Corsica pt. 2: Why sad girl loves bad boy and other childish things.

A good representation of what you’re about to read.

Bonjour. My French still sucks. I’m fairly certain people have given up on speaking French with me.

“Juh suisse Amerycane”

Today has been rocky. I had my first, “oh my god I need to leave Corsica or go back to the States or go to hell because I am an insane person and no one loves me” moment since arriving in Europe. I have those thoughts fairly often, but not necessarily all at once.

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Thank you, Barcelona.

It’s my last day in Barcelona. I never imagined being here this long. That changed when I met Petter, who let me sleep at his flat for two weeks and stayed up late talking to me during my premenstral breakdown and who hugged me tight when Laurent left me on the street. I have so much love for this kid, I can’t even begin to express it.

Seriously. I can’t wait to see the sarcastic, basketball-playing, Sweet-ish little shit again. He is wonderful.

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Creative Nonfiction: Motel with a Pool

Hi. This is a fairly intense story that takes place in the middle of my prostitution career. I have never publicly shared anything this personal. Please be gentle.

Oh, and FYI: I am not a prostitute anymore. I have not come remotely close to doing sex work for the past three years.

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Creative Nonfiction: Blood Moon

Again, not travel related, but this is one of the two pieces I’ve written over the years that I can still sort of tolerate.

It is graphic. If sex makes you uncomfortable, TURN BACK NOW. There might be people you know in this story. I’ve changed some names to protect anonymity, however, there are a few that remain unchanged.

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This blog post is so Borderline.

It was either this or a picture of a giraffe, but I feel like this is more applicable.

It was either this or a picture of a giraffe. I feel like this is more applicable.

I am sitting at my parents’ house with not much to do, so let’s talk about Borderline Personality Disorder for a second.

I was diagnosed with BPD last February, following a period of impulsive sex, drug use, alcohol use, and overall chaos-creating behaviors. It was humiliating. Books about “dealing” with the Borderline in your life have names like, I Hate You — Don’t Leave Me, Stop Walking on Eggshells, and Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist: How to End the Drama and Get On with Life. Borderlines in film range from the not-so-crazy Winona Rider in Girl, Interrupted, to her totally batshit ward-mate, Angelina Jolie. And then there’s Fatal Attraction, where the Borderline lead character acts like this.

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One week left…

Warning: The foundation of this blog is vulnerability. If my honesty is something you’re hoping to exploit, you’re better off watching Teen Mom. Greetings from the northwest suburbs of Chicago. I am trying my hardest to not talk shit about Arlington Heights, but I guess I just did. I arrived here last night after spending the weekend in Milwaukee, which happened to coincide with Riverwest’s 24 hour bike race. It was nice to take part in another 3 a.m. underwear ride, despite the fact that I was wearing torn up granny panties. Tmi? Sorry.

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