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Whore

by Amy Baker 4 years ago in relationships / taboo

An autobiography by Amy Baker

The first instalment

There are two things in life that require bare naked truth and reciprocity between two people: sex and trust. These two things often coincide. One syllable words that are upheld as be all end all.

Sex is a three letter word with a value of 10 if you’re playing scrabble. Potentially more if played right. Potentially life threatening if played wrong. And in my life, it was too often played wrong. But one good placement won me the whole game.

Trust and sex bring people closer and closeness is one thing I lacked growing up. The first crack appeared in my childhood.

I loved sleeping in my parent's bed. Longing for the feeling of protection and kind human embrace. But I grew too old for this umbilical cord and it was cut; they bought me a new bed, moved me to a new room and created a new crack in a soon to be canyon. I may have looked old enough, but I sure as hell did not feel old enough. I was no longer close to anyone. This simple childhood milestone came too soon. All I had was the gray ceiling that I stared at, wide eyed, throughout the night, and the nightmares that followed upon closing my eyes. Sure, I could have told my parents about this, but I was a BIG GIRL, not a baby anymore. A true big girl in conscious masquerade, but a baby subconsciously quivering in fear. Dreaming up fear. Lying in fear. I dreamt of a man breaking into the house and murdering everyone. Everyone but me that is (that’s what I hoped for when I woke up from it). Grotesque, but hey - that’s life. To this day I am not certain why a kid of a young age would fear such a surreal thing, but it has plagued me for years and years. A thing like sleeping alone is trivial, but as I will come to realise in life – trivial things, if not handled properly, leave not so trivial scars.

While my mother nurtured and cared for me, she was not a protector like my father. She provided me closeness, but he made me feel safe. Until he no longer was there. With only me and my mom left how could we fend for ourselves? Against whom should we fend? The murderer of my dreams or the father? At times, I could not distinguish which of them plagued my dreams. I came to realise how alike humans are with nature. We can be riddled with canyons and catastrophes. There is no limit to how many natural phenomena we experience throughout our life, we must carry on and support life. And lack of closeness was not the only phenomena withering away gorges in me; Lack of fatherly presence was felt all the way to my core. The little time that we did spent together was misused creating gaps in our relationship. It was hard.

I searched for protection in the beds of strangers. Trying to replace the ghost touch of my father with other sensations. They’re all bodily sensations so why should it matter if they differ?

I’m not here to shock or provoke. At times an embrace is just an embrace and a story is just a story. And unlike a certain other Baker I will not leave 13 tapes to tell it. These are just events in their cohesive order. They are not the cause of me being a whore, which I would gladly blame on them, but a retelling of how I came to be. Take it with a grain of salt and by the end you might even want to finish it off with a shot of tequila.

relationshipstaboo

Amy Baker

I lived through stuff and survived some stuff. Well survived physically, not so sure about my mental state. I am what I am. Take what you can of the stories of how I become. Learn from my mistakes, but share my joys as well.

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Amy Baker
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