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I sometimes get teased for sleeping so much. People ask me why I don’t just go out and socialize. Meet new people, make friends, date, etc. Sometimes they say they pity me.
I can’t understand why. I sleep even when I’m not tired because my antidepressants cause me to have vivid, incredible, sometimes lucid dreams. Think of that: while you are awake, your mental illness torments you, but when you dream… you can be anything! I’m always a super hero. I fly above starlit towns and skyscrapers, I manipulate fire and lightning with a wave of my hand. And most importantly, I save other people. I stand for those who suffer, bleed, cry, hope for a better reality. I fight for them, live for them, die for them. In my dreams, demons are external beings you can see… and more importantly, you can kill.
I’m certainly not saying everyone should take psychiatric meds. It helped me, but I don’t know what it would do for you. I’m also not saying I abuse my meds. Hell, I’m not even saying I like the fact that I need them. I’ve started new meds and I’ve finally started feeling good this past week. I guess what I am saying is that I must find something good amidst my suffering from mental illness. My black rain cloud of depression must have a silver lining to it. And I think that after years of tireless searching, I’ve found it.
Go find yours.

I sometimes get teased for sleeping so much. People ask me why I don’t just go out and socialize. Meet new people, make friends, date, etc. Sometimes they say they pity me.

I can’t understand why. I sleep even when I’m not tired because my antidepressants cause me to have vivid, incredible, sometimes lucid dreams. Think of that: while you are awake, your mental illness torments you, but when you dream… you can be anything! I’m always a super hero. I fly above starlit towns and skyscrapers, I manipulate fire and lightning with a wave of my hand. And most importantly, I save other people. I stand for those who suffer, bleed, cry, hope for a better reality. I fight for them, live for them, die for them. In my dreams, demons are external beings you can see… and more importantly, you can kill.

I’m certainly not saying everyone should take psychiatric meds. It helped me, but I don’t know what it would do for you. I’m also not saying I abuse my meds. Hell, I’m not even saying I like the fact that I need them. I’ve started new meds and I’ve finally started feeling good this past week. I guess what I am saying is that I must find something good amidst my suffering from mental illness. My black rain cloud of depression must have a silver lining to it. And I think that after years of tireless searching, I’ve found it.

Go find yours.


It feels funny to be writing a letter when so much of where I am right now stems from a letter. Three months ago, I was living with my boyfriend of 2 years. That morning, I asked him, “what is the most beautiful thing you could ever imagine? Past, future, anything.”
Personally, I was thinking of a huge beach BBQ in Barcelona with all of our friends and family. His response was seeing me in the hospital after giving birth to our first child.
That evening, I left for dinner plans. My mom’s best friend, who was like an aunt to me, had just been given 8 weeks to live (hospice) and I was going to say goodbye. I held my tears in the whole way home and kept thinking how much I needed to just cry and have C hold me. I opened the door and saw a letter—a letter ending our relationship. “I’m too damn young,” it said. I didn’t even cry. I went into autopilot. Slept on Ellen’s couch, flew to Salt Lake the next morning and burst into tears when my mom hugged me at baggage claim. It was the numbest I’ve ever felt. I sometimes get so mad at him, but lately I have that Kurt Vonnegut quote going through my head like 30x/day… “god damn it babies, you’ve got to be kind.”
I live in a new apartment, got a 4.0 my first semester of grad school, and I’m getting paid right now as I write this at the coolest internship ever. It blows my mind how lucky I am to have such supportive family and friends. I know he did me the biggest favor of my life.

It feels funny to be writing a letter when so much of where I am right now stems from a letter. Three months ago, I was living with my boyfriend of 2 years. That morning, I asked him, “what is the most beautiful thing you could ever imagine? Past, future, anything.”

Personally, I was thinking of a huge beach BBQ in Barcelona with all of our friends and family. His response was seeing me in the hospital after giving birth to our first child.

That evening, I left for dinner plans. My mom’s best friend, who was like an aunt to me, had just been given 8 weeks to live (hospice) and I was going to say goodbye. I held my tears in the whole way home and kept thinking how much I needed to just cry and have C hold me. I opened the door and saw a letter—a letter ending our relationship. “I’m too damn young,” it said. I didn’t even cry. I went into autopilot. Slept on Ellen’s couch, flew to Salt Lake the next morning and burst into tears when my mom hugged me at baggage claim. It was the numbest I’ve ever felt. I sometimes get so mad at him, but lately I have that Kurt Vonnegut quote going through my head like 30x/day… “god damn it babies, you’ve got to be kind.”

I live in a new apartment, got a 4.0 my first semester of grad school, and I’m getting paid right now as I write this at the coolest internship ever. It blows my mind how lucky I am to have such supportive family and friends. I know he did me the biggest favor of my life.


This is one of the coolest exhibitions/galleries I think that I have ever come across, so in return for the joy and excitement, creativity, and all other good things it gives me, I give to you my story. I live my life every day not knowing who I am supposed to one day become. I grew up alone, independent, secluded, unbiased. I’ve lived countless personas, lied about more than I will ever be able to remember and done unspeakable things I never want to tell another human soul. But all of this has propelled me on this magical journey. Becoming this mystical beast, a whirlwind of tragedy and success. I’m 25. I’ve experienced more than I should have. But what does this explain—It’s a story that goes in circles with sharp corners. Protected against all but hurt by many. The point is always be you. Forget everything you know. Make mistakes. Get hurt. Fail. Cry. Sob. Yell. Because one day, it will pay off.
The greatest mistake in life is never making art. Have the energy and strength to follow what creates meaning in your life and the courage to handle the stress that follows. 
Enjoy being a fuckup! You’re awesome.

This is one of the coolest exhibitions/galleries I think that I have ever come across, so in return for the joy and excitement, creativity, and all other good things it gives me, I give to you my story. I live my life every day not knowing who I am supposed to one day become. I grew up alone, independent, secluded, unbiased. I’ve lived countless personas, lied about more than I will ever be able to remember and done unspeakable things I never want to tell another human soul. But all of this has propelled me on this magical journey. Becoming this mystical beast, a whirlwind of tragedy and success. I’m 25. I’ve experienced more than I should have. But what does this explain—It’s a story that goes in circles with sharp corners. Protected against all but hurt by many. The point is always be you. Forget everything you know. Make mistakes. Get hurt. Fail. Cry. Sob. Yell. Because one day, it will pay off.

The greatest mistake in life is never making art. Have the energy and strength to follow what creates meaning in your life and the courage to handle the stress that follows. 

Enjoy being a fuckup! You’re awesome.

I am a member of a father’s group. There aren’t many of those still, but the one I am in was the only one around when it was founded. The group has been through some things, and the fathers have been through a lot. One father, in particular, has had a big struggle to be in his children’s lives. The biggest issue that he has is with his self-worth and anxiety that stems from that. His children have been removed from him by health and human services because he gave their mother a place to live…then later they were placed in her home. Health and Human Services say that his mental health is the biggest barrier to being in their lives. He was unable to get a job, unable to see his children, had no transportation, and the worst—no hope. Then he came to father’s group. At first, he didn’t say much. Over time, the open environment has allowed him to open up, talk through his anxiety, have some time with his kids and hold down a full time job. Oh, and the most important thing—he has self worth now. It it worth it to let someone open up, now he gives me hope. 
I am a member of a father’s group. There aren’t many of those still, but the one I am in was the only one around when it was founded. The group has been through some things, and the fathers have been through a lot. One father, in particular, has had a big struggle to be in his children’s lives. The biggest issue that he has is with his self-worth and anxiety that stems from that. His children have been removed from him by health and human services because he gave their mother a place to live…then later they were placed in her home. Health and Human Services say that his mental health is the biggest barrier to being in their lives. He was unable to get a job, unable to see his children, had no transportation, and the worst—no hope. Then he came to father’s group. At first, he didn’t say much. Over time, the open environment has allowed him to open up, talk through his anxiety, have some time with his kids and hold down a full time job. Oh, and the most important thing—he has self worth now. It it worth it to let someone open up, now he gives me hope. 

What would you confess in an anonymous journal entry? Would you finally reveal your crush? The love of your life, who (sadly) is not the same person as your boyfriend (or lover, really). Would you own up to your loneliness? To the fact that just about every friend has used you for one reason or another, so now you don’t even bother with “friends?”

Or would you put up a front of happiness, desperate to fool yourself—and everyone else? Smiles and joy, focusing on happiness, and using it as a device to find your meaning and purpose. I’ve always had a thing against grammatical fragments, but now I’m just flooding this page with them.
I guess I don’t know what I want to write or say. I just want to say something. Anything. And the most honest things I can think of are questions. Questions, and the fact that there in an adorable dog in front of me.
Here is what matters most in this whole thing:
I’m surprised I’m still here.
I’m lucky to still be here.
And so are you.

What would you confess in an anonymous journal entry? Would you finally reveal your crush? The love of your life, who (sadly) is not the same person as your boyfriend (or lover, really). Would you own up to your loneliness? To the fact that just about every friend has used you for one reason or another, so now you don’t even bother with “friends?”

Or would you put up a front of happiness, desperate to fool yourself—and everyone else? Smiles and joy, focusing on happiness, and using it as a device to find your meaning and purpose. I’ve always had a thing against grammatical fragments, but now I’m just flooding this page with them.

I guess I don’t know what I want to write or say. I just want to say something. Anything. And the most honest things I can think of are questions. Questions, and the fact that there in an adorable dog in front of me.

Here is what matters most in this whole thing:

I’m surprised I’m still here.

I’m lucky to still be here.

And so are you.


I still remember the exact moment I looked in the mirror and thought “I am fat.” It was the first time I had felt such intense disgust and hatred for myself. Now, 10 years and multiple rounds of therapy and relapses later, I can’t remember a time when my body wasn’t the enemy; something I was constantly working to subdue and bend to my will.
But to what end?
I hit my breaking point this spring. I have everything in the world going for me and yet it felt like my life stretched endlessly, meaninglessly before me—just punctuated by stretches of “good” weeks in which I found the will power to starve myself and “bad” weeks in which I gave in and cared for my body. Such bullshit. This body runs half marathons, hiked to Machu Picchu, rowed division 1 crew, jumps fences on horseback—why is this body the enemy?
This isn’t a particularly dramatic story. I didn’t have a life crisis or other major event that forced me to start making changes. I just finally had the realization that I had unconsciously mentally marked the last 10 years of my life by weeks and months in which I was “good” or “bad.” I’m sick of being at war with myself.
And so, slowly, I’ve been being nice to my body. Listening to it. Not drinking so much and sleeping more. It’s only been a few months so far, but my mind feels clearer than it’s been since I was 15. I will work at this the rest of my life, but I’m NEVER going back.
I hope some day if I again have the opportunity to write a story of my life, I can think of something other than my eating disorder. In such a sweet life, that can’t be asking too much.

I still remember the exact moment I looked in the mirror and thought “I am fat.” It was the first time I had felt such intense disgust and hatred for myself. Now, 10 years and multiple rounds of therapy and relapses later, I can’t remember a time when my body wasn’t the enemy; something I was constantly working to subdue and bend to my will.

But to what end?

I hit my breaking point this spring. I have everything in the world going for me and yet it felt like my life stretched endlessly, meaninglessly before me—just punctuated by stretches of “good” weeks in which I found the will power to starve myself and “bad” weeks in which I gave in and cared for my body. Such bullshit. This body runs half marathons, hiked to Machu Picchu, rowed division 1 crew, jumps fences on horseback—why is this body the enemy?

This isn’t a particularly dramatic story. I didn’t have a life crisis or other major event that forced me to start making changes. I just finally had the realization that I had unconsciously mentally marked the last 10 years of my life by weeks and months in which I was “good” or “bad.” I’m sick of being at war with myself.

And so, slowly, I’ve been being nice to my body. Listening to it. Not drinking so much and sleeping more. It’s only been a few months so far, but my mind feels clearer than it’s been since I was 15. I will work at this the rest of my life, but I’m NEVER going back.

I hope some day if I again have the opportunity to write a story of my life, I can think of something other than my eating disorder. In such a sweet life, that can’t be asking too much.


People keep asking me if I’m dating. Like it’s a state. And I don’t want to answer that. I’m terrified. I’ve been on one date my entire life. This January. I freaked out so badly that I gave myself a headache and a stomach ache. Maybe if I’d ever gotten positive feedback when I was a teenager I’d feel confident in myself. Instead, years of rejection have paralyzed me. I can’t bring myself to believe fully in someone’s attraction to me. I try to know, that when I speak, someone is listening. I hope that soon I will believe it and feel confident enough to put myself out there.
And that’s only the beginning of my problems with dating. I don’t know what I want from a relationship. The religious aspect of my life basically requires that I know what I want before I start looking. I feel like I’m in a constant state of flux. How do I know what I want when who I am changes day to day? Maybe I’ll get an answer soon. But it requires more effort than I’m willing to put towards it.
I guess the answer is no. No, I am not dating. I’m not ready. Once I pick myself up and swallow my crippling fear, I’ll try.

People keep asking me if I’m dating. Like it’s a state. And I don’t want to answer that. I’m terrified. I’ve been on one date my entire life. This January. I freaked out so badly that I gave myself a headache and a stomach ache. Maybe if I’d ever gotten positive feedback when I was a teenager I’d feel confident in myself. Instead, years of rejection have paralyzed me. I can’t bring myself to believe fully in someone’s attraction to me. I try to know, that when I speak, someone is listening. I hope that soon I will believe it and feel confident enough to put myself out there.

And that’s only the beginning of my problems with dating. I don’t know what I want from a relationship. The religious aspect of my life basically requires that I know what I want before I start looking. I feel like I’m in a constant state of flux. How do I know what I want when who I am changes day to day? Maybe I’ll get an answer soon. But it requires more effort than I’m willing to put towards it.

I guess the answer is no. No, I am not dating. I’m not ready. Once I pick myself up and swallow my crippling fear, I’ll try.


I’m drunk. I stumbled in here after a couple beers and shots to drown feelings I don’t want to deal with, essentially. I’m working, I’m healthy, I should be Happy. I shouldn’t need whisky, but it’s needed sometimes. Where am I going? What am I doing? Passing through. Learning, discovering, growing? Love is what I run from. Absolute love. I need to learn to accept love, life, beautiful thing beautiful everythings. I’m glad that I was part of something beautiful for a brief moment. We all have something beautiful. An individual story. All beautiful. Thank you for letting me share this space, this art, this ink, this page, this earth, this breath.

I’m drunk. I stumbled in here after a couple beers and shots to drown feelings I don’t want to deal with, essentially. I’m working, I’m healthy, I should be Happy. I shouldn’t need whisky, but it’s needed sometimes. Where am I going? What am I doing? Passing through. Learning, discovering, growing? Love is what I run from. Absolute love. I need to learn to accept love, life, beautiful thing beautiful everythings. I’m glad that I was part of something beautiful for a brief moment. We all have something beautiful. An individual story. All beautiful. Thank you for letting me share this space, this art, this ink, this page, this earth, this breath.


I spent the last two years in New York City as a struggling singer/songwriter/actress. It’s gotten to the point in the last few months where I’m completely broke, work intermittently as a background actress in film/television, go to every single open mic night/casting call/jam/karaoke night even to live the “dream.”
I absolutely LOVE my life, but they never tell you growing up that there is a possibility that you might not succeed in your dream. I suppose as long as I’m still creative, making music and singing, I’ll be happy and “succeeding” in my own right.
A few years ago my mother passed away from stage 4 breast cancer, and before she died, she told me that she hoped I would never give up. But at this point… I’ve thought about giving up. A lot.
So here I am… walking around midtown Manhattan with $100 dollars to my name, $2,000 dollars on a credit card, and $50 thousand dollars worth of student loans, sharing my struggle with you.
I hope one day I can look back on this time and be thankful that I went out and tried to pursue something that most people are scared to do. Even if I fail to write a hit song, be in a Broadway show, or be a famous actress, I will have succeeded in truly LIVING. So I suppose I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel.
Plus: if I give up now, my mom will probably haunt me!!
xoxo
Broke and Hopeful in Manhattan

I spent the last two years in New York City as a struggling singer/songwriter/actress. It’s gotten to the point in the last few months where I’m completely broke, work intermittently as a background actress in film/television, go to every single open mic night/casting call/jam/karaoke night even to live the “dream.”

I absolutely LOVE my life, but they never tell you growing up that there is a possibility that you might not succeed in your dream. I suppose as long as I’m still creative, making music and singing, I’ll be happy and “succeeding” in my own right.

A few years ago my mother passed away from stage 4 breast cancer, and before she died, she told me that she hoped I would never give up. But at this point… I’ve thought about giving up. A lot.

So here I am… walking around midtown Manhattan with $100 dollars to my name, $2,000 dollars on a credit card, and $50 thousand dollars worth of student loans, sharing my struggle with you.

I hope one day I can look back on this time and be thankful that I went out and tried to pursue something that most people are scared to do. Even if I fail to write a hit song, be in a Broadway show, or be a famous actress, I will have succeeded in truly LIVING. So I suppose I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel.

Plus: if I give up now, my mom will probably haunt me!!

xoxo

Broke and Hopeful in Manhattan