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Even when he was trying his very hardest not to survive, my Dad still gave himself music. And somewhere along the way, he gave it to me too.

I struggle to find language that describes the messy tangle of thoughts and memories that weigh down every spoonful. If I had to tell you about my relationship with food in a sentence: I am totally and completely obsessed with it.

I didn't fall in love with John Green’s writing the way you fall asleep: slowly and then all at once. I fell in love with it the way you pass out during a particularly nasty panic attack: all at once and then all at once.

“It helps me in ways that have enabled me to grow as a parent, in all honesty. Cannabis guides me to this calm, present state of mind."

There’s nothing distinguishable about a cannabis user. Most of us, you’d never pick out of a crowd.

We’re living in a time where parents must do the impossible dance of humanizing the world to their children, while at the same time shielding them from the potential of other humans to cause harm.

I often think about the people in my hometown whose lives were ruined because they live in the “wrong” state. That same stigma causes me to feel horrible after I smoke.

If I could redo the conversation with her today, I would probably light up right alongside her.

EMDR is the most compassionate and empowering therapy I have ever undergone.

It’s supposed to imply that I can do a lot of stuff even while I’m sick, but what it actually means is “not dying yet.” Because that is the actual definition of functioning: existing. Breathing in and out, eating, talking, and — especially if you live in America — generating some form of income.