Introduction

I’m a getting-on-to-middle age professional woman: alcoholic (bottle of wine a night minimum), sexually inappropriate, inclined to self-harm, and determined to sabotage friendships and whatever achievements I might grasp. I am multi-phobic, I alternate between extremes of fear and anger and am horrified by myself and, often, others.

I don’t want your pity. I just want to give you the facts.

I’ve been thinking for a while about composing a memoir. “They” say that writing things out tends to help you overcome problems; I assume it’s because writing gives you some sense of control. Well, control is what I require: I seem hell bent on self-destructing.

This is my rough draft of a life that, in some ways, reflects the standard story of childhood trauma leading to abusive relationships and addiction. But it also includes involvement in the sex trade and, ultimately, a professional career. In an effort to save that career (and, perhaps, my life), I’m beginning this ’blog.

The point of this narcissistic exercise? So much of my existence--my experience--has been hidden, secret, falsified, that I feel fake. Unreal. By putting it “out there,” I hope to make those experiences more concrete, more real, and less debilitating.

I’ll remain anonymous because everything I write will be verifiably true, and some of this material could harm my current life.

Again, no pity. I’ve achieved some remarkable things, and I wouldn't have achieved them without my experience; this is simply an attempt to order that experience.


NB: If you have any questions for me, any comments on the blog’s form / content, or wish to share experience, please leave a comment here or you can email me.

Funny that “sordid” rhymes with “sorted”--“organized, tidied up, put right”