The Honest Courtesan

24 years ago on Memorial Day (it was the 29th that year), I suffered a deeply-traumatic experience which permanently shaped my feelings.  In the old Twilight Zone TV show, characters were often subjected to weird events which caused them to change their minds about some belief; well, I’m exactly the opposite.  Whenever something bad happens to me, it’s much more likely to confirm my prejudices than to challenge them, and the event to which I allude was no exception.  I had always disliked and distrusted cops, and after what was done to me that night any vestige of tolerance for their existence and behavior evaporated, long before I started doing sex work full-time.  For years I suffered panic attacks at the slightest sign of a cop, and though I eventually learned to manage those (to the point where I mostly managed to keep my head when I was caught in a “sting” in 2005), this day remained difficult for me and has remained so ever since.  Over the past several years I’ve dealt with it mostly by spending the day with someone I love; in 2016 it was my wasband (who took me to Disneyland), in 2017 it was Lorelei, and last year it was Brooke.  This year I originally planned to go back to the UK, where I didn’t even have to hear the awful day named:  unfortunately, the planning proved far too anxiety-provoking so I had to cancel, and instead I went out to Sunset (and plan to return to Seattle today).  Alas, the distraction proved insufficient, and I’m typing this Sunday evening in a deep state of emotional exhaustion.  I don’t feel sad or upset; just very, very tired.  Anyhow, I’m not telling this all again in order to get sympathy, nor to lend impact to my statements about why government is evil; I guess I’m just explaining why I’m completely uninterested in hearing defenses of rapist thugs society would be far better off without.