I live streamed the previous episode. After enjoying warm feelings of family love I woke up to frantic texts from my mom shaming me, calling my dirty, this isn’t art this is porno. Well it straddles that boundary and brings attention to the self-deduced limitations of narrow-minded perspective. Your reaction says more about you than me. The unity was nice while it lasted. 10 years ago my mom and I went through a similar argument and we ended up not talking for a decade. Will it happen again? Once more I feel the parallels of being disowned as a #foodpornstar. I’m sure there are some moms out there who reacted the same to their daughters going in to “real porn.”

Snap out of it. After all these years it’s time to learn once and for all, her opinion doesn’t matter. Nobody else’s opinion matters. You’re doing this for you. Some will get it, some won’t. The purpose of these episodes was to hold a mirror to the audience and reveal personal levels of comfort/discomfort.

I was depressed for a couple hours after reading those texts. And would you fucking believe? The same day I went downtown and saw the guy that raped me in January. I had a feeling I’d see him and I did. We made very clear eye contact. He looked scared and scuttled away. I’ve been wondering what my reaction in this moment would be and now I know. I think this is closure for the year.

It’s New Years Eve. My bestie and I are drinking wine and talking about goals. I’m forcing her to inhale the off-brand spam which smells disgusting but I couldn’t justify buying $5 cans of Spam. Did you know Spam costs that much?! I thought the shit would be more like $2.50 a can. Do you hear me right now? I sound like a grandma.

I’ve painted on words to describe psychological burdens I am leaving behind in 2018. My friend is my witness. Sex therapy.