I’ve been writing for at least 8 of the 21 years I’ve spent on this earth. I’ve been depressed for at least that long. Sometimes it feels like writing about it makes it better, and sometimes it feels like it makes it worse. I keep doing it anyway. In the long run, I think writing is probably one of my better coping mechanisms.
When I’m not writing about being sad or angry or the things that make me less sad or angry, I’m a student at Yale University, where I study psychology. I also dance because I have a lot of feelings, and sometimes writing about them just isn’t enough. And when I’m not writing, dancing, or doing homework, I’m hanging out with kids, because kids are the future (it’s lame, I KNOW, but it’s TRUE) and I want the future to be better for everyone. But especially for the kids who feel alone and scared and uncertain and out of place, because I know all too well what that feels like. I was lucky enough to find some adults who really cared about me and taught me to love myself and to love life and to look forward to the future even when it felt like I didn’t have one.
So anyway, life is hard, and I’m doing my best to stumble through it successfully and hopefully help some other people along the way.