I Am No Longer Homeless!

I always find it something between ironic and cruel that Bell Let's Talk day has been on my birthday ALMOST every single year. Thankfully I'm mostly dead inside and numbers we associate with the cycle of the sun don't mean anything to me. 

This year more than those past, I noticed a large number of people posting online about their struggles with anxiety and mental illness. And it certainly warms my little grinch heart to see others be open and supportive of something with such a stigma. But the pessimist in me feels compelled to shit on it in at least one way. The internet and social media have given those of us who struggle with invisible illnesses a wonderful outlet to be social without being additionally stressed. We can passively seek tools to cope and can corral immense support with less effort than ever before.

But it's important to remember that though it's invisible, the illness exists in the real world too.

And it can be ugly.  

The shiny conversations based on community and acceptance are so important, but so are the ones that happen when you've been avoiding going in public. Or when someone sees what you've subconsciously been picking off your skin.

The game of validation via views can be toxic, so just remember how crucial your IRL coping skills are too. 

Breathe. Eat cheese. And remember it will pass. 


A few days from now will mark the 1-year anniversary of my life transforming from a caterpillar into a clusterfuck. And while it feels cliché that it took a full year to come full circle, it genuinely took a full calendar year to be able to stand back up (and because caterpillars can't technically stand due to no bones so, you know...).

And thank fuck, because the entire time felt essentially how this looks:

And the above statement is actually a lie because I began writing this blog in January. But you don't ACTUALLY care, so lets just pretend and both enable my procrastinating for affect, shall we? 

I avoided celebrating New Years partially because of the sociopathic calendar reasons loosely described above and partly because it just didn't feel "new" yet. But now that I've finally committed to borrowing the same walls and toilet for the next couple hundred days, it's starting to take shape. And those walls have certainly proved to be useful thus far:

  Edith  (two hours after moving in)

Edith (two hours after moving in)

  Isabel Lahela  (See the rest in  Skyn Magazine )

Isabel Lahela (See the rest in Skyn Magazine)

And a whole pile of other shit I can't show you yet, but has left me depositing gold glitter on anyone I come across anywhere I go. Seriously. 

If I've seen you since February 2nd, I'm sorry.

I'm trying.

It won't go away.  

While all that glitters may not be gold, gold glitter is apparently for fucking ever. 


So fuck it. February 27th is my new New Years Eve!*

*Remember? I was making some marginally relevant comment about the measurement, and by extension, value of time before I showed the butts?

And here we go, circling back to the original point (thesis) to begin summing up the argument (conclusion) in an effort to make you see my point (persuasive essay) and therefore both validate my trials AND tribulations (20-something privileged narcissist):

I am now somehow back in the larval stage of adulthood and wriggling my way away from anxiety and gut thrusting towards who knows what.**

** Remember I was also talking about caterpillars? 

 Gut Thrusting (?) Photographer:  Justin Robinson

Gut Thrusting (?) Photographer: Justin Robinson

 Wriggling (?) Redemption for:  Justin Robinson

Wriggling (?) Redemption for: Justin Robinson

And each day has been seemingly systematically better than the last and they all usually involve coconut oil.  

Happy New Year!

Taylor Oakes