I’m trying to walk more. To take my time getting places, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time; to move slowly but with purpose. The problem being that I’m impatient, love though I do to walk places. It doesn’t always feel like the most efficient…

The problem is that I’m an addict. I was raised by addicts. I often find myself in the company of fellow addicts. Only my drug of choice is not alcohol, it’s feeling bad about myself — perhaps the most pathetic of habits, but one that is no less real. My…

And how to get out from under it. I used to be a good writer. I don’t know if I really am these days. Sometimes I’m just not so sure. Before it was easy for me to let myself get carried away on a melodic sort of thought or the…

2009 was my first full year in New York City. I was working at mtvU, scheduling commercials, living in West Harlem with a bright blue living room. Things felt endless in that way they always do for young people, potential and the unknown pulsating through the street, air, and bones…

I’m mad at myself because I keep messing up, even when I try. But don’t worry, this is a happy story. In the end. Mostly. (We’ll get there! I promise!) Usually, I would tweet about something like this. An impulsive string of words as a means to attempt to connect…

**Warning: this story contains frank discussions of mental health, anxiety, self-hatred, and suicidal ideation. If you or someone you know is struggling, know there is help, and click here for assistance. Don’t listen to your Jeremy.** — — There’s a worm inside my head. At least that’s how I’m thinking…

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure about the how. It’s just that, suddenly, every day is like this: you wake up, flustered. Missy Elliott yells in your ear—waaaake up!—from a speaker across the room, because the three alarms on your phone don’t work anymore, when they hardly worked before. …

This time, I’m giving less. Of myself, of my world, my love, my feelings, my opinions. And I mean it this time. Because I’m tired. I’ve tried—and failed—to internalize this concept for years. I found pride and strength in my idea of perseverance, thinking I was doing some higher bidding…

I’m sick and tired of cool. Cool—as an idea co-opted by the apathetic—isn’t something to which we should all aspire, it’s an idea that should die on the vine. Because to be cool in that context means to be icy, removed, and detached, our feelings pushed deep inside, inexpressible and…