I was inspired by reading my dead aunt's journal and not recognizing the woman behind the words. It was written in her hand, and used her tone of voice, but her version of events threw me for a loop. So many of her entries were imbued with pain; I swore I knew a happier woman. Thumbing through ...
That Time I Peeked Into My Hero’s Journal
Whenever I walk into that apartment, I'm flooded with an acute mixture of intimidation, admiration, and comfort. The walls are a deep red and adorned with as much Biggie street art as they are with master’s degrees. At the window, the gauzy cream curtains billow calmly in the ...
All Summer ’16: The Summer Bucket List
I was 16 when I made my first summer bucket list. I was going to get a hand modeling gig. I was going to build a tire swing (with my beautiful hands?). I was going to attend a foam party. I was going to buy a yellow dress. I did none of those things. In fact, I was grounded before summer solstice, ...
I’m Going to Die at 38 (& Other Pieces of My PTSD Puzzle)
It wasn’t that I wanted to die. I just couldn’t see myself living. In the dusk of 2014, I sat at an auntie’s table and screamed, “I don’t know!” in answer to each of her questions. What do you want to be? What do you what to do? What would make you happy? I couldn’t bring myself to tell ...
When My Mother Whispers
I hate it when my mother whispers. She never shares secrets about fairies or magic. Whispers from my mother’s mouth almost exclusively mean bad news.It always starts with a “come hither” motion, from her eyes or her hand. She pulls me down to a seat at the table, she draws me in with her eyes, ...
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