Living with an unquiet mind is like living with a noisy, restless, anxious human who tugs on your sleeve for attention.
On the gendered aspect of conversion disorder, how it might have historically manifest in nuns and mystics, and the strange comfort of being diagnosed.
I used to tell people I needed to write a novel before I could consider offspring. I have written one novel. I am considering purchasing a fern.
I promised myself I would not threaten, shame, or scare my daughter into compliance. I kept that promise.
The lady inhales the entirety of the burrito. How is she to expect the courtship of a gentleman with such brash and unrefined manners?
On “the animal kingdom’s bravest and most vigilant mother.”
“A smell of burning flesh fills the theatre. I was expecting the smell of blood—its rich, metallic, almost bitter-tasting organic scent.”
“You have to go away first.” “Like this?” “No. Farther.”
My changing body made me the object of stares and comments from men far older than my father.