A Mote of a Life


   Heroism is defined in many different ways, but most people tend to agree that it embodies several key traits: that the act is voluntary, that it is done in the service of people or communities in need, that it... Continue Reading →

In Addition to the Blindness

I’ve been having dreams lately where I’m driving down a country road at night, rain lashing down, and my headlights don’t work. The road is winding and hilly, flanked on either side by thick underbrush coating nearly vertical cliff drops.... Continue Reading →

Disappointment is the Hardest Emotion to Handle

I think—I mean, for me—disappointment is the hardest emotion to handle. When someone doesn't live up to their potential, or when someone ends up not being who you thought they were, dealing with that disappointment is a huge loss that... Continue Reading →

Eating My Way to Tolerance

Preface: This was my winning entry in the 2018 Kelly Jo Feinberg Memorial Essay Contest. It was chosen for its honesty, depth, and voice. I was so happy when one of my favorite teachers, Dr. Beth Connors-Manke, was the one... Continue Reading →

A Real Illness

There aren’t a whole lot of ways I know how to handle my depression, other than how I already am. Medication, therapy, diet and exercise—and about one day a month where I just get overwhelmed with the thought of even thinking about life and hide in my room for 36 hours, emerging only to pee, or feed the pets.

Perfection is Never Too Far Off

My problem isn’t that I overeat. It isn’t that I mindlessly binge or don’t work out enough (although I could be a little more active). My problem is that I see eating as some kind of moral failing.   “Food... Continue Reading →

The Glorious Hunter

The Killer Beast tears the prey from the safety of its den…     It puts up a fight, but—in the end—it is no match for its opponent.     A final death shake snaps the neck of his prey…... Continue Reading →

A Quiet Affair

Will you love me even when I'm beautiful? When mother picks out that dark blue dress for me, when my cheeks are rouged and my lips painted and my lashes thicker than I ever could manage, when they comb back... Continue Reading →

The Kill

Sunday mornings. Cars drive past the house, spraying puddles of rain behind them as it continues to fall. A good book. Shirley Jackson discusses her house full of chaos. I laugh, imagining cats bringing bats into the house and children... Continue Reading →

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