Personal

After the worst thing in someone’s life, a person might stop living inside their body. They don’t leave it — they just stop being in it. The body becomes something they carry. A coat that won’t come off. A house that won’t sell. A friend was sexually assaulted on her campus. The institution closed ranks around the person who did it. She was left standing outside alone. I don’t know what happened to her in those minutes. She might have gone somewhere her body wasn’t. Her body went still — that much I know. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t run. And when it was over, she came back into herself and found that everything was technically where she left it, but none of it felt like hers. ...

I never really got nervous around people my age. It just wasn’t my thing. But then there was this one girl in class I had zero clue how to talk to, so naturally, I just… didn’t. Somehow, despite my absolute lack of game, you were the one who actually started things. Which I then immediately managed to fuck up by ghosting you because of my own anxiety. Looking back, that was easily one of the dumbest, most self-sabotaging things I’ve ever done. ...

So this site started because I’m stubborn. Plain stubborn. I got tired of writing on other people’s platforms and hoping the algorithm gods would bless me. Substack, Medium, WordPress — yeah, they’re easy. But easy in that way where you kind of know you’re giving something up. Like, sure, frozen pizza is easy too. But you didn’t really cook it, you know? Someone else made all the decisions for you. You just pushed the buttons. ...