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Living with my Trafficker

Trigger Warning: The following blog post mentions eating disorders, dieting, drug usage and depictions of grooming. Hello everyone and welcome back to another blog with Morty! I hope everyone has had a good week! My last two weeks have definitely been extremely busy. My college course is coming to an end and so, therefore, I have a lot of assignments to do and studying coming up. The second phase of programming is actually getting really exciting and I’m looking forward to what SafeHope Home has added to the program. 

I know that the last time you heard from me was two weeks ago, and I promised that I would continue the last blog on my next one, which will be today. I hope that when you read the blogs, this one in specific, you read them with the understanding that sometimes there will be some gaps or things I’ve maybe mentioned before that might sound repetitive. Unfortunately, trauma can make you forget some things and remember only certain things. Even things you wished you could forget. If things seem to be all over the place, I hope you can understand that that’s what I remember today and if I mention things I’ve mentioned before, it’s just so that I can explain it better and for you to get a better understanding of what I’m trying to explain. Maybe down the line, I’ll remember some missing gaps, but it’s never certain. So for now, this is a part of my story. 

On the last blog, I left off at the part where things in my life started to change pretty quickly and somehow, I was able to manage everything that was going on. Fast forward, I ended up living with him. I ended up living with him because I couldn’t live with my mom anymore. I don’t blame her or my stepdad; I was becoming very difficult to live with and well I also wanted my “independence” and “freedom”. Oh, boy. I can’t help but shake my head and laugh as I write those two things that I thought I wanted and that this was the only way to get it. 

So what was it like living with him? It was something that I do not wish on anyone. I basically started sleeping on the same bed as him right away and didn’t even think that it was weird. But now looking back, um yeah that’s not normal. My days consisted of cleaning the apartment and making sure dinner was ready and that the place was tidy before he came home from work. So why did I do all of that? Part of me wanted to and felt like I needed to because I wasn’t giving him any money for rent or anything, so I felt like I owed him. That was actually one of his tactics that made me want to move in with him. I didn’t have to pay for anything! All I had to do was to stay home and keep the place looking good and keep myself looking good. I know you probably are wondering what I meant about “keeping myself looking good”. Well, literally that. When I moved in with him I was on the heavier side; to him. So for him, that needed to change. I had to lose weight. So how did I do it? You’re probably thinking maybe the gym or a diet… nope. Cocaine. I started using cocaine almost every night with him. He would come home, the house would be clean, I would be presentable, and he would pull out cocaine. This went on for months and little did I know, I lost the weight and was looking perfect, just how he wanted me to. He was the happiest person and that’s when he said, “baby girl you’re ready”. I remember thinking, “um ready for what??” And before I could say anything; he said, “are you ready to start your new life and make tons of money?”. I had spent 6 months literally doing nothing but clean, look good, and wait for him to get home because I was now dependent on him coming home with cocaine. I eventually started working and I first began as a stripper and eventually worked my way up to an escort. I ended up building an eating disorder after leaving him later on in my story. 

I don’t want to go into much depth on that specifically in this blog post, but maybe in another one. I will end the blog here today, but if you are reading this still, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read parts of my story.

Till next time,



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