Faces of the Game
I wake up every morning in a 2 bedroom high-rise, I walk into my bathroom, shower, and then my walk-in closet. It is most women’s dream. Designer shoes, designer bags, rows of dresses, skirts, tops, jumpsuits, matching sets… It’s everything I ever dreamed of…. Right?
So why does walking into this closet bring such sadness into my heart? Why are my YSL and Louis Vuitton bags collecting dust? Why do I exit my closet and go to my dresser to throw on sweatpants and sweatshirts?
I’ve spent 11 years in “The Game” with different Pimps, a multitude of wife-in-laws and working girl friends. I took pride in the comments of being one of the rare ones. Especially being one of the black girls that “made it”. I wasn’t the typical street-walking kind or the ones in the booty club. I made it to the upscale websites and worked at the upscale clubs. I was “goals” the one they “looked up to” and for a while that was my motivation.
When most people meet me they ask “why aren’t you a model” or suggest I find an NBA player to wife me up. Such a beautiful and well-spoken young lady, the thought of being a sex worker doesn’t even cross their mind. Much less a Pimped out sex worker. It’s a blessing right?
Scrolling through social media pictures all you see is a pretty face, body enhancements, nice jewelry, and a beautiful smile. I’ve only driven foreign cars, only walked in red bottoms with a designer handbag and wallets to match. I was blessed in the Game with choosing the type of folks that wanted his women to look upscale and good for their image. No drugs were allowed in this program, only thing you could be addicted to was your trafficker.
How could a girl with all that - that could pass for an IG model - be so ungrateful for the life she was blessed with? Obviously, I was treated well. Obviously, my folks loved and cared for me… I have all my teeth, I have good hair, and professional pictures on my ads. I’m on top of the Game. Why would one walk away when you have everything a girl could want?
It is what people don’t see that truly stands out to me. That under my fashionable outfits were ugly bruises and scars. That under my wig cap were bald spots. That beneath the clothing were brands marking someone’s ownership over me. That I was property. On the back of my neck were scars from how many times the shiny chains were snatched off my neck. That under my well-done makeup were even more scars and bruises from the physical abuse that needed to be covered up so I could take the beautiful pictures that everyone could see and get back to making money for someone else.
People would never look at me and guess how many guns I’ve had held to my head, how many sexual assaults I’ve endured, or how many drugs have entered my body in my hopes of not waking up.
On one hand, leaving the Game, those things benefited me in transitional ways of finding housing, finding regular jobs and just being a regular part of society without all the stares and judgements. But who would’ve expected those things to also be my downfall and add to the loneliness and fear that come with not fitting a mold to the point where your story or background isn’t heard?
When I first moved to my state I reached out to organizations to get help. My experience with that has added to the sadness I feel every day when I enter my walk-in closet. Who would’ve thought the material possessions I was able to leave with or the car I drive would cause unexpected judgment from the people that designed programs to help those like me? I never imagined that help would be so limited for someone that looked like me because I was the “rarity” in the Game or because I don’t have the obvious marks of what they THINK a human trafficking survivor looks like.
This has been an unexpected hurdle in my mission to break free of the life and build anew. It has also driven me back into the only life I knew because I know one group of people that would somewhat take me seriously because of the financial benefit I could bring to their lives.
Now the trauma has doubled. Traumatized living a life of selling my body and soul to people for money, and traumatized trying to escape it all by people who don’t believe I’m worthy of their help because I “look” like I have it all together.
I sit here lonely, in this high-rise, empty and hopeless that there is no escape or end to this world I created for myself. Surrounded by material possessions that remind me of a place I want to escape from but also the only place that seems to accept me.
I empathize with the women like me. The “pretty” girls. The “put-together” girls. The ones with the BMWs and Mercedes. The ones with the chains and the Rolex. The ones who flash their beautiful smiles in everyone’s faces daily just to go back to their houses and endure abuse and be degraded day and night. The ones that have to suffer beneath the beauty and the designer because no one is willing to listen to the cries of a girl whose life seems to be perfect.
You are not alone in this world. What we endure is as valid as the drug addict living in the $20 motel. We have similar stories, we’ve endured disrespect and torture, manipulation and brainwashing, we carry the same pain and the same scars. You are seen and there are many of us out here who see you and understand. You are not alone.
From my own experience, I have felt that it's a bit more difficult for me to seek or find help to exit the lifestyle because the help doesn’t seem geared toward the women that have had my particular experience. That my struggles weren’t seen as deep because I portrayed an image of perfection and wealth. I’ve sat in rooms that many can’t but with the same sick and hopeless feelings about myself that every other victim has. But when I entered the rooms designed to help US, my struggles weren’t taken as seriously and in-depth as the scars they’ve left.
What someone drives or how they dress is NOT an indication of if they are in need of help or not. For some of us, that is ALL we have. We have no self worth, no self esteem, and no hope. We have bags and shoes. We have no family or close friends, we have followers and fans. Many of us have no means of escaping it because in society what we have is seen as desirable. It’s hard to walk into a shelter head to toe in the latest fashions and expect someone to believe that you are broken. Also feeling that we don’t deserve the same help because we have also been conditioned to believe we are different. We are the ones who don’t ask for help. Who don’t want to seem needy because it’s drilled into our heads how good we have it and how we aren’t like the others.
My hope is that one day, human trafficking can be seen as a broad and faceless world issue. That there is a better understanding of ALL victim/survivor types. That all of us are accepted with open arms and understood. A person shouldn’t have to be at the end of their road homeless, multiple felonies, and barely able to stand in order for them to need a way out of the horrors those too are faced. My wish is that one day programs and advocates take a moment to acknowledge ALL of the faces of the games. From the different skin colors, to the different avenues we are in from the internet to the strip clubs to the brothels to the blades. That the Vegas girl who makes 5k a night is in pain as well. That the girls who work out of the upscale hotels are in fear for their lives as well.
Many of us don’t make it out. After 11 years in this lifestyle I’ve known countless girls murdered, overdosed, and that died by suicide because they don’t find another way out. Many of these girls have their beautiful photos shown on their news reports and you wouldn’t have guessed this young lady was being sex trafficked. Each time I hear about another loss I truly wonder what could’ve happened if they knew there was help out there for them too, even though they didn’t “fit the mold.”
The next time you see the beautiful girl with the long blonde hair and high heels, please don’t let your first thought be “she’s got it made.” The girl that is smiling could easily be a young woman masking years of abuse and pain and simply putting on the mask she was taught to wear just to make it through the day. To look at someone and not believe their struggles and pain are as significant is truly the same idealism that Pimps build into our heads of “we have it good so why would we need a way out.” It adds to the thought of us being ungrateful for this life we are so “blessed” to have and adds to us overlooking why this is a way to live.
The next time you’re contacted by a young lady that doesn’t have an obvious drug problem or children in the system but is in need of help, please don’t send them off or take away any hope of help. That bed that in your head should go to the person with clear signs of addiction may be equally as needed to the young woman with her hair and nails done. A victim is a victim and a victim asking for help should be just as much considered as the next. We fight many of the same demons and battles. Many of us have endured forced abortions, sexual assaults and many heart wrenching scenarios, although not as obvious.
There’s an underlying biased within the world of helping victims that it’s easier to assist someone that “looks” broken than one that doesn’t. That they are more deserving of help and love because they never had a foreign car or lived in a nice house. It’s no different than domestic violence; it’s easier to believe a woman is being abused by her alcoholic jobless husband than one with a successful husband that has provided a nice living situation for his family. Abuse is abuse. A victim is a victim regardless of property, material or looks. If we are here to create a safe and welcoming space for victims - it should be safe and welcoming to those of all calibers even if they don’t fit what you THINK a victim looks like.
