If things aren’t unbearably terrible in my life, I tend to leave well enough alone. I just go along with it. It’s a survival mechanism; jumping from the frying pan inevitably leads to fire, so I tend to stay crispy. I have accomplished great change, but only when I have few options. If I’m not utterly miserable, if I’m not threatened, I leave things as they are.
This is not the best way to go about life, but it’s the only way I know. For me, life is not about getting ahead at my job or buying a nice new car; it’s about survival. From the time I died as an infant in NICU all the way through child sexual abuse, domestic violence, substance abuse, prostitution, homelessness, traumatic brain injury, etc., my whole life has simply been about surviving from one day to the next, which doesn’t leave a lot…
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I’m creating my own kind of bucket list. Not the usual listing of things I wish to do before I leave this earth, but an accounting of the gracious drops of kindness that have filled my pail to the brim.
Whether the contribution was a single drip from an eyedropper or gallons upon gallons of generosity, all have buoyed my soul, washed away hours of pain, and carried me through turbulent trials.
And so I have decided to make a conscious effort to recognize these not-so-random acts. Some were as temporary as the morning dew, but equaling as cooling. Others have been like IVs, injecting nourishment continually. A few were summer storms: electrifying, powerful, and brief. Whether their perpetrators knew it or not, each and every one made a significant impact. They quenched my drought in spirit and left me flooded with gratitude.
Item Number 1: Clean House – Warm…
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Today, I am going to talk about something I don’t talk about publicly in great detail most of the time: being a writer with multiple invisible disabilities and the alienation, exclusion, and profound loneliness I feel because of it. I don’t like to air my grievances because I generally do not trust able-bodied people with this information, not even many of my closest friends. If that hurts anyone’s feelings, I am sorrynotsorry. It is not meant as a criticism or attack on anyone. It comes from a lifetime of feeling left out and misunderstood. It is why I understand the righteous anger of others who experience discrimination. I know what it feels like when people gaslight you. It feels like shit. It feels like you landed on some cold and alien planet that doesn’t want to share its air.
My experiences as a person with epilepsy, bipolar, PTSD, and Chiari…
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I am incredibly blessed.
I am blessed to have had great CPs and betas and editors and designers for this book.
I am blessed to have the words of my friend Leah Raeder on this book.
I am blessed to have had the Fantastic Flying Book Club reach out to me to offer to organize me a blog tour.
I am blessed to have had wonderful blog hosts, reviewers, interviewers, and artists make this past week – month, even – a truly beautiful and incredible one.
I am blessed to have amazing readers and fans and friends who’ve supported and advocated for this book in every channel possible.
I am blessed to have gone to Barnes & Noble and looked at the shelves and seen the first romantic, kissy f/f YA I ever have, and see my name on it besides.
I am blessed to have experienced this pride…
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