I write this, sitting in my car in the parking lot of a Starbucks, in Maumee, Ohio. 3 days ago I was leaving NYC to move to British Columbia, Canada. All in all, it’s about a 2500 mile drive. The plan was that I was going to drive, alone, sleep in my car, and upon arrival in Canada would have to quarantine, in a hotel room, for 14 days, ALONE.

I remember you, I remember all of you. The recently released inmate I met on the subway, the Japanese girls I met in the streets of New York, the 109 year old war vet, the curly haired aspiring EMT, the 3 year old Mexican girl who sat next to me at a rest stop Starbucks.

While everyone’s life still hangs in limbo, I continue to analyze every human contact I’ve ever had. Being deprived of human interaction, has put me in a state of mind in which I relive past interactions.

Before my first year of college was cut short I had some of the most curious encounters with people. The second night, I was sitting outside, and I don’t fully remember how I met him, but I knew I had never met someone like him in my life.

What a fucking time! College was, being best friends with a complete stranger, driving your friend home with alcohol poisoning, meeting his parents drunk, sleeping in the residence parking lot at -15°C, being high at orientation, somehow always ending up at McDonald’s and driving late nights with strangers you met at a bar downtown.

What is the lifespan of a bulletproof vest? What factor come into play? It’s the user, the kind of bullets shot, how many shots it’s taken, do you just know when it’s done, do you use different ones depending on the situation? Sometimes I feel like I was born with a bullet proof vest, that we all were. Do you ever feel like you’re wearing a bulletproof vest, emotionally?

You were my saving grace, and our moments together continue to be my saving grace. To those of you I only knew for a night or a week, I remember you and I constantly think about us. To the people I have no pictures with.

“Everything happens for a reason” does this phrase bring you comfort? For me, it used to but now, it infuriates me. Have you noticed that we only say it when something bad happens, as if to comfort ourselves, that this was meant to be; therefore, I guess, “this too shall pass".

“Don’t smile like that, it’s weird”- my father. “Why are you always smiling”- my teacher. “Your mouth is too small”- my sister. “You have a tiny mouth”- my teammate. I don’t when or why I stopped smiling. I don’t know if it was a person, moment or time, but one day I stopped. Maybe it’s as simple as being insecure or just life.

I don’t know how to do nothing. I need to have a purpose when I’m doing something, I need to have an end goal. I think showers are boring. I try to take the fastest shower I can. I’m in I’m out in maybe 15 mins. I never understood how people could take hour long showers!

To Father Time... I don’t like you very much. You confuse me. Teach me how to work with you. Allow me the ability to adapt to you. I think about you constantly. The toaster is taking forever, this song is so long, that flight was so short, this movie is never ending, those seconds pass by like hours, when will the sun go back up, where’s the moon… I’m never late, but I always feel like I’m running late.

Living with chronic pain fucking sucks! Let’s talk about the physical pain, I’ve been in pain for almost 9 years now. I am driven, hardworking and motivated, but I live the life of a couch potato, I fucking hate it. Last week I went for a 3 hour walk, did a few photoshoots, did 3 interviews, had 3 doctor’s appointments and drove my sister 4 hours away (round trip) so she could go to skating practice. This week, every single part of me hurts.

I run away all the time, but every time I run away I come back. Somehow, I always come back for the same reason I ran away. I run away thinking my problems will disappear, and I come back because the problems stay with me when I leave. I take them with me, wherever I go.

If you’re like me you look at everything through 2 lenses, fantasy and reality. You hope for the fantasy, are aware of the reality and then create the happy medium. On one had, you have what you hope is gonna happen, how you hope the experience will make you feel. On the other hand, you have what could happen, what will most likely happen. We always hope that it turns out like your fantasy, but most often it ends up being a happy medium.

I forgot what it feels like to feel ok. I forgot you, the person I used to be. I forgot me. How are you? Are you still here, with me? I forgot 13-year-old me, are you proud of me now? I forgot how to be by myself. I forgot what live was about before it all happened. I’ve forgotten how to live like I’m not dying.

Do you ever feel like the actions you are taking the choices you’re making aren’t yours? When you’re in a moment of anxiety or depression, do you ever feel like something’s happening to you and something is being done, but it’s not coming from you.

Yes, you are crazy and you drive me crazy. I feel responsible for you, I worry about you and I’m scared for you. I’m worried that you could experience everything bad I have felt. I’m worried that you won’t always be sweet and innocent and I’m scared of what experience will make you realize that the world isn’t all that nice.

Sometimes, when someone has hurt us so deeply, we allow them the power to manipulate our memories. When you share memories with someone who’s hurt you traumatically, it’s hard not to relive those moments differently, now that you know what happened next.

I didn't know it'd be so hard. I didn’t know I was lying to myself. I didn’t know it’d take so long. I didn’t know how much I craved love. I didn’t know how little I loved myself. I didn’t know how smart I was. I didn’t know how pretty I am. I didn’t know how much I had to offer. I didn’t know I was a good friend.

For the last few weeks, every few nights, in my dreams, I get married to someone new. It’s so weird, and kind of fun. It’s not necessarily anyone I’ve had crushes on, or was ever particularly fond of, but it’s fun!