What to expect when you're (not) expecting (anything. at all.) An intro to this blog.

There are dozens of old journals littered throughout my childhood home, filled with the stories I wrote in my youth. (They're absolutely horrible. Don't ask to see them, unless you want to hear about how white, middle-class Jack and Melissa fell in love - but, plot twist, Melissa is a freakin' MERMAID.)
I grew up in the middle of the forest on the East Coast of the USA, so besides going for scenic hikes and capsizing your sibling's paddle boat on your private lake, there isn't much to do. Have a look for yourself. [Disclaimer: Not my neighborhood, just nearby.]

Those journals haven't been touched since I turned 11 or so. I stopped writing because depression is a bitch. I hit puberty and it was like all the empty rooms, grey space, and white noise I would and could ever encounter in my life were stuck in a blender and poured down my throat. I also stopped painting, sculpting, ice skating, along with all my other hobbies... but that's just how it was. As I said, depression is a bitch. I'm in my twenties now, and I've got my weird mental illness smoothie more or less in check with the help of my friends Zoloft and CBT (no, not the kinky CBT. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm talking about cognitive behavioral therapy!) (Also, if you don't know what the kinky CBT is, please don't google it. For your eyes' sakes... unless you're in to that. Who am I to judge... )

So, I've decided to start writing again, because I have energy for the first time in about a decade. My family has also been pushing me to begin again. Hence, here are my memoirs...
"But why your memoirs", you ask? Well.. I've been meaning to write them for some time.
And now you might be saying to yourself, "Who is this bitch? And why does she think she's important enough for a set of memoirs? Is she dying or something? Even then, why does she think she's even interesting enough for other people to read her bullshittery?" Well, that bitch is me - sans the fact I think I'm important, and I'm not dying (as far as I know...)

I'm writing these out because when I tell people personal stories, they react with disbelief. My best friend even said that when she first met me, she was shocked by the stories I had to tell, and even more shocked that they came with proof! You know, because, how could someone be that interesting? Whose life IS like a fucking dramatic, tragic comedy?
Well kiddies, buckle up, because that person is me. From the circumstances that caused my parents to meet, to how I met my boyfriend, my life is like some kind of sitcom.

Feel free to stick around as I publish these stories and (perhaps) more.

Or don't. I respect your free will.

Thanks for reading.

• WC