of four years finally came to an end. The relief I felt after the mutual split has now worn off, and I find myself in a daydream, remembering the beginning, experiencing a same-sex relationship for the first time with someone who did truly love me at one point, and I her. Somewhere along the line though, I morphed into a shadow of the woman I was. It was like I kept the real me locked away because I knew I had to protect her from my other-half's constant negativity and ridicule. Now that we're finished...

undiagnosed.” I saw this post on Instagram, and I stared at it for a minute. I felt so clueless about who I am and the struggles I’ve been recently experiencing. The first time I went to therapy was shortly after my parents had divorced. I had just graduated from high school the previous summer and I was nineteen – struggling to find where I fit in this world. My mom wanted my sisters and I to have a controlled moment, where we could each express our opinion and feelings on the separation. I thought it...

a missing limb they would’ve listened / If you had cried in pain every night and robbed them a good night’s sleep they would’ve believed you / If you were deformed and freakish-looking they would’ve pitied you and prayed for you; from afar, but still empathetic enough / If you were blind a hundred strangers would be fighting over helping you cross the street / If you were deaf they would’ve learned sign language just to show you they care / If you were handicapped they would carry your weight every...

feels different than the first time we broke up. The first time I was completely liberated; it was difficult to adjust, but still very freeing. This time it feels like standing in the eye of a hurricane. It feels like time is standing still and then you realize it’s June. Mick Jagger describes it perfectly: “as I watch you leaving me, you pack my peace of mind.” When someone has your heart — and this person still has mine — and they go, what are you left with? Your daily routine goes to shit. The person you want to tell things to...

enough. That sentence is stuck in my mind every single day. There are only two of us, my mom and I. She's retired right now, and I have become the one who is responsible for this family. I work in a digital agency, not because I like it, but because I need more money. You have no idea how sad I was when I had to leave my previous company for a better offer. I used to have my dream job, but I was getting paid less than I am right now. I'm so grateful for my job, to be honest with you...

gone... / It’s 11 p.m. and… / Soft, warm blankets encompass my body. / The sweet scent of lavender fills my soul, / And I once again prepare for sleep. / It’s 12 a.m. and… / I’m still awake, but I’m so exhausted / My body aches in need of rest, but my mind won’t relax. / Like an automatic alert system, it says, / “You have 9,000 appointments starting at 10 a.m.” / “You need to have 800 things done by class at 11 a.m.” / “Don’t forget to e-mail the 40 people you haven’t e-mailed back...

I wonder if any of this matters. Have I really learned anything by throwing this around in my head for so long? Have I really decided what any of it means? I don’t know what happened three years ago. When I used to think about assault, it seemed so black and white. It’s either assault or it isn’t. It is all at once. You know it when you see it. He was my dear friend. I was attracted to him. We spent most days together, confiding in one another about our failed...

took place on a threadbare couch, the lights dimmed as my favorite movie, “The Great Gatsby,” was projected on the living room wall. We held hands under blankets full of childhood memories and my heart raced a staccato anthem in my chest, running wild with fear and anticipation. My eyes were wide open, his tongue was heavy in my mouth, and I remember wondering is there supposed to be so much spit?  Mere moments earlier I had met his mother...

talk about the abuses that don’t “count.” I want to talk about the things that seem to matter less, because I think we shine so much light on the sexual abuse that we forget that any kind of feelings-of-being-less-than matter. I think a lot of women are in a situation where they don’t feel like they should speak because “my situation was not nearly as bad as hers.” I’ve never been in a situation where someone explicitly expressed attraction toward me. No one has ever outright said to me...

I was 12 until 16 I babysat for my neighbors who had seven children. It was in the sixties so I did this for fifty cents an hour. When I turned 16, the father invited me to work with him in his real estate office which was in their house. "Dress up," he said, so I crossed the field in my high heels and pretty dresses, slip through the fence, and help him by filing and performing simple tasks. I remember him asking me to stand on his desk and change a ceiling light bulb while...

— afraid of the life that I'm living, but also of the one that I can't see before me. I’m afraid that I'm useless and worthless, that I dream nothing, do nothing. I don't know if I'm strong enough to live the life I see in my head, which involves letting my guard down and striving for something that may not even happen. I thought I knew where I wanted my life to go, but the truth is, I have no idea. I'm afraid to not be the person everyone thought I was, the person I thought I was...

has completely taken over my life. The scariest part is the “depersonalization” feeling when I feel like, 'holy shit, am I even really here? Or am I just flesh and bones?' Leaving the house makes me nervous. Seeing my friends has become more of a chore than anything else. My doctor prescribed me medication but I am too scared to even take that. It feels as if my life is falling apart. I don’t know what to do next.

woman—I smile, I laugh, I love. Love is a funny thing. It has a way of making you feel like you're on cloud nine and embraces you into a warm, comforting hug. It makes you take in every second of this beautiful life and wish you could live in the moment forever, with whoever or whatever you're sharing that moment with. But...love can be complicated. It can make you put your trust into the wrong people. It can be manipulated and make you feel ashamed, guilty, and anxious. It can make you hate...

why I get so offended. Am I being too sensitive? I feel like people will never take me seriously. I feel like I constantly have to prove everyone wrong and sway people to think that I am qualified. Today someone said “How can she be fit for the job? She is so shy.” Another said “You’re so quiet”. All day I kept thinking about these two comments and couldn’t seem to understand why they hurt my feelings. It's not like what they said isn't true and it's also not offensive. They weren't bullying...

nineteen, the first boy I ever truly loved made me feel so safe, and so whole, and so loved. Sometimes he would make deprecating comments about me, or my appearance, or my brain, but it would always be brushed off as a joke — something to laugh at, something he of course didn't mean because he loved me. He showed me that so much, so often, in so many other ways. His older friends became my friends, and as we all spent more time together, I couldn't help feeling like I was the...

abuse and assault. I have survived depression and anxiety. I have survived toxic relationships. I have loved and lost and loved again. I have survived the death of many people close to me. I have survived the 10-hour car ride to get here. I want to show people that it’s okay to talk about difficult subjects. I want to show others that they can fight too. I want to show people that personal progress is not a straight line. I have survived my physically and mentally abusive father...