Evolve or remain.

Yesterday morning I woke up with one of the worst migraines I've ever had in my entire life. One of those splitting headaches that made me want to just crawl back into bed, bury myself beneath my blankets again and sleep until the pain went away. But I knew, from the moment I woke up, that I wouldn't be able to do that. I knew I had errands to run, a job to get to, a messy room to clean up from the weekend before, packing to finish, homework assignments to do, emails to respond to, class to participate in, textbooks still to buy, bills to pay and people to catch up with- so I did what I could to ignore the pain in my head. I snuggled up with my dog for a few minutes, then forced myself out of bed and into business casual clothing for another busy shift at work. I took an Ibuprofen and chugged a bottle and a half of water. I ordered a coffee, got organized, washed my face with warm water and hoped with all of my being that things would go smoothly from there forward. Frank...

This isn't going to be anywhere near one of the happiest or most optimistic things I've written. This is probably going to be the closest I'll come to the polar opposite. This is also where I'd usually apologize for that, but I refuse to do that. I'm no longer apologizing for anything involving my writing or my art, because this is my space and this is my freedom. In a lot of ways, this is the only real home I've ever known. This is where I can breathe instead of feeling suffocated by people around me and deadlines and the disturbing things I deal with on a far more frequent basis than I hope you'll ever have to. This is not my job. This is not where I owe anything to you or to anyone else. This is not where you're supposed to have expectations of me and I'm supposed to push myself to my breaking point just to meet them. This is where I'm supposed to be able to be me. I'm supposed to be able to do that through all my art. Through my blogs,...

I know. I know what you're thinking. I know I said I was done. I know I said my last post would be my actual LAST post... but I can't do it. I can't not publish. I feel less than half alive when I'm not writing, and something about this process keeps me just in love enough to not be able to let it go. So here we are again. Welcome back. I've missed you. Thank you for being here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I've had a lot of people ask me if I made any resolutions for the new year, and to be honest with you I hadn't really thought about it until after I'd been asked several times. I answered several of you with an, "I don't know," and at the time that was honest. At the time, I really had no idea. But I know now. My resolutions for 2019 include: To be more emotionally vulnerable. To be open to new experiences. To be more human and less of a perfectionist. To devote more time to...

2018, you were something else. You were so full of everything. You pushed me further out of my comfort zone than I’d ever been, taught me how to truly be alive, watched me as I struggled to learn a lot of painful lessons, and more than anything you gave me endless opportunities to grow and to really discover myself. You were far from perfect, but so am I- and I think that alone is what allows me to sit here right now looking back on you without regretting a single thing. I can’t do you justice in one post, I’ve tried. This is probably my tenth time trying to piece everything together and this still isn’t as great as it could be. I probably won’t be happy with this even when I finally publish. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you as far as my writing, it’s that sometimes I just need to push perfection as far out of my mind as possible so I can share my thoughts authentically. So I can stop focusing on trying to be an incredible writer and start being honest with myself....

It was 2 a.m. and I was ten hours deep into cramming for the college algebra final I'd be taking first thing the next morning. I was sitting with one of my best friends, the boy I met my sophomore year of high school who helped me survive math classes from that year forward. "I have a 70% in this class," I told him. "There's no way I'm going to be able to do well enough on the final to even pass." "I think you'd be surprised," he told me, half talking me down and half working on what I assumed was his own homework. Two minutes later, he showed me what he'd been working on. "I calculated what you need to get to raise your grade enough to pass this class, and you need an 81," he told me. "You can do that. I've never known you to give up. You're too resilient ." Those words have been stuck in my head forever. It was freezing cold in the corner of his dorm room, the clock read 2:39 a.m., and still nothing...

I probably should have put the time and effort into writing this out a long time ago, but I guess me being late with my honesty is better than me bullshitting you. If you're someone who has wondered where I've been recently or why we haven't been able to catch up, I'm writing this for you. If you're someone I've made plans with and then had to cancel on you, I'm writing this for you. If you're someone I seem to have fallen out of touch with, or if you're someone I've neglected to respond to, or if you're someone who thinks I'm not interested in spending time with you because it's been months and we have yet to make anything happen... I'm writing this for you. Please listen. I'm busier now than I've ever been in my life. Working three jobs, babysitting most weekends, and being a full-time student pursuing a double major all at the same time is the opposite of easy. Especially for someone like me, who requires large amou...

Abstract title, I know. Don't worry. We'll get there. But the first step to getting anywhere is choosing where to start, and I've chosen to tell you this story about all the things I never was by starting with the things I've always been. Stubborn. Submissive. Short-tempered. Cautious. And more than anything, quiet. I've always been quiet. To be honest, I wish I could tell you why. It'd be nice if I could give you a reason or some sort of explanation as to why I am the way I am, but I can't. I don't know if it's even possible, much less how I'd go about it. But none of that matters. My point is, my being quiet has played an indescribable role in creating the 20-year-old me who's sitting here writing this all out at this very moment. Sometimes in the best ways and other times, the worst. But regardless, you ought to know a little bit about why. I was 13 the first time I felt my self-confidence fall drastically. I had invited a f...