15.
“I was in an on-again, off-again relationship with a cam girl, who also worked regularly as a sex worker and had a stint in amateur porn. We had a chance meeting in college. She didn’t think much of me at first, but over time, she began to notice me in a different light. We went out a few times until, eventually, we started officially dating. That’s when she started telling me about her side gigs. Now, at first, I was kind of accepting of it; I rationalized it as ‘finally someone cute is paying attention to me, and she’s cool, etc, so I can deal with it.'”
“It was admittedly very hard to keep those feelings of discomfort down while I realized that I wasn’t exclusive to her, that I was just a placeholder. I came to find out that she had another boyfriend in another state that she’d go out and see every so often, so I was done. It was a rough breakup on both sides. Mostly mine, though. I was in a deep malaise for about a month or two when she finally messaged me and wanted to talk. She and I began to be pretty good for a while, and that’s when I noticed she wasn’t taking good care of herself. Her apartment was a wreck, a trend that continued almost everywhere she went. She was in multiple accidents, regularly drank and took drugs, and just fucked herself up whenever she got the chance. She distanced herself from me unless we were going to a theme park, dinner, or whatever spontaneous thing she would rope me into. Yes, I know I was being used in a lot of those situations. At the time, I didn’t care. I was getting attention, and it felt good.
The contact was sparse between us. I wouldn’t hear from her for months at a time most of the time. Then one night I got a phone call from her. She sounded alright but fairly down in tone. She asked how I was and what I was up to. She told me that her fiancé had just broken up with her and that she could use a distraction. At the time, I had moved and was now almost four hours away, and it was almost 11 p.m. I told her that wasn’t possible, and she understood (although she sounded disappointed), and I told her to keep in touch.
I reached out to her the next day. Nothing. I tried several times over the course of a year — still nothing.
Until one day, when I checked her Facebook, it was converted into a memorial. That night that she called me was the night she died by suicide. Tragically, the timing might mean that I could’ve been the last person she spoke to.
Now, you might be wondering why I didn’t think to check beforehand. I don’t use social media often, and again, I often have long stretches between messages, so I thought nothing of it.
Of course, I sent her a FB message symbolically, telling her I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I’m alright now, although it still hurts a little bit.”
This post was originally published on here
