Do you know that I write? All sorts of things. Here’s a note..

Do you know that I write? All sorts of things. Here’s a note that I found in my phone from when my dad was in hospital. Would you like to see more writing? Poignant and pervasive thoughts...

Dread. Dread as I sit at my father's bedside, monitoring the machines that monitor him. His eyes tell me he's afraid. The hospital is the safest place but that's easy to say when you're in the chair & not the bed. At times he is a kid again requiring assistance while he recovers. But he's not a kid & he doesn't regard the machines curiously, ignorant to their function. He's crippled at the face of his mortality. Dread becomes me.
Dread that those who raised me are no longer the strong ones. Dread that he's not the last of my loved ones to come to hospital. I'm grateful to have this opportunity to be with him.
My family members fret: 'how can I leave work early to be by his side? I've worked 12 hours, I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the wheel. How will I make ends me3t?' Schedules are tight & wallets are light. I don't live with this worry because of my privileged position within sex work. There's a measure of freedom that comes with sex work & I'm grateful for my mobility.
But I have other worries. Fear begets me: if I step down from my privileged position in sex work will I return to the same poverty I was at before the work? Making ends me3t.
The rational mind races beside the fear dissembling it: 'it's impossible to experience these sorts of hardships again,' it tells me 'youre too much of a hard worker, too clever, too experienced & too autonomous to allow such circumstances to return regardless of occupation.' But the fear hijacks my empathy, I feel the stresses of my siblings & it convinces me that without sex work I will experience reality like them. How can I be with any loved ones in their time without sex work?
The rational mind no longer concerns itself with dismissing the fear, it’s too late, it goes to damage control, containing the negativity to a single section. Isolating it so it can't spoil anything else. In this way I don't feel quite free, not when I'm immobilised by a double-edged comfort, avoiding sacrificing freedom and gain growth. I'm crippled at the face of my own perceived barriers & insecurities. This conflict I carry with me always but there are moments of cease fire I treasure.
'Can we walk again?' My dad asks. He knows how, he just can't on his own right now. I’m grateful to take his hand.