The Catharsis of a Good Girl

Today is a Sunday of gray skies and deafening silence.

The food I have stored will last two more days, while the basic bills pile up in the corner of the table.

I find myself at a crossroads, like in the story of Little Red Riding Hood, which I read so many times in childhood. The Wolf feels real now, and I feel as defenseless as the poor grandma.

I see myself paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, while the pressure of desperation suffocates me and pushes me toward impulsive action.

My pride will not allow me to do what seems necessary.

This is my last day as an ordinary woman. I have stood on the edge of prostitution for some time, my hands trembling and a knot in my throat.

I have spent the past two months oscillating in this uncertainty about tomorrow. It was a rock-bottom idea, and I fell quickly, fell deep, until I arrived here.

I have cried for years, until my tears ran dry. In these past weeks, I allowed myself to smile, afraid I might never genuinely smile again.

Would it be arrogance to feel so deeply and still not be able to accept that I must sell my body to survive?

I wake up every day knowing the next one could be the day I bury my values. And in fact, that day has arrived. Starting tomorrow, I will live through a persona and search within myself for a truth that does not belong to me.

Loneliness is dark and terrifying. Still, I wish I could share what I feel with someone to validate that I am still a person, that I can still be seen.

I am not ready for this new life. Perhaps no one ever is. But I know I am strong, and the death of my ego will never be worse than failing in my duty to provide.