When it was bad it was horrid.

It was my boyfriend who wouldn’t fuck me unless there was a webcam on us, unless we were performing for an audience.

It was people desperately needing me, sucking the life out of me.

It was fans who wanted all my attention, who wanted to believe that I was really, truly, their friend.

It was models who wanted me to validate them, to make them feel like a real, whole person.

It was being seconds away from a nervous breakdown in the bathroom of an apartment in the suburbs, knowing that I was going to have to photograph this boy and make him feel good about himself, and just being so physically uncomfortable and incapable of going on with the show that I felt myself almost burst into tears.

It was people thinking they that knew me because they’d seen my snatch rendered in 72 dpi.

It was being pigeonholed, having friends who only called me when they wanted to talk about porn.

It was taxes and legal restrictions and all sorts of financial headaches weighing down on me and slowly stealing away my ability to live out my dream.

When it was bad it was being a dumping ground for all the sexual and emotional issues of everyone I came into contact with, all while trying to run a business all by myself, with little to no training or experience.