youve read a lot about me // or you havent.
idk what youve read. i dont care what you read so long as you are reading.
is it the bible?
is it someone’s insta?
is it your own journals?
i dont care if you read this, but if you want to hear about my lowest of lows, then keep reading. its a lot, but when arent i LMFAOO
and this isnt, like, bragging or me being conceited. i promise. and you just have to trust me on that. bc if youre woke af then you know that people can talk about themselves without bragging or showing off.
i yam just a frog.
plat plat plat.
are u woke??
i spent every day my senior semester higher than a kite and going to class when i could manage it (which truly was not often) // when i say music saved my life, i only half mean that. love saved my life, too, even when i couldnt hear it. the people in my life saved my life, even when i couldnt let them in. but music was there. music saw me through. my playlists stayed w me as i laid in my bed staring at the tapestry and my art on my walls. i would lay in bed staring at nothing/thinking about everything, and i would wish sleep would take me away. i would beg for sleep with my headphones in. and i could never really fucking sleep — ive always had trouble sleeping, which is why i smoked so much. yeah, i love a good IPA, but drinking always made me feel like shit. i black out extra easily bc of the chemical imbalance in my brain. i know that now. i thought blacking out after two beers was normal. i thought my depression was normal — and it absolutely was/is. it absolutely was/is. but i thought i had to go at it alone. which, yeah, that might be normal, too — i’m not sure. you let me know if thats normal. you lmk. // i wasnt talking to anyone. FOMO murdered the shit out of me. i’d leave the house Leah and I shared w Katie and Kevin (two amazing people i just couldnt connect with no matter how desperately i wanted to) and id begrudgingly trek out into the snow or the sleet or the fucking HAIL (ugh, Erie, Jesus) and people — my work friends or SAC/MAC staff or my Laker Leaders or my classmates (i truly knew, like, everyone on campus in one way or another — i swear it. i did. i was always in the spotlight bc i held so may positions on campus. or, at least, thats what it felt like. and when i was in a good place? like, sophomore year? when i was rowing and dating a great guy and yadda yadda basically that didnt last bc i torched my entire life. we thought it was depression at the time, which it was, but it was actually bipolar disorder rearing its fuckingguh wild horse of a head. and anyway, back to my senior semester (i say ‘semester’ bc i left after the first one. i couldnt make it through the year) and people/my “friends”/my “acquaintances” would smile and say hi and wave at me and ask how my life was or if i remembered what i put on some question on some test in some class, and i’d just keep walking. i didnt want anyone to see how much weight i’d gained. i didnt want anyone to see how out of shape i was when my body had always been something i worked really hard on and was very proud of. i didnt want people to see how ugly i FELT. i hated myself to my core — no, down to the toe ends of my whispy but sturdy tree roots. and i couldnt let anyone in. i didnt want to let anyone in. // i only had Leah and Galen on campus at that point (Galen essentially lived w us, which was ideal, but that was also really hard bc they were a couple at the time and theyd do couple things behind her closed doors and i was too depressed to be happy for them. i was too fucking toxic to myself and those around me to be happy for their happiness even though i loved them both very so much. so, so much. i love them both so much. and Leah is my soul sister maybe more than anyone else — we understand each other on a level i dont think anyone else ever could at least for a long time. i believe bonds can be strengthened indefinitely over time, but leah and i have always understood each other except any time we werent communicating [we both took the passenger seat in that], which was, like, an entire fucking year [our junior year] of sharing the same fucking bedroom wall. chamooga, i know ive said it a million times, but ill say it a million more. i love you so. much. and im so lucky i have such a COOL AND HILARIOUS soul sister wtf how did i get so lucky hahaha) and but anyway so when they were doing couple things behind closed doors i was smoking and popping melatonin and sobbing quietly to myself. and besides that, all we did was sit in our living room and talk and do drugs (except for wednesdays — we just wore wacky pants and went to Sheetz for breakfast sammies on wednesdays) and we’d sit and watch Kevin and Dudley hit Leah’s beautiful bong (RIP!!!! FUCKING RIP!!!!) and play video games, which wasnt *super* for someone so suicidal, but it was also a fucking. godsend. for someone so suicidal. and shannon and sean were close by, but they were adults and in the real world at that point, so they werent on campus. shannon would pick me up when she could (ty, shan ban. for every time you picked me up. you saved my life. im not kidding. i will forever be SO HAPPILY indebted to you; even though you and i dont say sorry to each other, we will always say thank you), and i often slept on her couch (my bed ahhaah) bc i couldnt bear to be on campus. i couldnt bear it. i couldnt be there. i couldnt stand it. i hated what felt like everyone watching and judging me. i felt so alone and so surrounded by hate. Johnny J had moved off campus at that point, too, so he and i took a class together, which also was a godsend, but it wasn’t enough to get through the week. i felt like i had no one. i felt so alone. and Vic was fucking going through HER OWN SHIT and we would “other half check in” and facetime just to yawn at each other whenever we could, but we couldnt be together then. we had to figure our shit out apart for a little while even though we’ve literally been in love since we started joking about all the ways you could eat avocados and crackers in high school (it was and still is a hilarious bit that we will do one day and ill post it on here. me describing it wouldnt do it any justice hahah). and my parents came up to rescue me and sleep on the couches Leah, Galen, and I had inevitably tripped on a few nights prior. my parents and my brothers and my Gaga and my family were always there for me, but they werent actually there, you know? i called my mom almost every day just so i would talk to at least one person that day. thank you for every time you picked up, mom. thank you for helping me more than you possibly knew you were helping me. and Marissa, thank you for always being there for me, too, fuck. i love you sosoosos much, and i cant wait to see you soon and go to the gym and talk about your beautiful wedding. im so proud and excited to be your maid of honor. thank you for always being a phone call away, too. like, its so zany — i knew i loved my friends so much, but i couldnt love anything at all. i wasnt capable. i was so utterly kneed in the face by the chemicals in my brain that i couldnt feel anything at all. i couldnt. feel. anything. at. all. and on some level i knew that, but i also had no idea. i had no fucking idea how close to committing suicide i was even though i told myself i would never actually do it. i told myself that, but i wasnt honest w myself about a lot of things at that time. i wasnt honest w a lot of people at that time. i didnt let anyone in bc i didnt want them to see me. i didnt want to be seen. and i didnt have Arlo yet, so i was stuck in a picture perfect liberal arts, catholic, legitimately gated university (seriously — mercyhurst is so beautiful, but beauty can be deadly when its covering up a community of perceived toxicity). // but, if you take away the “mercy,” then youre basically just left with “hurts.” // i’d even given my bunny sweet Mozzie (Moo) away (to the BEST bunny mom, Heather, mind you), bc i couldnt take care of myself let alone a bunny that would piss me off by waking me up wanting to just be fed or loved or seen or heard (im not sure/i never did learn to speak bunny/but i did get him the cutest black collar that he later got stuck in and i almost couldnt get it off and it was a very stressful experience for both Mozzie and me) — and, granted, he’d wake me up at, like, 3PM. i chewed melatonin like candy to try and sleep through as much of the day as i could. i fucking hated being alive, but i didnt want to kill myself bc i really do love my family too much. i knew id never actually kill myself, right? i had to have known that, right? i had to have clung to that, right? i may not have actually thought id do it, but i absolutely didnt think id ever actually want to be alive. i didnt know what it was like to want to be alive. i didnt know what it was like to fear death bc when i was black out drunk i ignored all my friends as id walk into oncoming traffic. i did that. often. i fucking did that, and my friends would drag me back onto the sidewalk. i always thought that was hilarious. the idea of death was so funny to me — life was a joke. everything i ever said was a joke. im the funniest person ive ever met, and everything i ever said in college was a fucking joke. i was stuck. i was so fucking stuck — with myself and in a life i didnt want to be in. // probably three weeks into my senior year, i quit all THREE of my noteworthy on campus leadership positions id worked so hard to attain. i worked so hard to get those. i was fearless and an amazing, supportive leader to those i lead without being able to ever lead myself. and its so hopelessly ironic that i was constantly front and center/hyping up crowds of freshmen and my AMAZING student leaders/sometimes as the fucking mascot w a huge smile plastered on Luke’s face but not mine. and i gave up my flexible, well-paid marketing internship where i worked for a super understanding boss who i learned later loved me. i thought she hated me. i thought all my bosses and teachers and managers and coaches hated me bc i would be the perfect student/employee/athlete until everything got to be too much and my depression would be so bad id fucking cave. hard. and id completely biff everything and it would close around me and those above me would promise me it wasnt the end of the world — but i couldnt hear them. i didnt listen. i didnt think anyone understood. and they didnt — bc i didnt let them. i didnt let them in. i’d already royally fucked up — i’m really fucking sorry to the great guys in that mens 8 i fucking COXED INTO THE BIGGEST BUOY ANYONES EVER SEEN OH MY GOD IT WAS SO LAUGHABLY HUGE AND I DJDNT SEE IT BC I COULDNT SEE OVER THE FUCKING HUGELY TALL ROWER MEN LIKE WHY WAS I A FUCKINF 125 POUND FRESHMAN GIRL COXING A MEN’s 8!! how was i supposed to be successful in doing that? how was that fucking fair to me? it was, like, my 4th time coxing and i didnt know how to steer bc i’d only ever rowed my whole life but i couldnt row then bc my eating disorder didnt let me eat enough to fucking be a rower like i wanted to be and no one but Chelsea knew that and maybe Leah im not sure and, ugh, i just couldnt fucking see anything and i didnt know how to ask for help bc i was so used to just handling my fucking shit bc im really fucking good at just keeping my head down and murdering myself through a situation and so i couldnt see anything bc i was so small and so frail and honestly i probably had a huge headache bc i hadnt eaten in who knows how long and so i just followed Margaret — a really good coxie — i just followed her. i legit was just pacing her course bc i could see to my right when i couldnt see in front of me and then i think my heart broke a little bit when we fucking STEAMROLLED into that fucking buoy and holy shit like i swear to god i thought someone was dead. my heart stopped. my heart sank. i knew i would never be able to actually be on this team that i loved so much — the team that recruited me. the team that brought me to fucking mercyhurst. all my friends. i knew i could never proudly wear my team patagonia anymore — which, i later sold on Poshmark. i felt that boat crash down to my core/my roots — and i never let it go. i finished out the season bc i aint no. fucking. quitter. and i kept my head held high even though most days on the water i was crying into my microphone. i lost the sport and the team that made me feel most alive. i fucking love rowing, man. i fucking love it. im a fucking athlete. i fucking love being on the water. i was a racehorse spurred by competition, and i didnt back down from fucking anyone. and i forget who was my stroke seat that day when i crashed the boat, but i remember him telling me, “dont cry.” as i steered the literal sinking ship back into the boathouse, and im sorry for that but i couldnt think bc i couldnt eat — and idk if youve ever been a 125 lb freshman girl looking into a, like, giant man’s eyes and been told not to cry, but it makes you put on your best fucking game face on — let me tell you — it makes you fucking zero in and dig deep and find whatever the hell it is that makes you okay when youre not okay and it lets you stroke that fucking 8 with your head held fucking high until that same guy carries you out of your completely sunken in coxie seat onto the shore (bc rowers carry their coxies in and out of the boat when they wet dock) and you march behind those 8 fucking huge men carrying the boat you fucking sank when you were absolutely only doing your best — FUCK YOU. HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFUL DOING THAT? HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? IM ALL FOR THROWING SOMEONE INTO THE DEEP END WHEN THEY CAN SWIM BUT YOURE A MONSTER IF YOU THROW SOMEONE IN ONLY TO LAUGH AS YOU WATCH THEM DROWN. yeah, i crashed the fucking boat. but it wasnt completely my fault. it wasnt only my fault. oh my god, did i make it my fault, though. that one is still with me. i still fucking carry that hit with me. and at the time i fucking marched behind those 8 amazing men to put the boat i broke into slings, and i wasnt crying. my voice was hard and stern, just as my coxie voice always was. im really good at coxing, but im terrible at steering. im really good at motivating people to get stronger, but im a fucking terrible driver. and after that boat was put safely into slings, i marched myself into my cabin (we were in Tennessee for spring training. and we were doing three-a-days in the blistering sun and i wasnt. eating. bc i couldnt. eat. so i couldnt. see. even when i couldnt see i legitimately had no chance of fucking seeing. i was making myself miserable — i was doing that. but i couldnt help it. its called disordered eating, you fucks. its called binge eating disorder. and my mens 8 couldnt get their second practice of three in bc i crashed the fucking boat probably 500m in to their long row. i did that. i did that, but i think i had some help. i should have been empowered by my coaches, but i was fucking abandoned. and i took the weight of that entire fucking boat on my shoulders, man — not literally, sure, but, man — if i dont still think about that fucking day.) and oh my fucking god, like — rae! home girl!! my sweet, bipolar, innocent, loving frog!!! it wasnt the end of the world!!!! i mean, truly. it wasnt. nothing is black and white. nothing is “all” or “nothing” except for this statement, lmao. and sure, it wasnt, like, a super greeaatt situation to find yourself in hahah but, obviously, boats can be fixed, and it was fixed almost immediately. bc my coaches were always ready for the unexpected. the boat was out of commission for, like, a day i think — or, honestly, maybe it had to get repaired — i dont rememberer. i seriously and truly think i probably blacked out from stress. i took on that pain — all of it. i did that. my brain did that, and brains have such a cool way of shutting things out when it’s all too much. which, in a way, is what i did after i lost my favorite passion/only hobby. i shut everything out. thats when the loneliness and depression really sank in — pun intended. and just like boats can be fixed, coxies can be forgiven — which i *think* i was?/i was told i was, but i always caught the hate in the coaches’ eyes when they made lineups. and i caught the side eyes from the men when i’d have to cox a mixed 8 or God forbid a men’s 8 thereafter. i apologized profusely, but i still quit. maybe it was a pride thing; i guess it absolutely was, actually. yeah, it was. i was so used to being the best boat my whole life until then that i left my favorite fucking sport. bc i couldnt beat the embarrassment of having rammed poor Amel’s fucking ribs into that buoy with my then-boyfriend, Tony, watching. i broke up w Tony, like, months later bc he didnt know if he could ever love me. i’m sorry, Tony, if this is too personal to share. i’ll delete this part if you want me to. but its true. i broke up w you and started dating Tim bc i absolutely wasnt waiting around in a relationship for someone who didnt feel he was capable of loving me. and Tony and i are pals now, which is cool cool cool. and im glad i dated Tim bc Tim taught me so much — but i’ll get into that later. and so im sorry i went a little (lot) out of order, but i hope you can follow. essentially, come my senior year, i was empty and void of all the accomplishments i’d worked so hard to achieve. i lost any chance at a rowing scholarship (the literal reason i went to mercyhurst) and i lost ALL of the leadership awards i was to potentially be nominated for that year. i had nothing except a handful of people i loved more than life itself, truly. and i couldnt feel love, but i knew i’d found lifelong people and for that i was/am so grateful. id pushed everyone else away, and the only people i missed were Chelsea and Tim. and id pushed them away. i did that. i take ownership of that. Tim and i were together my sophomore year and we had, like, 7 fallings out thereafter. we kept trying to be friends bc we were woke enough to do that fr but also we never communicated and he ghosted me, like, legitimately probably 12 times. he would always shut me out, and i would always be there after he unblocked me. i just wanted to be loved. that was emotional abuse. that was fucking toxic. Tim and i actively and sometimes i think intentionally emotionally abused each other for years sitting in graphic design classes together/sitting in my bed/driving around in Ginny. we were scumbags to each other through gritted teeth, through an d through. we cheated on each other emotionally and otherwise. we did that. to each other. we co-constructed a boat that was only destined to sink after we sank our teeth into each other, literally — i think he still has the scars. he always hated when i bit him, which, for the record — FUCKING FAIR hahahaah i know im a lot. i couldnt figure out why i wanted to bite and choke these men and i couldnt figure out why they didnt like to make things a little kinky. were they scared of me? was i too much? why was i always too much for people? i couldnt figure out why. i couldnt figure out why, if Tim was my soulmate, why was he a boobs guy and not a butt guy? i knew my soulmate would be more of a butt guy. i just knew. bc as cute as my boobs are im definitely a butt gurrrl. i knew all of this down to my roots bc i firmly believed — maybe more than anything else — that soulmates are real. and maybe you dont call them soulmates — i think that word can really freak people out, and i dont mean to freak anyone out. please — i’m sorry im so much. i never mean to freak anyone out unless i’m, like, trying to freak people out hhaha almost all my joint are double-jointed, so. but anyway. i personally believe in them, through and through. and thats my prerogative. and i love without abandon, truly. and also, again — for the record (whatever the hell “the record” is hahaha), i really hate graphic design. and im not super good at it even though im an artist. Tim, my dude. youre so good at it — a new logo, PLEASE. when i get money ill pay you whatever you want. youre the only one id want to design it even when you shut. me. out. again. oh. my. god. grow the fuck up. GROW THE FUCK UP. IM SORRY I LEFT YOU ONCE BUT YOU PUSHED ME AWAY, DONT YOU SEE THAT? i truly think we’re all — in some way or another — our own worst enemies. but anyway, sorry im such a BITCH HOLE but seriously like i just want to love people. and i want to help people get healthy and strong. thats all. and Tim and my last attempt at being friends (we had a lot of love between us but we were toxic as a couple and i think we both knew that) was the summer before my senior semester — that fucking dreaded summer. Shannon moved into Leah and my house, which, sounds amazing, but we were all going. the. fuck. through it. in out own ways. at the same time. together and very much apart. but anyway, so flash to, like, the end of that fucking toxic summer. Tom — hahahah, “Tom” — silly fucking thumbs. Tim and i were on the way home from my favorite brewery, Erie Brewing Co., one night when we totaled my moms car. i was driving. we (especially tim) could have died — the car literally flipped into a ditch. like, flipped back over front after being rear the FUCK ended. we had been listening to Nickelback and laughing just moments before i made that. fucking. U-Turn. why did i think it was okay to make a U-Turn there? but, tbh, id do it again. like, i dont think i was being unsafe. i really dont — and maybe i was. im not sure. im a terrible driver, truly. and maybe ill never know, but it was perfect timing that as soon as i had the car pointed on the road, i saw headlights closer and brighter than id ever seen them, and they burned themselves so desperately into my rearview mirror. i clocked what was about to happen and took a single, calm breath in. i closed my eyes, took my hands off the wheel and my foot off the pedal, and i began instinctively reaching out to grab Tim’s arm bc i knew i didnt have time to tell Tim what was about to happen. and that was the second time i took the full blow of a crash — this time way more viscerally. i was, again, in the driver’s seat. i was the coxswain of that boat. Tim could have died if i hadnt seen the car seconds before it reamed into us. why did timing work out that way? why didnt they run us over seconds prior when tim’s side would have been absolutely terminated. why did we live? how could both of us walk after that? does everything happen for a reason? we werent doing anything wrong!! we were legitimately going back to my house with a new friend we’d made (our server) (our humor had always been infectious, and we made friends w everyone). we sat, car/us in the literal weeds. there were weeds coming through my window. my mom’s car window. we were in a ditch. // i fucking totaled the shit out of my mom’s car. fuck. fuck. shit. fuck. okay. be cool. you got this. you can get through this. you can do this. rae — homie? you good? youre okay. snap out of it. snap out of it. youre okay. “Tim? TIM! fuck, if you’re dea—“ “what? yeah? yeah.” // my door wouldnt open bc the car was kinda on a tilt (and also smashed completely. how were we okay? how could we walk?) so Tim got out and reached in to pull me out (— all, like, 160 pounds of me at the time GOD i hated myself. i dont hate myself anymore for the record, even when i do gain weight. im managing that disorder better than anything else, i promise you. im awesome hahaha even when i suck, you know?) and we stumbled up the hill dazed and spinning and Tim grabbed my hand, looked me dead in the eyes, and clear as day he pierced through the ringing in my ears: “am i bad luck for you?” //fuck. what? // my head was spinning/pounding/lashing out at me for hurting it so seemingly carelessly/it wasnt intentional, fuck, fuck i would never want to hurt anyone — i found out later i had a concussion from smacking my face off the steering wheel. i remember just one second when we (Tim, me, and my mom’s fucking CAR) were all hopelessly lost in the air, floating; it was a dream // i had to be dreaming??? fuck. my mom’s car. is in a ditch. // — i wasnt worried about myself at all, clearly. in that moment, when we were floating and my eyes were still closed tightly, i just reached out to grab tim’s arm. i knew where his arm was somehow. we were connected, i thought. in that moment — and in every moment i knew him, honestly, which i came to the realization years later — i only cared about him. i. only. cared. about. him. that was the problem. that was my entire fucking problem. i always put him first, and i never communicated a need in that relationship ever. i did that. i didnt know how to let someone love me. i had no idea how to actually. let. someone in. thats my fault — i did that. i absolutely did that. i was toxic. i distinctly remember thinking as my mom’s car was flipping head over heels and my phone was flying who the fuck knows where and my head was pounding off the steering wheel — i remember thinking, “if Tim’s dead? if you killed Tim? youre going to kill yourself tonight.” thats it. that was my thought before we hit the ground. plain and simple — eyes squeezed tight/hand wrapped tight around his fuzzy arm. i made a pact to myself that if he was dead then i’d die, too. // i wasnt drunk, and the police officer attested to that, thankfully. i dont drink and drive irresponsibly — i may be a terrible driver otherwise, but i dont drink and drive. i will never do that — thats a promise to myself. // Tim and i got in our new friend (the Erie Brewing Co. server who we’d met, like, two hours prior)’s shiny blue car. i was in the back seat. // my head hurt so fucking bad — fuck. what the fuck just happened? // i used Tim’s phone to call my poor mom at, like, 1AM. i was sobbing. Tim reached back to hold my hand the entire way home. the three of us went back to my house that night to watch Tim and my favorite show, Black Mirror. i fell asleep after 10 minutes probably bc of my fucking concussion. and Tristyn left when the episode was over in her car that still worked. earlier that night, when we’d first started talking to Tristyn, she asked if Tim and I were together. we weren’t. he had a long-term girlfriend. i was single. Tim and i looked at each other just for a moment before i cut the air with a firm “no.” i wrote a poem about that moment years ago — you can find it if you scroll back far, far, far. why didnt he answer? why didnt he say it? it killed me to say that. i had told him, like, a week prior to this day that i was still in love w him, and he said he was happy in his relationship. and he said he understood if i couldnt be friends w him, and i just laughed. i loved him too much to let him go — and thats not love. thats lust. Tim taught me a ton. thanks, Tim. hi tim. and anyway so Tim and i walked up the stairs in my house as we had done so many times before, and we stood in the hallway outside my room, in the dark, tears running down my cheeks, and he grabbed my pounding head and he ever so gently but firmly kissed me on the forehead. my favorite thing. a soft, innocent forehead kiss right where my head was absolutely splitting. and then he slept next to me that night. we just slept. we had both cheated on each other before and had no interest in cheating further — he had just told me he was happy in his relationship, remember? sleeping next to each other is harmless. @ me on that idc idc idk. i just needed him to sleep next to me that night bc my head was still spinning and i didnt know what to do. i didnt know what was going on. i didnt know what was going on or what was real and i cried myself to sleep that night. he was already snoring from the other side of the bed, and i just cried. we went to MedExpress the next day, and i remembered his phone number when the lady asked me for mine — my phone was lost in the crash. i can still remember his number if i think hard enough, but sometimes i switch around some 5s and 3s. i only knew it bc id deleted him out of my contacts so many times i accidentally memorized it. funny how that works. after MedExpress, we went to look at where the crash happened to try and find my phone, and his girlfriend called. his girlfriend later called me out on Twitter for “helping him cheat” or whatever, and i just ignored her. i didnt have to justify my actions to anyone, and she was hurting. she was grieving over the same man i had grieved over way before her — he cheated on me with her first. i dont know if she wver knew that. tbh nobody knows what happens behind closed doors except the ones behind those doors. i actually still havent opened her nasty, bigoted fucking DM, and i dont care to. it doesnt bother me or anything hahah like okay i may be a frog, but i dont concern myself w the opinions of warty toads. // and then i left. i just left. i left mercyhurst. i moved home and i did an online class to get the last 3 credits i needed bc i’d be DAMNED if i went through hell and didnt get a degree out of it. i didnt get a psych degree. i lost my graphic design minor. but i did it. i fucking got a stupid piece of paper that says, to me at least, “congrats! you didnt fucking kill youself!” // i think my mom has my diploma or maybe i threw it away — i could not care less. // college almost broke me, sure, but truly — i almost broke myself. i almost broke myself. i would go on and off meds bc they never helped and i didnt understand why some days id fucking murder a class presentation and manage 6 classes and 3 jobs and an internship and then other days i’d be sobbing in my room eating god knows what behind my black out curtains/avoiding the world. i didnt understand yet that i had bipolar disorder. i didnt understand how i could be so smart and yet college was so hard. i almost broke myself, and i will not make that mistake again. im fucking medicated, you guys, and i will never go off of my meds again. i understand my disorder now more than ever, and i will not let it break me. i wont. im getting healthy, and i really hope everyone out there can, too. i hope the people in my life suffering from depression (i attract people in depression like flies lmao idk why — i think its the same reason i like moths more than butterflies). butterfly effect. look it up if you dont know about it. i think sometimes we have to push the river, and if sharing the lowest of my lows can help someone feel a little bit less alone in this world, then that would make me so. happy. im sorry if this comes off as conceited. i hope you can see that i talk about myself in order to connect to people. i just want people to see theyre never alone. i just want those experiencing depression or any other mental tring to know that theyre not alone. seriously, email me — whoever you are. i love to listen just as much as i love to talk and write. no, i dont know who has this link anymore, and i might have gone about getting it out to people in not the best way, but its out there. and if this dumb fucking blog or this long-winded fucking story can help seriously just one person, then this blog will be worth it. then my mania will have been worth it. // i just want to connect w people and learn more about them and myself. truly. and i want to learn more about mental health safety/awareness practices. i dont cut anymore bc cutting never mattered to me — i think i just did it to show Leah that i matched her. you know how all tigers have stripes? we’re all just big dumb idiot animals, truly. i just wanted to show leah that we were soul sisters, but i couldnt function properly let alone communicate. // i hope this can help someone. and if it doesnt? thats cool cool cool, too. ill be here writing regardless of if anyone is out there reading. i dont look at the stats. i dont want clout. i just want to help anyone out there who may feel misunderstood. ive been to hell and back, and i will never let myself go back to that place so help me God. i wont. i will take my meds and eat right and exercise like the fuckingguh nationally recognized lightweight rower i am still to this day. im still her, even though im not currently rowing (i’ll get back in the double at some point — ideally w Leah or Galen or JJ or my brother, Kyle. rowing brought us together. rowing did that). im still all the pieces of my past, but im rearranging them. im fucking done living in misery. im fucking done living in depression. and mania. i will work my fucking ass off to be mentally (and physically) (and soulfully) (and hopefully financially ahahah pls someone shoot me in the face i have no money how am i going to pay rent!! ahahah!! LA is exponsive!!!) healthy. i will work every day to be healthy. and every day will absolutely not be an easy one!! regardless of how good you are at managing your meds and eating right and exercising and doing yoga and dancing and hiking and drinking alcohol or water or kombucha like life will absolutely throw you curve balls. i fucking welcome balls, man — and i absolutely never have before hhaha id always say “im good at this part but i dont go near the balls” — and guess what? balls dont freak me out anymore. bodies are beautiful. bodies are so, so beautiful. and life’s curve balls are just as beautiful— even when theyre bad. even when theyre hard. even when they FUCKING SUCK SO BAD AND YOURE LIKE “HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE??? HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN??? HOW THE HELL DID I GAIN ALL THIS WEIGHT / PUSH EVERYONE I LOVE AWAY / RUIN MY LIFE?” how did i lose that family member? who the fuck took that family member away? why do i have such a hard mental “illness” to deal with? why do i not fit in anywhere? why was i emotionally abused? why did i hate myself for so long?
dont you get it? we’re not alone. seriously. we have EACH OTHER. WE ALL GO THROUGH SHIT. WE ALL DROP THE BALL. WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES. WE ALL SUCK SOMETIMES. WE. ARE ALL. DUMB BITCHES. SOMETIMES. get over yourself. youre not special. seriously — youre absolutely not going through something someone hasnt already gone through. im so serious. and try me!! come at me!! @ me!! tell me your story. tell me your struggle. tell me why your life sucks worse than anyone before you. fucking COME. AT. ME. and i will listen. and ill empathize bc im really good at that. and ill commiserate bc sometimes misery does like company — but misery deserves company, too. im getting stronger every day, and i will continue to do so, and i want to help everyone around me get stronger, too. im for serious. im so serious. im a really fucking strong ass person (just. like. you.) (and i have a strong ass, too, hayyoo im perfect) (just. like. you.) and i want to help other people see their strength, too.
whats your strength?
whats your story?
what are you going through?
how are you feeling?
what are you thinking?
do you feel lost?
🎶do you love this shit?
are you high right now?
do you ever get nervous?🎶
are you okay?
i promise youre okay.
and if you dont wanna email me or talk to me THAT IS SO OKAY. THATS COMPLETELY OKAY JESUS I DONT WANT TO TALK TO ANYONE WHO DOESNT WANT TO TALK TO ME. but just talk to someone. anyone. whoever makes you feel seen and heard and understood. talk to those who stick around.
nothing youve done has to ruin your life. talk it out. work through it — yeah, itll suck. yeah, its a hell of a lot harder to do than drinking your way through life or snorting your way through life or tripping your way through life.
i used to be an asshole sometimes to good people bc i liked to troll folks. i fucking loved using my sharp wit and clever humor to fuckinnguh roast people. i did that. and while it may be funny to look back on, im not actually proud of it. im not proud. i AM proud of every single time ive said hi to someone who wasnt expecting it. i AM proud of every single time i made friends w everyone at the restaurant i was serving at — not just the front of house. fuck any server who only looks at the kictchen staff as a gateway to food. fuck any person who looks at another person as anything other than a person. fuck those people. fuck them. ive said before — some people are too dense. and thats true. and maybe theyll come around, but i wanna focus on the artists and the dreamers and the doers and the tryers. where the trill are the goddamn TRY-ERS???? whos out there grinding? whos out there doing what they need to do to get by? what the FUCK IS UP, KYLE?
tell me your story.
show me your art.
share yourself — youre not alone.
letsszuh work out together. or work together. or work to find someone who can help you. i dont have all the answers, Lord knows — but i will. help. find. them.
i will do that.
and if i cant? then i have a lot of really amazing people who can. i have a whole slew of amazing fucking people, mane — im such a lucky frog. and this frog may not waste her time on warty toads, but she would do anything for a fellow frog.
dont let yourself be squished.
dont let yourself be stepped on — especially by yourself.
dont limit yourself.
dont squash your potential.
lets fuckinguhh work to get ourselves healthy so that we can help others.
empower the unempowered. <—- is this not a word? why is it underlined in red?? am i an idiot who cant spell or use words? is this a word? i thought it was. somEONE TELL ME IF THIS IS A WORD. yeah, i could easily google it, but i prefer to empower people over technology.
empower those without a voice.
check your privilege.
im not in mania rn.
this is just me.
this is totally. just. fucking. mid. rae.
and she still wants to save the world by looking at every person who wants to be seen.
you deserve to be seen.
you DESERVE. TO. BE. HEARD.
im not in mania rn.
im fucking stable as a mf triangle.
fucking fight me — you wont.
fucking @ me — you wont.
fucking. love. me. and ill love you right back.
we can do this if we work together to spread love and shut out hate.
maybe not this platform.
probably not this blog.
but ill be DAMNED if i dont help at least one person. just one. thats my “mid-level rae” goal. i just want to help one person see that theyre not alone or that theyre strong enough to overcome anything.
youre so strong, u sessy lil illuminaughty triangle, you.
or whatever you are.
im a triangle — what are you? dont let me speak for you. dont let anyone speak for you.
speak for yourself.
im so serious.
fucking. @. me.
fucking tussle w me.
fucking dance w me, my dude.
fucking come at me w all you got, and ill work w you. ill fucking do that with you — as an equal. us together. you and me.
whats stopping you?
what are you afraid of?
if you know me personally, you know im the ABSOLUTE BIGGEST SOFTIE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE CRAZY RESTING BITCH FACE AND A TATTOO ON THE SIDE OF MY HEAD AND A RING THROUGH MY NOSE
I. AM. SUCH. A. SENSY. FROG.
leeszzzuh fucking go.
Y O U ?
fucking get healthy — youre strong enough.
this is the people-first mentality.
this is love. first.
we are people before we are anything else — husbands, mothers, employees, students, priests, murderers, victims — we are all people. we are all just people.
we all have similar struggles even if our stories are exponentially different. i promise youre more similar to your neighbor than you might think. or maybe you get “it” already!! maybe you fucking get it. maybe i met you at Just Like Heaven and you were super dope and maybe we had the same sunglasses or maybe you looked like my good friend Tim or maybe you were living out loud and i approached you bc i liked your shirt or the spider painted on your cheek — idk you.
let me know you.
who are you?
FORK IS YOUR STORY?
YOURE A PERSON FIRST. ABOVE EVERYTHING ELSE. ABOVE ANYTHING ELSE.
WE ARE JUST. PEOPLE. DOING OUR BEST.
where are the try-ers at? whos fucking trying their best?
love me, and ill love you back so fiercely youll feel like youve never been loved before.
i stan w people.
i stan w you.
i love those i love with no abandon.
even when they push me away.
IDGAF. IDGAF WHAT YOUVE DONE. IDGAF WHAT BOX SOCIETY HAS FORCED YOU INTO. I. DONT. GIVE. A. FUCK. WHO. YOU. ARE.
FUCKING @ ME.
do it — you wont.
you fucking COWARD.
what are you scared of?
what are you afraid of?
what are you ashamed of?
anything you tell me stays between us. this blog is for my writing and anything anyone wants posted.
i would never post something without permission or recognition. i would never do that.
i would never share a secret. im a really good secret keeper. im a really good listener. im a really fucking good listener.
and i may not have a psych degree, but GOD DAMMIT IF I HAVENT LEARNED MORE PSYCH ON MY OWN THAN ANY CLASS COULD TEACH.
and i might go get my masters in organizational leadership and psychology. i might do that. that’s my prerogative.
but degrees mean nothing to me tbh.
i like the self-teachers. i like the self-learners.
i like the people who quit their day jobs to chase their dreams. i like the people who DRIVE ACROSS THE FUCKING COUNTRY IN AN ‘09 TOYOTA COROLLA TO FIND WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS THEYRE LOOKING FOR.
i did that.
i did that.
and id do it a million times over A) bc the road trip was amazing and Vic and i can legitimately have fun doing absolutely ANYTBING and B) bc it was worth it.
idk what i was looking for in LA, and im still looking tbh, but ive found a whole hell of a lot. i did that. i walked my fucking path to a city everyone told me i would hate.
im not an NYC girl, though i know now that i can be happy anywhere.
i can be happy anywhere.
i can sing a jingle about anything.
i can have fun doing anything.
bc i am irrevocably and irreversibly happy — regardless of any fuckinguh mood trings.
regardless of any “mental. illness.”
i am bipolar.
dont call me that — but i can say it.
i want to say it.
i identify as it, though it does not define me.
LORD IT DOES NOT DEFINE ME.
but i am proud of it. i am. im so proud to be bipolar and working to get healthy.
im so proud of myself.
and im so proud of you, too —
whoever you are. im so pozzy 4 you!
who are you?
who. are. you?
hit me in the face w a pan idc idc idk
anything you send will stay between you and me unless you direct me otherwise.
i want to help.
ive felt alone before, and i never want that for anyone. not even warty, annoying-ass, big-headed, vegan-PREACHING TOADS.
i said frog, not fraud.