A letter to my readers

Every so often, I receive an email from a reader of this blog, thanking me for being so open about my experiences. Before I started this blog, there wasn't really too many black voices out there talking about the things I write. Sure there were black sexuality blogs, but I hadn't seen once that so boldly stepped out there and laid it out raw the way I do. I know I'm not the only one. I've had the privilege to meet other black women such as myself. I just wonder why I'm the only voice out there speaking these things.

Maybe other black women are afraid of confirming stereotypes that America holds about black women. Today I was talking with my friend and she asked me do I ever get tired. Tired of living up to the stereotypes of a prostitute. Before you go "Damn", her and I were talking about the perceptions that others have held for my life since I was a baby. People assumed and voiced the opinion that I would be a whore just like my mother. A prostitute. And in so many ways, I have lived up to that.

I've sold myself for money. Given sex away as freely as one passes out tissues, and allowed so many men to walk over me. I've had children with different fathers, and abortions by even more men. Isn't that what a prostitute does? Haven't I been a good whore? My friend said maybe I should start defying those stereotypes others have laid on my life. That I need to rise above those expectations.

My friend grows flustered with me. She was there for me when I came out, and is dumbfounded that I continue to have sex with men. The fear of losing her is foremost in my mind. What if she grows fatigued with my shenanigans? Any friend, even a really good one, will grow frustrated with hearing the same ratchet behavior all the time. I know sometimes she dissociates when I talk about my abuse. I think it's too much for her. Lately, I've tried to keep from discussing anything too serious out of fear that eventually she won't talk to me. I don't want her to see me as her dramatic self-centered friend. But I think that's what I've become. I'm going through so much right now, and I have no one to talk to. Well, I have one other friend. A new one who is addicted like me. So much of our life stories are similar. But I worry about stressing her out, and losing her too.

Even though I created this blog to have a secret place to write down my experiences and feelings, it's become so much more. It's become an outreach to other people, a confirmation that someone else shares this dark secret. A secret so terrible that they are afraid to disclose it, because it could mean the lose of those they love. People are able to see someone who's just like them, living in the margins, who's less than perfect and isn't afraid to put it out. I just hope that the people who read this will decide to open up about their lives. You never know who you influence or help with what you write. It might give someone the strength to keep going.