This next chapter is so hard to write. I am being as open and honest as I can be, and it hurts. When I was a young girl, I wanted to be like Joan of Arc. I had strayed so far from that desire; I was no longer recognizable by me. I was a shell of a person. A robot even. Flowing with the punches, and not in a good way, wherever they led me.

One of the girls at work took pity on me and let me room with her. We turned out to be great friends. I love the memory of her. We even shared a first name.

I was only a masseuse for about a year. I never sold my body but made good money. I had loyal customers. One man drove many miles regularly, just to have me give him a sponge bath. I was often asked, "What is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" I always replied, "Why are you here?"

We were not allowed by law, to get on the table with a customer and have sex. I never did. As I said, I never sold my body. I got on the floor and gave it away sometimes. Our bosses sent decoys to check on us. I had by this time considered having intercourse a natural function, like taking a shit. With no self-value logic was all I had left.

My husband had my oldest daughter call me and say he was leaving, I better come. Then twenty minutes later she would call back and say never mind. This was repeated often. I managed one time, with my roommates help, to get the kids away. Our apartment was small. but she was willing to let them stay. My oldest girl kept trying to run away. She didn't want to leave her friends. I finally had no choice but to take them back. We couldn't watch her night and day. She paid a dear price, like I had, for that choice.

I can't remember how I ended up in that house with them again, but, I did. He had gotten fired finally from his job. The business was located in a private residence. It was a few doors up the street from our house. He was still talking with his affair. There was no love there for him now, from me. He was smug, but I told him straight out, "Don't pretend you don't know where the money is coming from, you son-of -a bitch."

I was breaking out all over my hands from an allergy I guess. It was unrelenting and painful. Caused from the oils I had to use in my work. My minister said I looked like Job. I made an appointment with my doctor. While there, I broke down and cried. I never returned to that job. When I got back to the house, he kicked me out again. He told me in front of my children, to go back with your whore friends where you belong.

My oldest son said, "We wouldn't have a Christmas without you mom." Sorrowfully, it has affected his attitude about women.

Hell, no roof over head and no food either. One of my crosses to bare. I am forgiven,

I was back with Barb in the apartment. I got a job as a waitress. Not a lot of money. It was hard. The last day I worked as a masseuse I made a hundred dollars. 

You may wonder why I am baring my soul. This may help someone. I know now God always had my back. Jesus died for us sinners. Not the saints. He loves us sinners. God Bless all.