Trailer

I'm 17 years old, standing in an art supply store outside the city, talking to a boy I met five seconds ago. My mom is behind me going "Gina, stop." And I look this complete stranger dead in the eye and say: "Who is Vicky?" What he said broke my heart into a million pieces for the very first time. …

I'm 18 years old and I'm sitting in a basket of dirty laundry. Not next to it. IN it. In my mother's cellar, following her around the house all day like a puppy, because I have something to tell her and I physically cannot get the words out. Chapter 1 ended with one word on the morning of my 18th b…

Today is a celebration. Pour yourself some champagne — I've reached the magical level of podcasting where people are angry about things I didn't say, names I didn't use, and jokes they've decided to treat like sworn testimony. So this one opens with a little fan mail: a toast to the haters, a quick…

This is the chapter I almost didn't tell. Last chapter ended on a normal fall night in Northeast Philly — leaves in the orange pumpkin bags, mac and cheese on the stove, a kiss on my son's head before I left for the gym. And then my phone rang. My actual next-door neighbor, completely out of breath…