“my story grew heftier, full of confusion and grief. It became second nature for me to practice and recite my lines for my dramatic sob story. My fishbowl was filled with murky water and I had become so accustomed to it that my clarity was absolutely distorted.”
“My busyness eventually caught up with me. When my world stopped spinning for a moment, I realized my productivity didn’t have much to show for itself. My forward began to rotate backward. And, my band aid had finally started to lose its stickiness.” .
“By this time, my relationship with my mother masked over my anguish of what I thought was a lack of a childhood. This turned into a drive to forget and to make excuses for my own actions. And so became the birth of my story, my evolution of my excuses…
We all live behind white picket fences, right? Or at least we think everyone else does. We all believe that everyone else lives a sheltered life and that ours is the only one screwed up, right? A few years ago, I went back to college to learn Spanish. One of…
