How I Tinder. I’ll be single forever, and I’m totally ok with that.
I’ve written some on depression. Don’t really have anything new to say. But I just wrote this email to a friend which expresses my feelings today.
Yes. This. All of this.
I watched my Dad attempt suicide when I was 8 years old. News of Robin Williams’ death hit me in the gut this evening — such a beautiful, brilliant brain plagued by such sadness. The following is something I wrote a year ago about my dad’s lifelong struggle with depression, and the night I watched him try and kill himself. I’ve never shared this anywhere, but if it can help even one person … Fuck it, let’s let all the demons out. Maybe they’ll stop killing us if we do.
My dad was a great man. He was kind, funny, brilliant, handsome, charming. It was impossible to meet him and not like him. He was loved by all. Everyone who knows me has heard all the good stories about him, it’s all I ever tell. I think I believe that if I tell them enough, they’ll make all the bad stories go away. I’ve taken the threads of only the best memories and woven them together to create a man who maybe never really existed – who maybe sometimes existed, but only in flashes, in stints.
I saw a little boy clutching the yellow cardboard handles of a Happy Meal while waiting outside a curtained room in the ER yesterday and it was one of the most unhappy things I’ve ever seen.
When I was little I had a big plastic bin of LEGO. I cherished them. I got maybe one or two new sets a year and had four minifigures, only one of which was a girl like me. I carried that bin all the way into adulthood and you can tell which pieces it held by the fading and wear. Started from the bottom now we here. #LEGO
Got this text from my kid. How do I check if she got switched at birth and where do I pick up my Parent of The Year Award? Do they just mail it? Does someone need to be home to sign for it? Does that someone need to be a legal adult? How about able to tie their own shoes?
I wrote this 3 years ago. Today makes it 7 years.
He was one of the best. A good guy all around. A guy none of you will ever get the pleasure of having waltz through your life as four years ago today, he took his last strained breath and left me, going to a place that has been the focus of centuries of speculation – heaven? Reincarnated? Nothingness?
He was my dad. The best dad anyone could have, really. I never wanted for love or attention. He rarely raised his voice. We were best friends. He was my rock. I learned to read sitting on his lap, he taught me how to blow bubbles with chewing gum and laughed and helped me peel Bubbilicious off my nose when they popped. He taught me how to ride a bike, drive a car, try to be a good person. He used to not only read me bedtime stories, but would sit at my bedside, reading until I fell asleep, even if it took 3 hours.
Important message from my son.
I’ve spent the past three weeks in Texas. More accurately, I’ve spent three weeks in a row in Texas, returning to Connecticut on the weekends, just long enough to unpack to pack.
This is now what greets guests into our home.