wicca (long story), which essentially invited Satan and a few of his closest pals to have an all-out Mardi Gras in my life.
Reflecting back now on who I was that year is like an out-of-body experience for me. When I try to go back to that place to find healing and closure, it’s like I’m watching a movie starring some hopelessly lost,recklessly wild, out of control girl; but it damn sure isn’t me. I don’t know who I was then. I swear my soul was somewhere else.
As you may have noticed, this entry is long. There’s something I want to say for the first time in my life, but fear that I may be dancing around the subject a bit. It’s bitterly painful to admit. It’s a secret that I have buried so deep that I honestly don’t even give any attention to the matter anymore. I guess I’m living my life, pretending that what happened, simply did not happen. But Oh God, it did happen…
(Story continues on “The Killer in Me: Part II”)