Submissions Tagged 'memoir'

I grabbed a luggage trolley and trundled it towards my car. After bellowing, assaulting a bus-stop, and faking a mid-road heart-attack, this was the last thing I could think of to make the Omni security guards call the police. Thirty minutes later I was handcuffed in the back of a cruiser. This was not how I’d pictured my day when I woke up in Ben’s arms at our house in the Hollywood Hills that morning.

It had been three months since I’d emerged, seemingly miraculously, out of an adulthood-long depression. I was beginning to believe I was capable Read more

(ok, so I’m starting to write again, and I’m going to finish the book i started so long ago. The Doctors said i need to see a therapist, but the best therapy for me is just to write. I’m going to be posting half chapter or full chapter on my blogs, so give me some insight. I started writing this book almost 2 to 3 years ago so some of the material might seem old to my friends that have been here from the start, but bear with me.)

I’m worried about my friends, Read more

This is the first chapter of my memoir-in-progress, about relationships between mothers and daughters from both sides of the divide. It is tentatively titled "How Little We Know."

Chapter One: Click


My mother habitually flipped her dentures in and out of place with her tongue, most energetically when she was reading.

Click click. Click click.

It was the only sound in our cramped Bronx kitchen as she read her book or magazine those occasional evenings my father didn’t come home for Read more

When I was two, my mother dropped me off at my emotionally unstabe grandmother's house. Where I lived for over eight years. It was tough at times and then wonderful at others. Always ups and downs. I eventually learned when to stay at a distance and be very quiet.
When my mother remarried, I left my grandmother's house to live with my parents like all the other kids did at my school. Soon after, I realized I'd lmoved into hell. My parents drank, faught and were in a stuper most of the time on the weekends. Eventually, I managed to Read more

At St Vincent’s, sitting in the waiting room my modeling experience doesn't seem to be a factor towards the order of when I will get seen. I sit as just “another one,” and put my ego and my last photo shoot with a national magazine aside. I am still waiting for my name to be called and listen to the other patients' names being called. The nurses more like yells out into the room, as if we are being sent to detention, - another last name ending in an ‘a” or an “o”.

I sit watching Read more

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