Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
“Every time you are vulnerable about something, it normalizes it for someone else.” So let’s get really, really vulnerable for a few minutes. A few days ago, someone I look up to told me I didn’t have a purpose in life. Actually, the exact sentence was “you need to start waking up with a purpose in life.” Huh?? I mean, on the surface I guess that’s supposed to sound...encouraging. But no. Because it was a person I look up to and value, that sentence made me so angry at first. And then beyond devastated. A purpose in life? What are you talking about?? Looking at my life on paper, I haven’t had a job for 5 months. I haven’t hung out with a lot of new people. I don’t go to the gym. I don’t have a lot of money saved. From that perspective, I guess my life doesn’t really have a purpose. Or “value.” But for those of you who have followed my journey-whether by my blog or just knowing me-through my mental health and well-being, along with some (fairly large and traumatic) life events, you woul...