The world is fucking weird. I don't know what to call this feeling today except off — the kind of off that makes you stop and ask, what the hell is wrong with me? A few days back I wrote about body image and self‑esteem; since then I've realized something nastier under it all: I …
Continue reading Friends in the Foxhole
Last night in Appalachia reminded me that not every dream has to go viral. Sometimes yelling into the void—or into the wasteland—is enough.
From the schoolyard to the Army scale to bariatric surgery, body image has haunted me like a ghost. The mirror doesn’t always tell the truth—but neither do the voices that shaped it.
September drags old scars into the light. PTSD anniversaries, bad memories, and a country at odds with itself. Sometimes the Wasteland is the only place I can breathe.
