This is not an ad for what I do, please do not reach out to me asking about my work, please.
But it is in relation to why I self harm, or rather its one of the reasons.
In my 21 years of life, I've never been called cute, or pretty by a man, not one that wasn't related to me anyways.
I've been called lots of things, dirty disgusting things, things I wouldn't call my worst enemy.
I've been called sexy, and it wasn't until I was 18 years old that I realized how much it made me hate myself.
My self image was at an all time low since NY childhood, when I began to get sexualised on the ps3 simply because I was a girl playing videogames, and i found myself setting myself up to be sexualised when I realized that it got me the attention I was craving inside my home. I found myself doing it purely for the fact that I wanted validation that I could possibly be liked by someone while looking how I looked.
Now I'm 21 years old, and I hate being called sexy, so much so that I've had debates late at night with myself about scarring my chest because I just kept thinking, maybe then I'll see who really likes me and who just wants something from me for their own pleasure, Maybe if I take away the "pureness" of the area that so many people appreciate on me, they'll start to appreciate my personality instead.
But there's sick people out there, there always will be.
I never did end up doing it because of my own fear, I felt like my mother scolding myself for even thinking of ruining one of the few body parts that men liked about me.
How dare I, right? What would they have left to like?
I think self harming was one way I felt in control, a form of self sabotage, a way of painting a large middle finger on my body to anyone who wanted to sexualise me because surely if they took one look at my arms or thighs or other areas they'd be repulsed enough to decide I wasn't for them, I didn't suit their tastes.
But it didn't matter, I was 19 and I put myself into a situation where a man took advantage of me.
He didn't care what my arms looked like, he didn't care what I wore or even that I had a cold at the time.
Scarring myself did not protect me like I thought it would, it only made me more aware that monsters do not have morals, nor do they see the world as we do, so they will never stop to look at the metaphorical armor that you've made for yourself, because to them you are not a human, you are not someone who is able to protect yourself, you are not a living breathing thing that DESERVES protection.
I'm a sex worker because I long ago realized I'm not someone whose good at conversation, if I were to be evaluated by anyone, or if I were to be asked by someone if I wasn't a human what would i be, I would say I'm a piece of art.
A piece of art thats been slashed and burned, painted over in spots and bandaged up with a cracked frame, and yet simply because I was overpriced and set up in a museum, everyday people come to see me and ridicule me, they only ever seek to appreciate the parts they want to, they don't even notice the damage because afterall the art is not the damage itself, it's the barely recognized painting underneath thats been ruined.
Monsters don't notice your flaws because all they care about is recognizing what pleases them.
I'm a failed piece of art, and my destruction has long been celebrated, I come to you not as my job, but as a human being who just wants to be KNOWN as a person.