So, this is about to take an unexpectedly raunchy turn. Luckily, I have no following to disappoint. I hope Mr. Wang doesn’t view me as unprofessional when he finds out about this.

I’ve been working through some things with my therapist, Rhonda.

Today I told her that I hit my husband.

I was fighting a bad guy in my dream (the worst guy) but I reached out and smacked my husband in the head, in real life, in my bed. That’s how we woke up today.

I had just been talking with her about the nightmares I’ve been having yesterday. I always seem to be running from someone or on the verge of being attacked. When I’m not having a nightmare, there are dreams. They are so lifelike that the next day I will have flashbacks and not know if what I’m thinking of actually happened or not. I have to scan my texts and messages to see if these conversations actually happened or if I just made it up in my sleep.

Basically, I’m losing my mind.

We take our worries to bed with us. That’s what Rhonda said. She wants me to journal at night. Maybe then, the dreams will stop. She calls it “warm milk”. I don’t like milk; never have.

I find writing to be an effective outlet, but I tend to stop writing completely when things get to be too much. I dont know where to begin or what to say. My mind moves faster than I can type and I jump around all over the page, getting stuck up on the organization of it all- I get overwhelmed by the logistics. This time, though, a grown-up is telling me to do it. She’s also giving me structure, and maybe I could use some of that right now.

Warm milk is this - you write about the things that are bothering you. At the end of your entry you write 3 things you are grateful for.

Then you just …go to bed.

What’s bothering me:

• someone I used to know stalked me for ten years collecting nude photos of me, then posted them all online on a porn website, in a thread dedicated to my hometown

• Why did he post my pictures online? Did he really think I wouldn’t catch him?

• I’m creeped out that someone could watch me for ten years without me even knowing. Are there any others? How would I know?

• How many people have seen the pictures? What percentage of them know me?

• “I had no idea she was a slut” - a comment about me. That bothers me too, Rhonda.

• I wish my cousin didn’t see my boobs. I wish nobody online saw my boobs. I wish my aunt didn’t know. I wish I didn’t have to tell my family about this, or my husband about this, because it’s not their business.

• These were not his photos. They never were his photos and he certainly didn’t have my permission to post them online.

• I wish the cops would ask the right questions. I know they’re doing their best but it’s hard not to feel attacked or looked-down-upon.

• I am not ashamed of my boobs, they are great boobs, but none of these people ever even asked me to see them.

• I wish I could focus more on things that are important to me like my family, reading books, my professional development and creating for my youtube channel. But I’m too busy obsessing over this porn site I’m on and why the hell did this happen to me?

• Will he get justice? How long will it take?

• Why are lawyers so confusing?

• Will the pictures ever come down?

• Will his girlfriend leave him? I feel connected to her in some way now, as weird as that is. Telling my story is telling her story, too, and I want to respect that. I admire her so much so it sucks that she has to be on the other end of all this.

• I want to shout his name from the rooftops. But I can’t right now.

In other news…

• Why do kids keep killing each other? How can we make them not do that?

• Why did Tom Petty have to die?

• Why did they do that weird thing with the two lines at McDonalds? Is it actually faster? I want proof.

• Why does a 10 minute palm reading cost $60 in San Franciso and who the hell is responsible for setting those rates?

• If I forgot to throw the palm reader’s magical stone in the ocean after 3 days like she told me to, will something bad happen?

• Will the Mariners ever be good?

• What am I going to be when I grow up?

• How am I going to die?

• It bothers me that I’ve been home from DevWeek for like 10 days already and I still haven’t posted about it or done anything sweet with all this new knowledge.
• It bothers me that I’m letting what he did affect me this much.

I think I got all of it out for now.

3 Gratitudes

I am grateful for the hacker who helped me track down the sick fuck exploiting me online.

I am grateful for my friend Megan, who has also been through this shit before and has proven to be a huge help to me.

I am thanful for this Instagram post I saw today because as fucked as this situation is, laughing about it helps an awful lot. I am also thankful for the Folks who posted it, because they have given me hope that this is not forever -even though it kind of is.

I’m grateful for a lot more than 3 things, but the lady said only 3. I will save the rest for later.

Good night to everyone except the one guy who can go fuck himself. Not literally, though, because it’s clear he does enough of that already.