If you’re reading these essays wondering, “How does she come up with this shit?”—I didn’t have to come up with most of it. I had to live it. Which was frankly inconvenient. A lot of these pieces were written in hotel rooms and rental cars, while I was homeless. I didn’t have a home, let alone a fucking writing room. Now I write standing on one foot in the bathroom, with my head leaning against the wall. Usually, the whole thing comes out in less than fourteen minutes. Then I

You know when people are rock climbing, they have these nail-looking things that look like short ski poles. They stab them into the rocks, wiggle it. I presume they do that to make sure it’s stuck in hard enough inside the unforgiving rocks. This notion and trust in oneself that you succeeded—that any God-fearing person would heed the imaginary signs stating, “Do Not Climb. You will probably die.” They press on, ignoring the warnings. They have to trust themselves: they jamme

“My dearest sister, I’ve learned there is a different way. No more surviving, living.”

My dearest sister, I’ve learned there is a different way. No more surviving, living.

I’ve swam and survived in 1000 feet of water. I am drowning in two feet of water.

I imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be mentally ill, to feel what you feel. Even if it was just for an hour.

I forgot who I was, and I allowed myself to be a victim for the first time in my life because of you.

You left the door wide open It became easier And more so than ever Another has filled the space you left vacant.

I don't cry to quit, I don't cry because I'm in pain, I cry to keep going.

“They may have knocked me down, but they did not knock me out. With the fortitude I own and my annoying tenacity, I do not get knocked out.”

I wasn’t going to jump ship, I didn’t know how to swim, or stumble anywhere. I needed his permission.

there are no losers– I just happen to be a slow winner.

there are no “proper” or socially acceptable ways to feel desperation. But there is an area of the many shades of grey making up the colossus of desperation that only the people who have ever felt or been privy to its torture will understand the prose in my letter to you my dearest friend.

Ha Son Nguyen November 25, 1981 – September 8, 2026 There are some people you cannot explain neatly. Ha was one of them. He was funny, sarcastic, complicated, deeply loved, sometimes impossible, and completely unforgettable. He could make me laugh when I wanted to kill him, frustrate me beyond belief, make me worry sick, and somehow still be the person I wanted beside me at the end of the day. We were not perfect people. We were two imperfect people, made of flaws and good in

I asked for a shirt. I ached for the scent of your skin. To smell you. Perhaps that would translate into a “Ghost” movie experience. Here comes “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers. This was going to be my moment: to cry, to smell your hypnotic scent. Wait. You did not wear women’s perfume. I certainly have never worn three-dollar streetwalker special, on sale for one at Dollar General. I love streetwalkers. I love them, especially when they find respite from the stre

You watched me rebuild after you tore me down. You watched me learn to walk again. You watched me learn to climb. You watched me buy my house. You watched me fight to get my son back. And somehow, along the way, you convinced me that those victories belonged partly to you. They didn’t. They were mine the entire time. You had a front-row seat to my rebuilding, and instead of protecting what I was becoming, you tried to sabotage it. You used your position in my life to take fro

Some relationships don’t end because the love wasn’t real. Sometimes they end because the love was real—and staying became too painful. I think the hardest part of losing you wasn’t the fight. It was realizing that the person I loved and trusted could also be the person who hurt me the deepest. I’ve gone over it a hundred times, trying to figure out where we broke, where we stopped seeing each other clearly. Maybe it was gradual. Maybe life got heavier. Maybe we both chan

This is an out-of-body experience. You said you’d be there. That it was us, us against the world. You died on Monday on the way to my house. You ran into a pole going way too recklessly fast. You were 2.5 hours late and probably trying to make up time. I hate you for that. You left me with this big mess. What am I going to do with this mess? How do I help Jackson through this? You have concert tickets on the 22nd. He wanted to know if you were still taking him. He keeps calli

Before I knew I was a writer, writing became the way I learned to speak again. This is where it started

Absolute astonishment. The people who have willingly sworn to uphold the law and seek justice for all are responsible for aiding the crimes and antagonizing the victims. The people who are supposed to help are the people responsible for the enemy fire. They handle the landmines and mortar fire. Taking bullied victims down horrific paths they have already traveled, they are leaders and tour guides making victims retrace paths marked by little footprints they left behind like