What can I do? The question I keep asking myself, as an American, in this political climate of Trump vs. The World.
Whilst I’m writing this, hundreds of trees and cornfields are blowing past my car window and it’s so dark outside that I can barely see my keys to type (at least I’m pretty good at it). I’m heading to start a new chapter of my life in a brand new state with brand new people...
Families serve as great support systems. Some people are fortunate to have dysfunctional,su yet loving families. Some people find and create their family. But there are some of us that do not have the love and support of our genetic families, adopted families, or friend families. We may be lost and alone, looking for that...
On the first day of school, my AP European History professor, standing before us in his Star Wars collectible-filled classroom and running a hand over his spiked, frosted hair, told us to cut everything that did not have value. He called this a key to success before rambling about life for forty-five minutes in a...
There’s something about journaling that, if you let it, sets you free. When I first started keeping a written journal at the beginning of 2015, I had no idea just how valuable a skill it would prove to be.
***Content & trigger warnings: self destruction, depression, self harm, anxiety***
Art is an essential part of our existence; it enriches our lives and opens our minds. So what do you do when it becomes a source of unhappiness?
April is the hardest month of the year for me. Repressed trauma banging on the door of my conscious, demanding to be let out is one of the reasons my most intense depressive episodes come up during this part of the year.
I open my eyes to sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains and roll over sleepily to check the time on my phone. 10.38. I stare at the number for a second, then my heart drops.
My life is not an easy one for just anyone to live. This is not just me grasping for attention; the same thing can be said about anyone else’s life.
Many times, I encounter the question, What would your superpower be? My answer constantly changes. However, each time, I can’t help but remember my first answer: to be invisible.
An apology. All I really wanted was an apology, any sort of acknowledgement that you see what you did wrong to me.