I graduated from college.
I spent 10 days in Florida with my girlfriend Melissa.
I wrote two books. I published three.
I cried more than I expected I would.
I turned 30. It was raining on my birthday. I felt incredibly alone.
I let some things go.
I realized I no longer belonged here.
I didn't really sleep.
I was in a car wreck. It should have killed me. I didn't get hurt.
I was sick a lot.
I tried to help people when I could. It didn't always work.
I spent the anniversary of my 2015 breakdown in my therapist's office.
I was too depressed to write as much as I wanted.
I found out who my friends were.
I took a lot of selfies.
I was given some good advice.
I started trying to repair things with my parents.
I thought a lot about art and how to be a better writer.
I grew my hair out.
I hugged my dog every day.
I drove to places I'd never been to before.
I felt like someone died on November 8th. I stayed in bed until November 10th.
I was scared all the time. Even when I wasn't, I was.
I made hard decisions.
I sat by the ocean on Christmas Eve.
I sat in the sunshine whenever possible.
I didn't think I would make it.