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Dull pencil and some sheets of paper grasped in my fist, I sat on the dirty, cold, cluttered floor in the basement. My chosen room of my own. Although rendered insensible with copious amounts of rum, nicotine, hydrochlorot, lamictal, alprazalam, metaprolol, hydrocodone and effexor I felt an intense need to write. Completely wasted, I thought my flesh was glowing in the dark room, pupils close to fixed and dilated. Yet I needed to put words on paper. I have always written, especially when times were tough. I drowsily thought I could somehow make some sense out of how I had ended up with this crippling anxiety, depression, panic and pain.
I wrote until I eventually passed out on the …

It takes practice. It's very similar to meditation. There are steps and levels to accumulate.
I'll share my first attempt (1 year ago).
I followed the instructions thoroughly, agonizingly starting over after every twitch of the leg. I actually cheated and took sleeping pills an hour before my attempts. Then I did what is called "Paradoxical Sleeping" and that’s when half of you is awake, and half of you is asleep. You can open your eyes, speak, think, but your whole body is paralyzed. Pretty cool, huh? I never experienced any hallucinating creatures though, but I do remember seeing my thoughts. I think of it like this:
you know when you close your eyes, and you look at the back of your eye …

As an aspiring fiction writer, I tend to gravitate to all forms of fiction. Books, movies, games, anything with a story in it is up for my perusal and consideration. However, I don’t judge a story based on its quality, nuances, themes, or anything that professional critics place in high regard; all of that can come later. To me, what makes a story or series either “good” or “bad” is my initial response, my gut reaction (and with me having the physique of an anorexic sumo wrestler, that’s saying a lot).
That being said, I am a product of a generation raised by the internet. I spend probably more time than I need to, and as a consequence, I’ve learned a startling truth: people who …

We were returning to Manhattan after a weekend on the beach. We were sleepy, our limbs long and languorous, our skin salty and sticky. It had reached that point in the journey when conversations wilt and fade into silence, when texts are sent out of boredom and there’s a sudden shift in atmosphere, an awareness we’ve been sitting for hours, crammed like a game of sardines that’s continued too long, and everyone aches to see the familiarity of the city’s skyline. It was a Sunday and it was the summer, my first in New York, a stretch of time I’d later recall with mixed feelings – hints of sadness and envy -- but at that moment it was simply an incredible summer. …

“Some are born mature, some achieve maturity, and some have maturity thrust upon them.” No, this is not the exact quote from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but I don’t think he’d mind my taking a little artistic liberty with it for the sake of telling my story. Besides, who’s to say that maturity isn’t great?
1996 was the year that maturity and I met. I was six years old.
I distinctly remember thinking to myself, post-birthday, how laughable it was that earlier that same year I had been the little age of five. Even today when people talk about children I have to remind myself that, to most people, six years old is very young. My initial reaction is always to consider anyone over the …

I’m sitting on my bed wearing an oversized blue Dakine sweatshirt, fiddling with the end of my stick-flat straight-ironed hair, flipping for Orlando Bloom in Teen People magazine. Chad Kroger’s voice fills the room on medium-high as he reminisces about his high school days and bad break ups, and I listen wholeheartedly to his low gravelly growl and moody guitar riffs that make me feel like a rebel- this must be the sensation they warned me about in Youth Group- my index finger taps the stereo remote’s mute button, ready, in case my mother walks in and hears the god forbid “d word.” She thinks Nickelback is a Christian praise band.

I'm pretty, I'm skinny, I'm irresistible, everyone loves me, I'm not awkward, I'm athletic, I have perfect skin, I'm just so damn amazing...... Now, let me tell you what my life is really like:
I’m ugly, I’m tubby around the edges, guys don’t find me really sexy, I’m hard to get along with, I’m lazy and I hate sports, I have really weird and dry skin, I’m just so damn weird. And that is only scratching the surface.
Here’s a little secret I have a crush on my social studies teacher. He’s hot, he’s mean, he’s playful and he’s funny. So what everyone has had a crush on a teacher before, right? I also have an unnatural obsession with the amazing actor Joseph …

I'm pretty, I'm skinny, I'm irresistible, everyone loves me, I'm not awkward, I'm athletic, I have perfect skin, I'm just so damn amazing...... Now, let me tell you what my life is really like:
I’m ugly, I’m tubby around the edges, guys don’t find me really sexy, I’m hard to get along with, I’m lazy and I hate sports, I have really weird and dry skin, I’m just so damn weird. And that is only scratching the surface.
Here’s a little secret I have a crush on my social studies teacher. He’s hot, he’s mean, he’s playful and he’s funny. So what everyone has had a crush on a teacher before, right? I also have an unnatural obsession with the amazing actor Joseph …

Cobwebs, Vodka and My Bathroom Mirror.

The shadow of the spider on my wall will haunt my dreams tonight and as long as it shows itself to me, I will not be able to sleep peacefully. I will not have a peaceful dream where I would know what serenity feels like, serenity in the form of calm and tranquility in a dream state, an alternate world in my sub-conscience, where I once used to dream of love and endless days of joy.
And now I’m stuck here at the bottom of my courage, at the end of my rope and no longer can I and no longer will I ever …

When you were a kid, did you parents ever give you a doll and expect you to play with it? And did you, a just turned seven-and-a-half-year-old, hold it in your hands and wonder just what the hell you supposed to do with it? They ask you what you’re going to name it and you say Bob the Builder and they say but this isn’t Bob the Builder and you say but girls can do anything boys can do and they say yes but a girl can’t be named Bob the Builder and so you say Maggie, which is the name of the three-legged cat that lived under your porch until animal control stole her. Thinking of Maggie makes you sad and you want to …

Ordinary heroes are hard enough to find some days, but you’ll hear plenty of stories about community superheroes this time of year. People yearn to feel good when something’s finished, even if it’s a calendar.

“Hope you have a happy, healthy new year,” we say, weak with thoughts of champagne and midnight kisses and new outlooks.

Yet endings show up for the brave and courageous, too, and endings arrive without happies and healthies or warm fuzzies.

Superman proved this to me, with the help of his wife.

She was my Sunday school teacher one year, but I just remember the Gushers she brought for snacks. Now I’m too old for a godmother, and I’m maxed out on fun aunts, …

First of all, Screw you Jane Eyre. Jane, you have been my favorite classic novel heroine since 6th grade. Therefore I blame you for all my problems.

Your childhood was filled with blood and trauma. Ritual beatings were common in your house. Cartoons and Saved by the Bell were common in mine. Nobody wanted you, they told you this happily and freely. I had the uninteresting misfortune of receiving kittens and ice-cream. You can start your conversations with stories of evil nuns at boarding school, while I bore people with tales of summers in Colorado, riding horses and exploring Aspen. You grew up to be interesting and diverse; I grew up to be a simpleton. You and your boss fell madly in love …
We're together, but I don't know how long that will last. I still have feelings for him, but my feelings for you are stronger, and you know that now. Now that I've told you everything. Almost everything. You think you know everything about me, but, in all reality, you don't. You keep putting yourself down for everything that isn't your fault. I wish you'd just give yourself a break for once. It's winter break, and we're supposed to hang out. Kinda nervous. Both of us are.

They say our greatest strength is our greatest weakness. While I acknowledge this is very often true, I have my own slant on this viewpoint. My contention is that the greatest of our natural talents, (our "gifts," as my family is fond of calling them), are also our greatest burdens, sources of anxiety, and migraine-inducers.

Ask anyone in my family what my "gift" is, and they'll each tell you the same thing: "She's a writer." They'd all be mistaken, but even that won't get me off the hook. In truth, and to a certain degree, I understand their confusion. Yes, I have an intrinsic knack for writing. I have a pretty substantial vocabulary and a sturdy command of the English language. I can cut …

These hats are like nothing I’ve ever known. They start out with a special kind of yarn. The yarn is usually made out of a string of six words that virtual strangers sometimes drop onto this web that’s been woven together by some sort of stellar connection I don’t quite understand.

The yarn is usually colored in hope or despair as the words that are used to make it are sheared from the soul. Then, while the yarn spinner quietly unravels the knots in his spirit, this lady gets busy with a few tugs at the raw fabric that is dropped. Sometimes the yarn is already drawn and twisted, but she gathers it to her heart anyway to see how she can …

The eerie tornado siren was clamoring through the wet air and piercing my senses with panic. I could feel my heart palpitating in my chest and the blood coursing through my veins. In every room the television was tuned into a news station with the newscasters saying ominously, “…in El Paso, Teller, and Lincoln counties there are tornado warnings…we have multiple cloud formations showing us the imminent danger in these areas. Please take cover immediately.”
I was four hours into my shift at the nursing home where I work. Yet, just a few hours earlier as I walked through the doors at two o’clock, the skies were a pale blue, with white puffy clouds dotting the skies, and brilliant sunshine …

Dear Olive,
It's a very strange feeling - loving, hating, fearing and longing for someone, the idea of someone, who doesn't exist. To put aside things I'd like to give you and share with you, and to feel a sickness when I think about you really being here. This is selfish. What woman has ever looked forward to labor? I just don't know if I can do it again and I'm sorry. I'm sorry because in my mind, you have existed since the day Constantine was conceived. I've imagined your voice, your eyes, your hair. I've passed by clothes and imagined you wearing them. I have watched Constantine learn to crawl, to say words, try new foods, and imagined you doing the same.
When we …

Mi familia, mis amigos, mi novio y mis guitarras son muy importantes en mi vida. Mi familia es muy graciosa, loca y muy trabajadora. Mi amigos son muy graciosos, simpáticos y muy divertidos. Mi novio, Sam, es muy guapo, y él es muy gracioso, simpático e interesante, también. La música es muy importante en mi vida, yo toco la guitarra y mis guitarras son muy importantes. Yo tengo luna guitarra de Fender Squire, una guitarra LTD y dos acústicas. Mis guitarras son muy bonitas.

I just sent this about 7 times...sorry about that. Otherwise...nothing much. I'm Namita. Carlisle School. 13.

Imagine with me what it would be like to walk into a library in an era without digital. An era when the wooden shelves and musty paper give the words printed on them their own kind of smell. Among the rows and rows of titles are authors, A. Rand, C. Palahniuk. Rand’s books are thick and weighty and so are the ideas inside of them. It’s really almost too much to go through an entire reading to find the kernel of wisdom she meant to convey with all those words. And then there are Palahniuk’s books - who is he anyway? Oh that guy. His stuff is kind of weird, and we’re pretty confident he doesn’t have a huge audience. We’re sure …
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