#stripperlife

Let's talk Stripping. Goals. Failure. Success. My year wrapped and bundled up into one post. This is long and rambly and will explain just why I haven't been on my account.

When I started 2024, I opened a HYSA. Day one. I marked it off in a brand new planner. Smiled, turned the page in the small journal I'd bought. My car still smelled and looked as new as it was. Dental and vision appointments were made. I'd searched groupon for the perfect opportunity to get microneedling, a hair cut, waxing. My wardrobe was in the process of being meticulously planned. I was going to apply to school for sonography.

I was saving ten thousand dollars for a future pregnancy. Ten thousand toward a house down payment.

I had a great day. The love of my life and I had a rather emotionally charged conversation. I was sure the year was going to be beautiful. Perhaps I felt as if we were blossoming, soon my dreams were going to be coming to fruition. So close I could taste it-- but i had a weird feeling that night. He said goodnight and I deleted my rambling message telling him to be really careful and safe, that I loved him... I told myself I'd talk to him about it tomorrow.

January second and third, I was anxious and couldn't find the cause. He didn't reply but I thought maybe he was stressed and busy working.

January fourth I opened a message from a mutual friend. The love of my life was dead.

Every single plan I had was out the window immediately. That was the day my world stopped turning. What no one told me was-- for me? It would never start spinning again. I canceled all of my appointments because I was sick out of my mind. I couldn't eat because my stomach wouldn't allow me to hold anything down. My eyes were swollen and puffy. I didn't want to be seen like that. I slept every out of the day that I could.

Two weeks later I was back in the strip club bawling my eyes out while I twerked in nothing but a small piece of fabric. I chugged down pineapple vodkas like it was water to get through. I managed $1600.

After that life blurred and smeared together like a smudged dry erase marker. I remember little but somehow everything.

Months later I landed myself in the hospital. Stroke alert. Possible seizure. My heart rate sustaining the 150s resting like it's nothing. MRI after MRI. CTs like nobodies business. Ativan, and lots of it. Two EEGS. Pysch consults. I couldn't walk properly.

I started a nerve pain medication that helps with seizure. It helped a little. Not enough. My ability to strip started slowing. It was so much harder to be sexy and sober when in pain. I lost all of my pole tricks I'd worked so hard for. My savings were done for.

Back to the hospital I went. They called a rapid. Transient AMS. Tachycardia. More CTS. Endoscopy. Seizure. Labs. Another echo. Great, you've got gastritis now too.

I haven't been to the club in over a month. I ache for the young woman who was bright and walked into this year with her head high. I want to dance. I miss my heart pounding in my ears. I miss the money being thrown on me. I miss the three hundred dollar days. I miss the thousand dollar days. I miss my feet being in pleasers. I miss it.

I danced for three years and don't know what I have to show for it.

Let this be a lesson.