Looking back, I'm grateful I was never put on medication, because I don’t need it now, and, in some ways, I’ve grown to appreciate the brain that I have.
People will judge you for how you look. But, if I've learned anything, it's that you can either shamefully wipe off the eyeshadow or be inspired to be even more of who you are.
It was just one of those things that I knew I'd regret not doing on my deathbed. (Now, if I live to reach grandma status, my grandkids will know I used to explain to people the pros and cons of all the different types of dildos!)
Like most people, I still drift toward negative thoughts from time to time, but I’ve gotten much better at keeping myself from spiraling out of control.
As my hair started to grow out, it hit some awkward stages, like "Friar-Sans-Bald-Spot," "50s Flip Gone HAYWIRE" and, my personal hell, the mullet, which made me wince to the beat of every replay of "Livin' On A Prayer."
Seeing all the photos of fans donning orange jumpsuits and bags of (fake) blue meth filled me up with the warmest feelings one could possibly derive from a show about lying to your family, manufacturing an addictive drug and getting mixed up with the Mexican cartel.
It’s strange, looking at photos of yourself from the past and having them not be you at all, but rather some edited version of what you wanted so desperately to be.