It’s an odd thing to feel as if you’re a good friend and not see it reciprocated. Partly […]
I have lost a lot of friends in my short twenty three years. I’ve detached myself from a […]
I never learned how to process trauma as a kid. When something bad happened I got sad, maybe […]
I spend most of my time staring into other people’s windows. I imagine better versions of myself living […]
When I was a little girl I wanted to be the princess who was chased with a fancy […]
If these walls could talk what would they say?
I’ve never been a very confident person. Not as a child or a teenager. And now as a […]
I couldn’t believe how healing the entire process was: the writing itself, the discussions prior to publishing, and then the conversations it allowed me to have after it was published. It felt like scrubbing myself clean after years of feeling a mix of blame and shame and disgust and numbness.
“I wouldn’t define myself as an alcoholic, despite the doctors scare tactics. But I believe that because my problem doesn’t fit into the definition of alcoholic, it’s almost as though I’ve given myself permission to stay immersed in this problem I have.”
“I guess I come back to you in my mind when I do feel “crazy.” Crazy for being nostalgic over a bad friend, for me being a bad friend, and for our messed up friendship.”