You guys know I’m a musician, a filmmaker, a photographer, and a vegan. You guys know I love physics and space exploration.

That I have a dog and a ferret.

That I write in sentence fragments when I’m trying to be dramatic. (Kidding, haha)

There’s so much you guys don’t know about me though– I’ve been super open with sharing my life on Snapchat to hundreds of thousands of people…to sharing my body, completely naked, with millions of people. But no one here even knows my name, or who I really am.

There’s no way I’ll be able to detail my whole life in one blog, but I want you to better understand what makes me “me”. That’s why I made this website in the first place! And why I work so hard to interact with you all on Reddit.

Even if no one reads this (I know it’s going to be a bit long) I want to lay it all out there.

I think it’s dangerous for women to be dissected into parts — that’s why I show my face in my nudes, and tell you so much about my hobbies and dreams. I’m more human than just big breasts and a small waist; those attributes don’t define any part of my identity.

The Hopeless you know online is the same Hopeless that chats with you after class, asking about next week’s homework. I protect my real-life identity, but it’s not like I have a second identity… “Hopeless” isn’t some hot alter ego, who is confident and sexy, and does titty-drops in the grocery store… she’s much more boring than that. I fall up the stairs so I’m constantly covered in bruises, I wake up with eye boogers, and I get blisters on my feet when I wear heels. I never thought this would happen to someone like me. I never saw myself as a model, or even wanted to be one. I guess that just makes me sound ungrateful or spoiled, considering so many people work their asses off to get where I am. I really do enjoy it, but my favorite part about my online presence is definitely the storytelling and interaction with my audience. Henceforth, I want you guys to get to know me more, and know where I come from. 

So here’s a story about my life before going viral on Reddit. I’ll start from the very beginning.

Hopeless was born March of 2018, but I was born in 1996.

I was born on an ice cold Monday morning in Buffalo, NY at 9 am. What a great start, right? 

To be fair, I never was meant to be alive. I wasn’t a love-child by any stretch of the imagination; even as an adult I can’t help but feel guilty towards my mother for inheriting her rapist’s nose and nearly-colorless eyes.

If I was aborted, she could have gone to college sooner and would’ve probably been a millionaire by now; she’s wicked smart. Instead, she stayed at her desk job, working long-ass hours, raising two babies as a teenager, while my father (an abusive, gambling-addicted alcoholic) terrorized her.

She never loved him; she hated him actually, but he threatened all our lives if she were to walk out. When I was in his arms as a baby, freshly home from the hospital, he threatened to stab me if my mother’s friend came over to meet me. He didn’t like when my mother made friends.

I saw him set himself on fire once… it was scary.

I have two full-blooded brothers and am the middle child. I was always academic and loved learning as a kid, just like my mom. I would spend hours practicing my handwriting and learning new instruments after school. Besides, staying late at school meant I wouldn’t have to go home and risk seeing “Your Friend”.

Your Friend, otherwise called “the stick”, was a 2×4 my dad used to beat us with. It was about 4 feet long, with blotches of white paint and splinters on it. There’s a scar on my spine from “the stick” — he used it for years until he finally cracked it in half over my brother’s back.

The worst part about “Your Friend” was the power trip my dad would get from it. How he’d make us grab it from the food pantry for him. How he’d laugh at me as I curled into a ball. The feeling of bee-stings on my 7 year old hands, when I would shield myself from his alcoholism. Still; handing your parent the tool they’re going to abuse you with sometimes hurts more than the beating itself. That pain lasts a lot longer.

There were other discomforts that kept me away from home though, like roaches, fleas, and the hardest to deal with: bed bugs. I hate them smelly bastards. Even as a kid, I hated killing bugs, but those ones always deserved to die.

Regardless, I was a very happy-go-lucky kid. Very active outdoors, played roller hockey and football with my brother in the street. By nine years old, I was in theater, choir, and joined my first orchestra. I had perfect attendance from third grade until college, which I was super proud of. I had a cat (who I loved very much) named Jingles. Her nickname was Kiki, since my little cousin wasn’t able to pronounce “kitty-cat”. Jingles is probably why I became interested in wildlife rehabilitation– so many birds were dragged into my bedroom.

On my 10th birthday (double digits, wow; I’m getting so big!) my dad asked me what I wanted as my “big present”. I asked him to stop drinking. It worked! For about a week. At least my birthday party was at the local roller rink and some people from my class even showed up. I remember this pretty and popular girl, Caroline, gifted me a plushie despite not knowing me very well. That made me really happy. I wasn’t very cool, so it meant a lot to 5th-grade-me. She grew up to be a hair stylist, and is still just as pretty and nice as she ever was. I doubt she remembers that, but I always will.

Fast forward: I’m 11 now.

I hear my mom screaming and pleading from across the hall. My older brother and I were trying to sleep for school; I remember him yelling at her from his room, “Shut up! My health exam is in the morning!” She didn’t stop. I snuck out of my bed and pressed my ear against her door, with my hand resting on the knob. I did that more times than either of them will ever know, but never brought myself to open it. She screamed again, and I barged in, yelling.

My dad is on top of her (she’s severely beaten), taking scissors to her clothes, with a wad of her hair in his hands. He banged her head hard against the wall. She screams for me to leave; I listen.

In the morning, I boarded the bus for just another day of elementary school. As I stepped up its stairs, a police car pulls into my driveway. I wondered all day at school what my upstairs neighbors had done to get the cops called on them. I had no idea they were taking my dad away; his behavior was normal to me. I thought all families were like that. I thought we were normal. I thought I was normal.

My mom’s next partner she loved more genuinely. I was 12 when they met. They married after only a few weeks of knowing each other… I barely even knew who the guy was, as he painted his old computer room (my new bedroom) a color I picked out called “Picnic Green”.

I was excited to move into an actual house though. Jingles wasn’t allowed inside because my stepdad’s dog was aggressive. She became an outdoor-only cat, which upset me because I had trouble sleeping without her laying under the covers, on my feet.

Jingles met me at my new bus stop every single day, like clockwork. The moment my sneakers hit the sidewalk, she was brushing against my legs. Looking back on it, I never realized how much that cat really loved me. One day, she didn’t show up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I told my mom; she said I was overreacting and my cat would show up again. I spent months (that’s no exaggeration) looking for her, knocking on all the doors in my neighborhood in the dead of winter. I never found her.

After Jingles’ disappearance, my mom bought 2 more dogs, one male and one female. They weren’t fixed and had 3 litters of puppies together. Every time the female, Flower, would go into heat, my stepdad’s dog would become very aggressive with the intact male.

I was in 7th grade and newly vegan by this point. I kept telling them to fix the dogs, but everyone wanted puppies. And they were selling for $500 a pop, so who was going to listen to a kid? After her third litter, she went into heat again, and my stepdad’s dog attacked the unfixed male to the point he bled to death.

The police came and had to use mace on my stepdad’s dog to retrieve my mom’s dog. I didn’t know he died from that attack until I was an adult. As a kid, my mom told me he was patched up and adopted out to another family. I wish she just would have told me he died. I thought about him a lot. It makes me wonder what actually happened to Jingles. I don’t want to ask.

Fast forward to 8th grade; I went to three different school districts that year. I’ll be honest, I was a shy and ugly kid; it was already pretty hard making friends. The new school district we moved to wasn’t great. You weren’t allowed to wear decorative scarves there because there were problems with students strangling one another. We only lived in that city for a couple of months, and within that time, there were two murders on my street.

Still 8th grade, we moved back to my hometown (the town my dad was arrested in). I was concertmaster of the orchestra, I took advanced classes, and was in a state champion marching band. Other than bed bugs, things were really good for awhile. We were still very poor, but the school district was great and I reconnected with some of my friends from elementary school.

By 9th grade, my stepdad started kicking the shit out of my mom.

By 10th grade, my stepdad had developed a very bad addiction to Oxycontin. He started writing false checks and stealing from retail stores. 

By 11th grade, all my instruments disappeared. I couldn’t go to orchestra without my violin. I had a solo and sat first chair.

My maestro was pissed to see me sitting in the front of the orchestra with an empty lap. When I explained to my maestro why I didn’t have my violin with me, she sent me to the counselor’s office. They told me everything said in that office would be confidential, and to not worry; just to tell them everything. It ended up being one of the biggest lies anyone had ever told me. Of course, as an adult, I see why my school called CPS, but I wished I never confided in them. CPS just made everything at home a hell of a lot worse.

I went home and saw more was missing…the Xbox and PS3, our washer and dryer, our blender, our fridge… he even sold my mom’s car from under her.

A couple days later my mom gets a call saying CPS is coming over, so we have to clean the entire house. That was a big feat considering my stepdad’s dog was now getting very old, pissing and shitting all over the carpets. He couldn’t walk anymore and was in pain, but my stepdad refused to put him down.

The CPS investigator wrote in her report that she gagged when walking into my house and had to change her clothes before going back to work. I guess that’s why people would tease me in school for stinking. I never noticed the smell until I moved out; I was so used to it.

This was around the same time I was auditioning to get into college orchestras. I wanted to pursue music school when I graduated high school. Since I had no violin to audition on, I went to school for film instead.

I started living with my high school sweetheart and his family down the street. I was tired of hearing my mom be choked and beaten by my stepfather at 4am. I tried to defend her at first, but was always shot down. Hope, go back to your room. Go to bed.  I wasn’t getting any sleep at home. That high school sweetheart and I ended up dating for about 4.5 years; his family became my family. I’m still really close with his parents, even though we broke up in 2017 (wow, it’s really odd thinking that much time had passed). His mom took custody of me, so I wouldn’t have to go into a foster home. Thanks to her, I graduated high school on time.

She helped set up my college, a bank account, a car, a license, and health insurance. I’m still on her phone plan to this day.

Health insurance was a huge thing. Not only did I go 7 years without dental treatment, but I also had very crooked teeth. As an adult, was able to afford braces! I had them for about 2 years. I got them off about a month before going viral; I can’t even begin to explain how I feel when people say they love my smile. I was bullied a lot for my teeth before then.

I loved college. I got into a selective program, all my classes were fun, I learned so much, and I was finally out of the suburbs and living independently.

That is, until I was sexually assaulted. Three times, actually. The first time was with a roommate I went to school with. I got a restraining order from him, but he was still allowed to go to school with me. I know…it doesn’t make sense to me either. He couldn’t shop at the same grocery store as me, because it’s too dangerous, yet he could lurk around on my campus at night.

The Title IX trial was an absolute shitshow. Despite his confession, he was found “not accountable” for his actions. It’s the worst having to see your attacker’s face and hear their voice all over again in trial. Being reminded of those things gave me really vivid nightmares afterwards. The trial was the day before my birthday. I heard later that my “story” didn’t sound “believable enough” to some of the staff. I guess I can’t blame them. I wish I didn’t have to believe it happened myself.

When you repeat the night of the incident over and over again (to your mom, to the police, to your college board, to your professors, to your friends, to your doctor, to your lawyers), by the time you make it to the courtroom, you aren’t a bawling victim anymore; you’re numb; it almost feels scripted, saying the same words over and over again. I guess the jurors thought the numbness sounds like lying.

The next two assaults were on film jobs. I don’t want to go into that right now. I’m already exhausted writing about the first one.

Imagine how weird it is, telling your convicted rapist father that someone else committed the same crime he had, but to his daughter.

I moved into a new apartment, with new roommates and adopted an 8 week old puppy (yes, that puppy is Baby Coyote), looking for a fresh start in life. It really only seemed to go downhill from there though… (I know! I couldn’t catch a break!) 

One of my rescued ferrets was diagnosed with cancer and needed an expensive surgery to remove the massive tumor on his head. I sold my car to pay for it. Post-op, all he needed was a simple dose of oral medication, twice a day. 

After his surgery, I had to leave town for a couple days. I brought the puppy with me, and asked my new roommate to medicate and watch my two ferrets while I was gone. She said, “No problem!”

While I was on my trip, she called animal control, claiming there were “two random stray ferrets in her house”. You read that right. She surrendered my pets on me while I was out of town. Meanwhile, since my senior ferret wasn’t receiving the medications she promised to administer, so he started having seizures at the shelter. The shelter euthanized him, not knowing he was being treated for his illness, and that he was someone’s beloved pet. Once I figured out which shelter my ferrets were sent to, my vet faxed the shelter their records. They gave me back one ferret alive, the other in an urn.

I raced home, and by the time I got back, there were holes in the wall, damage to the new floors I had laid myself, all my things were stolen, and my bed was literally broken in two.

I took her to court. She countersued for “her part of the security deposit back”. The judge called it a wash. My animal rights lawyer and I were appalled.

I started living alone after that… you could see why I didn’t want a roommate anymore. It was more expensive living on my own, but I worked my ass off to make it work. Since I was full-time in both school and work, I also had to pay for my puppy to be boarded. There was no way I’d ever give her up. I’d have sold a kidney before letting that happen. From the first moment I held that puppy in my arms, I knew she’d stay there for the next decade.

I started building my movie credits, became a radio DJ, working on commercials… just trying to save enough money to finally leave my city someday. It was going well. I got on some really great studio movies and was super happy being a filmmaker.

The work disappeared that winter and I burned through all my savings by February. I moved back in with my mom a month later.

“It’s just until I get back on my feet”.

My stepdad fled the state and eventually ended up in prison. Since then, my mom started dating another total asshole. He threw a plate at my dog the first week I moved in. I told him never to touch my dog. He furiously stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Since then, he would glare, rolls his eyes, and grunt at me. When my mom’s around, he’d act normal, but she worked three jobs and was almost never home. Living with him made me feel like I wound up back in Hell somehow.

I guess that brings me to when Hopeless first posted. I was living with my mom and her now-ex, looking for film work, still mourning my lost relationship with the ex I was with for 5 years. We were civil, but he wanted nothing to do with me after dumping me on a Valentine’s day. He said he didn’t want to have a girlfriend in college because it’d distract him from his future… I guess Tinder is different than a girlfriend though.

Instead of sending him my nudes, my friend said I should share them to a place called Reddit instead. I didn’t know what Reddit was, but I figured “Why not… this could be a fun way to cheer me up?” I expected maybe 10-15 upvotes and a couple validating comments… but I kept hitting r/all for a week straight, not knowing what that even was. During that week I met a community of people from around the world, who were all curious about who I am. I guess you know now.

And so the rest is history. Feel free to follow me along for whatever happens next,  if you want. I have so many stories to share, and I love hearing stories from you too.

Sorry, that recap was longer than expected. I never wrote my life out in one place before.

Best,

Hopeless