We’re two years into the pandemic and in a desperate attempt to reclaim some sense of normality and address my constant brain fog – I’ve been writing a memoir since January. I’m only about 23,000 words in so far – but if I maintain my current pace, I could be finished by the end of the year. 

I understand that writing a memoir sounds incredibly self-serving, and I don’t even know if I want to try and publish it. Initially I started writing because I was having my usual ‘January Scaries’ where I become temporarily suicidal because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. This year marks the 7th year that I’ve been on antidepressants since my first case of the scaries on New Year’s Eve in 2014 and decided I didn’t want to live anymore. This blog came out of that, when I was first experiencing manic symptoms as I adjusted to the medication.

As a result of digging into a lot of childhood (but mostly young adult) trauma, I’ve been deep diving my nostalgia and trying to excavate early teen memories of when I was finally let loose on the internet.