In the back of my mind, my depression is bigger than me.
It’s easier to hide from your problems than it is to face them, head on.
How can I sit here and encourage other women to talk about their mental health when I can’t even be honest about mine?
Panic attacks are a screeching ambulance siren.
This was not how today was supposed to unfold.
The viciousness of other humans can result in so many broken souls, but it doesn’t always have to be this way.
My name is Elizabeth, and I’m mentally ill.
I’ll admit it; I, Jennifer Sara Glantz, have ghosted my fair share of guys in New York City.
Every day was a struggle to get up and go to class. I found no meaning in anything I did.
“I need to be more accessible, especially to the ones I love.”
We can’t just cope forever. Eventually we have to heal.
Because what’s more important than your relationship, really?
We might feel alone, but we aren’t alone.
You can be your own worst enemy.
How many times are we going to let rapists reoffend before we decide enough’s enough?
“You’d been drinking, right?” my therapist asked.
It’ll be the loneliest time of your life.