When my photos were first posted, I filed a police report, and a deputy was assigned to my case. He promised he would protect me. Several months later, he told me my case was closed and asked me out. The relationship didn’t last long. After I left him, he threatened to disseminate more sexually explicit photos that he had found of me from my first relationship.
I didn’t get justice with Pink Meth or my ex-boyfriend. My lawsuit took a nose-dive. But I did get justice when I filed a complaint against the cop — he was fired after a yearlong investigation by the local sheriff’s department.
When I told a good friend about this ordeal, he said that if he had children, he would not let them near me. My doctor compared my trauma to bad reviews he had once received on Yelp. A professor called me a publicity whore.
Over the course of two years, I went from 5’8” and 130 pounds to 110 pounds. My mother cradled my face in her hands while looking at the skeleton I’d become. “I don’t recognize my daughter anymore,” she said.
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