I miss being an escort

I miss being an escort. I miss the freedom to be my own boss, to work the hours and days I want, to have control over my own life. Yes, a lot of the time it wasn’t the best job, but at least I could have the freedom a spirit like mine needed.

I’m sitting around so much stuff as I write this. I have a good job, I own more things than I ever have the past 5 years of traveling combined. I have security and don’t drink nearly half as much as I did before. I’ve been going to the gym, I quit smoking, I have a savings account that’s admittedly still not the greatest but it’s better than anything I had when I was travelling.

Yet, I am unequivocally and irrevocably depressed.

I would trade everything I have right now to be back in that little brothel in Australia, surround by friends that would soon become people I used to know. A life wilder, a life untamed, an adventure left untapped. A time when I was free, where I could be free to live my highest highs and lowest lows.

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