Sensitive material in this essay: Mention of rape/sexual assault.
By Stephanie Santore
I can't be in public places because of you. I can't tolerate large crowds....
Isn’t it amazing how humans have the capacity for self-expression and creativity, no matter what? How art is so often born of brutal circumstances? How survival is contingent upon the making of that art?
What happens when you’re not a dog person, but you are left with a dog? It wasn’t until my dog, Flip, was 15 years old that I realized I loved him.
The neighbors who lost their daughter never had another biological child, but four years later they adopted a two-year-old out of foster care, a boy who had been abused.
I wouldn't have been able to dance like this if I were still in my relationship. It made my boyfriend uncomfortable when I was too close to other guys, which made me uncomfortable.
All of this is to say, I remember what it's like to be in the midst of crazy amounts of fucking up. I remember how good it feels to make mistakes, and how awful.
