I graduated high school a year early and moved to St. Louis at the ripe age of seventeen. In a lonely, two-bedroom apartment on the county line, my world started to crumble. I thought moving away would solve my problems, but I’d never been good at running. Instead, it brought my problems to the surface, forcing me to confront issues I had consciously (and subconsciously) buried deep inside of me. Vulnerable, sad, and questioning everything I had ever known, I found my way into therapy and into the arms of not-so-therapeutic men. Meanwhile, my dad moved himself to another state for a job promotion and my mom buried her nose deeper into her always-looming meth addiction.

That was twelve months ago.

I have no example of what it means to have a healthy relationship nor do I understand what it means to overcome your childhood (I wonder if it is possible).

I’m writing my way through the trauma and the truth of it all.  This is my healing. This is my recovery. This is my story–told honestly and passionately.