I thought that my life would make sense by the time I was thirty-five, that all the millions of fragmented pieces (shards, really) would somehow glue themselves together, or, rather, I would glue them together. Turns out I didn’t even have the right glue; all I had was dollar store…

I’m still waiting for the #metoo version of bullying. While I’ve written about the horrors that have been exacted on me by men, I’ve left out the larger story. I’ve remained silent for years, sharing with very few the truth of my formative years: I was bullied for years that…

For the longest time I thought I hadn’t been affected, thought about how “lucky” (oh, what a grim choice of words) I was to never have been raped, to never have been sexually assaulted. Not really anyways, I told myself. But then I remembered. Not in the vein of some…