Halloween is my sacred season, and this year being on a Saturday made it even more special. But as the feral glitter Goblin gets older, I'm realizing how precious and limited these childhood Halloweens are becoming. Unfortunately, I've apparently raised a Christmas-loving little creature whose enthusiasm for trick or treating lasts approximately 30 minutes in Florida's infernal humidity before he'd rather be counting down to presents and Christmas lights. Meanwhile, his witchy mother is just trying to enjoy her pumpkins, skeletons, haunted everything, and dark swampy October glory. I love the little Christmas goblin dearly, but for the love of all things unholy, LET ME HAVE MY HALLOWEEN.

Depression and anxiety don't just steal your energy. Sometimes they convince you that the only way to be loved is to be convenient. So you become the yes person, the one who swallows her feelings, forgives too much, and says, “It's fine,” when it absolutely the fuck is not.

I'm experiencing a soul-deep exhaustion that years of surviving, childhood wounds, mental illness, disability, and verbal abuse have left behind. I've spent so much of my life trying to prove I'm worthy of love that I've slowly lost sight of who I am. A toxic marriage has worn me down, leaving me questioning my worth, believing cruel words, and wondering if I'm the monster I've been made out to be.