If I Was Drugged I Still Hate Myself

I’m annoyed to have to write this, but it’s part of my story and it’s the truth. The truth should instantly change people. But it doesn’t. Time always shows the proof of that. The truth has reeled in my head time and time again, and I won’t do it to myself today. Today is a new day. I’m tired of being a victim, and today I will not be subjected to my mind. So I will state the truth plainly to not arouse my mind.


Three or so weeks ago, I was heavily intoxicated working in the club, I felt and spoke of things getting a little  blurry. My customer goes to the bar. My memory is blurry, he is telling someone he wants a champagne room with me. He moves quickly to the lobby. I remember this because my customers usually walk behind me. And there was a tiny step by the bar, and I was angry he didn’t take my hand. My thoughts were floating question marks. Why does he want to do a room? Why is he checking which room he wants? Doesn’t he know how this is going to end? My mind answered back, it’s a room, take the money. None of the cameras work anyway. You’re in control. Let him be disappointed a second time.

I remember the first time we did a room. It was close to a year ago.He was in the lobby. VIP came to me to let me know he was ready to do a room. I remember wondering why he hadn’t told me himself. We sit across from each other. He says “I want in.” He continues about how he has money and for me to name  the price. I say I have no price. It’s not my thing. I don’t have sex. Unconcerned he questions whether someone did something to me, and that someone is going to get it sooner or later. “I want in. I’m not going to wait forever.” I repeat myself. The room is over in ten minutes. The VIP guy is even surprised and says so. He responds, “We skipped to the good part.”

Currently my chest is starting to hurt, but I’ve prolonged writing this so I’m going to skip to the facts.

my clothes came off
he ordered two shots, two club sodas
I am in a position where his weight is over me on the couch
he chokes me
he starts saying some dominatrix shit
he kissed me
I bite his cheek hard
he’s mad he goes to the bathroom saying I don’t think this is going to work.
These events are floating, I am floating and I’m feeling like- something is not right
I go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet.
Somehow my room is over. VIP gives me blue money while I’m still in the room.

My customer requests more time, I say I have to go to the dressing room. Something is not right. But I make it to the dressing room. Im in the bathroom stall. Then my face feels the coolness of the bathroom floor. I hear voices. Then I’m out.


Four hours later, I’m still in the dressing room. I regain some consciousness and then I’m throwing up, til I’m repeatedly dry heaving, crying over and over. Stating over and over that “something is not right. I think I was drugged.” An angel is telling me “Yes, I know. You aren’t yourself today. It’s okay.” I keep crying and tell that angel to go back downstairs and make her money. She smiles because she hears me returning. Then she eventually leaves. I think about what wasn’t right. Sure I had a few drinks but the part that was off was I had felt no emotion. No emotion when I was kissed, or even choked. My bite didn’t hold anger it was a response. I couldn’t move my arms. All I had was my mouth. I get dressed and call a cab. I save my fears, and anger, and sadness for my shower. My boyfriend bathes me as I sit in the bathtub crying while the shower ran. Soup nor water would stay in my stomach all morning. I had panic attacks every day throughout the day for a week. It was annoying, because I didn’t want to look crazy losing my head in public. So I stopped leaving the house. My boyfriend stayed home with me for more than a week.

I would like to say I’m getting better. I would like to say I quit drinking. I like to say I quit my job. Truth is, I’m laying in bed at 2p.m. not washed, eating Papa John’s, waiting for my boyfriend to get off so I can get up, cook, watch a movie, have a beer, and do it again tomorrow.

I’ve been to work once since the incident. Why go back? I’m scared of having nothing again. No purpose. No money. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s like a light should be coming on that stripping is a small chapter in my life. But I keep trying to make it longer, or worth it. And now seeing the end is like seeing the end of pricetag dreams. That day should have been a wake-up call, not a death notice. Yet I keep seeing myself die in this room every day. Though this is easiest way emotions can be balanced and my mind can be at peace. It is what it is. I can’t change how everything is affecting me. Only time can do that. And only time will tell.