Why Aren’t Celebrities Protected from Bullying?

I normally don’t give a rat’s ass about what goes on in the life of celebrities. Its their private life, why should I go out of my way to see what they’re doing if it doesn’t pertain to their career?

Yet in this past week, it feels like every time I go on Facebook, Buzzfeed has a brand new article about what the hell is going on between the famous Kardashian-West couple and the pop singer, Taylor Swift. I really don’t want to recap exactly what happened, but here is how it started and here is how far it has gotten.

Once again, I don’t care who said what or who gave permission to what because these details aren’t what matters to me. What matters to me is the amount of blatant bullying that has been allowed to happen not only to Taylor Swift but also to the other celebrities adding logs on her funeral pyre.

Its really funny, isn’t it, how these kinds of celebrities preach to stop bullying in schools and on the web, but then won’t hesitate to call someone out and blatantly bully people on the internet for the entire world to see. Just because you think you’re “spitting the truth” doesn’t mean that you have to tell Twitter this entire truth. This is why we have cell phones and private emails.

What this entire fiasco has really meant to me is that celebrities are showing that bullying on the internet is something that’s okay. Not only is the victim being bullied by someone else, this gives the entire rest of the internet to have the okay to bully that exact same person, which provides C4 to the flames of the pain that victim is already feeling.

I don’t want to hear “But she deserves it!” shit. No one deserves this amount of bullying and this is exactly what it is. Imagine if this was happening to a 16 year old and the entire internet was using snake emojis and calling her a liar. There would be articles rushing to her defense and the stand against bullying would be in full swing again. But because these parties are celebrities, suddenly our ethics about bullying are thrown out the window and social media article platforms broadcast it on jumbo-trons for the whole world to see and encourage to partake.

Celebrities are people too. They have feelings and lives and families. They are just people with significantly more money and fame than the average people, but they are human all the same. Are they ridiculous and start their petty feuds on the internet? Yes. Should they be doing this because they know it will rally thousands of people to their side? Of fucking course not. They’re adults and should know better.

Kids are seeing this and thinking its okay. Its not okay. I don’t care if you’re a twelve year old kid or Kim Kardashian, bullying is never, NEVER okay. As a victim of bullying, I can tell you that this kind of level of bullying scars you forever. No one should be subject to it, not matter what they have done or who they are.

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

If you feel you may be subject to bullying, please inform an adult you trust immediately and take action. Otherwise, please text or call the Crisis Line in your area.

Me vs. Silence

I’ve been busy these past couple of weeks hence why I haven’t posted in quite a long time. I moved in to a house with 3 of my best friends, got a job, and for once, I feel like my depression is starting to lift for the first time in almost a year. My panic attacks have been coming infrequently (about every 2-3 weeks instead of every week or biweekly) and because I’ve been doing mindfulness meditation every night, I haven’t had nightmares nearly as often. So you could say things are finally starting to look up. Thanks universe!

I’ve still been trying to stop the things in my life that give me anxiety as much as possible and even if it does, sitting with it like I would with my exposure therapy in treatment. One thing I noticed while I was driving back to Portland from visiting Seattle for a few days is how much anxiety silence gives me.

Some people say they can’t live without music to show off to others how much music fills their life and “wow look at me I like music I must be special worship me pleb but yet I’ve never picked up an instrument but I can “sing” because I can sing sort of kind of good in my mind to Adele on the radio” and yada yada yada.

I say I can’t live without music quite literally because silence drives me a little mental. I cook, study, read, fall asleep to, and am constantly surrounded by music because silence frightens me. I always knew that something about complete silence threw me off. I don’t necessarily have to have music (something specifically with a melody) per say. There needs to be some sort of prominent rhythmic sound around me at all times. Maybe it has something to do with my synesthesia  and maybe its because my family played music at all times of the day for my entire life. When I was taking tests, I could hardly concentrate because of the silence. Lying in bed with complete silence scares the living shit out of me. Sitting in a waiting room or on a public transit without music fills me with untold anxiety. For a long time I had no idea why.

I realized why while listening to Twenty One Pilot’s song Car Radio. Normally the song helps me get out of suicidal or depressing thoughts (mainly both of their first two albums) but it also helped me realize that silence is violent to me. Like how Tyler quickly lists off strings of consciousness through the song, that’s what my mind does when I don’t have some sort of sound filling my ears. Thoughts that normally are quiet suddenly flood my head like a dam failing. I try to do the tips my therapist in treatment taught me about how to handle so many thoughts and let them pass, but when they’re drowning your mind, its hard not to suffocate. I notice that when I fall asleep without music, I get more nightmares because my mind tends to think endlessly before it falls away to exhaustion. A normally anxious situation will suddenly become hundreds of times worse because its completely silent.

If you were ever wondering why I ask you to put on Chopin while I’m having a panic attack and maybe have you talk about something wonderful that happened in your life, its because these sounds and music calm me down to an “eh” level of intolerable panic (may not sound great, but its a huge improvement from the “oh shit” level of intolerable panic).

I did exposures with silence while I was in treatment, and I have realized that I really need to keep exposing myself to it more and more as I continue to make huge strides in conquering my anxiety. My improvement is already monumental, but I want it win this war once and for all, even if it includes winning little battles like this.

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

LDRs as Told by Zoey

While I was with my , now, ex-boyfriend, I kept logs of how I felt during our long distance relationship. It was filled with the ups and downs of what being in a long distance relationship between two continents was like and I thought it would be great to share once we finally came back to each other. We would be separated from each other by thousands of miles for nearly 8 months. I had already had one failed long distance relationship and I was absolutely terrified I would be experiencing my second.

I’m not going to share these logs. I deleted them. It brings back a lot of pain I am not ready to face right now. But instead, I thought that I would share at least what being in a long distance relationship (twice) was like. You can do what you want with my experiences, take it as a warning or take it with a grain of salt, but I wanted to put this out there for 0other people and also for me. (To keep things clear, most recent Ex: Ex 1. First ex: Ex 2.

In my opinion, the hardest part of long distance is goodbye. I’ve never felt words choke out of my mouth like they did when I had to say goodbye to my most recent ex. When he finally let go of my hand, I felt like my world crashed down around me.Saying goodbye is not easy and it doesn’t get easier. I would visit my first boyfriend  every 2-3 months and it hurt like a bitch every time. I kept thinking, “Its going to get easier, its going to get easier.” And it never did. I wish sometimes I could have seen my most recent boyfriend, but at other times I was very glad I didn’t.

Skype is an amazing invention, but keeping it at a minimum of once a week makes it much sweeter. That way, you actually have something to talk about. Nothing sucks more than staring at a screen with having absolutely nothing to say. Yes, seeing their face is nice and all, but sometimes it makes the missing worse.  Texting is also awesome, but again I was really thankful that he and I were on wildly different time zones. That way I felt like we were both having our own experiences and we weren’t texting each other while going on about our day. Instead, Ex 1 and I texted when we woke up and before we went to bed for about 20 minutes and then had to say goodbye.

I was with Ex 2 for 5 years before he finally left for school and we had never spent a moment a part from each other except for being on different campuses when he was in high school and I in middle school. When he went to college while I was in high school, the whole world shifted. I had never been this far away from him before for so long. With Ex 1, we spent every winter and summer break apart from each other for months and weeks at a time, so distance wasn’t foreign to us when we parted on our separate journeys. That being said, it didn’t make it any easier.

Maturity levels also played a lot into our relationship. I have grown significantly as person between when I was dating Ex 2 vs. dating Ex 1. And this may be just advice in general, but there is a huge difference between a high school and a college relationship. My relationship with Ex 1 was just a more mature relationship in general. I think if we had survived the distance, and I really wish we had, it would have made us stronger as a couple. We were tackling really difficult things a part and if we had stayed together, we would have been stronger than ever.

Something that actually made us feel more together was when we played video games together. Even something as simple as Words with Friends made me feel like we were doing something together, and when we played Civilization V together for hours on end, it made me feel like he was really there with me. We also were a gamer couple to begin with, but if you and your partner weren’t, it might be fun to try it anyway. Although Civilization V is a little pricey, you can find plenty of cheap coplayer games on Steam or even free MMOs online to play together.

One of the other hardest parts of a LDR is the fact that you don’t witness how much each other change. Both he and I were going through some really life altering changes from our own study abroad experiences, and many times this would make us butt heads and get into disagreements when we had never fought before. Be prepared for this, but understand why it happens so forgiveness (if needed) can be immediate. As a couple, you’re keenly aware of when one goes through a change and you’re most likely there to witness it. When you’re away, you don’t see it at all.

Communication about how you are feeling is key. You have to let each other know how you’re doing; tell them the ups and the downs. If you hide how much the distance is hurting you, like I did in my first relationship, then it will tear it a part from the inside out. If you feel like you’re falling out of love with that person, tell them. If you feel like things are going better than expected, tell them. Keeping each other clued in about how you’re feeling as a whole about the relationship is incredibly important.

I don’t believe in taking breaks, but I know a lot of couples who do. I witnessed most couples who “took a break” (meaning they still were together but saw people on the side) break up in the end and end up with the people they saw on the side. I know couples who have taken breaks who have been just fine. I don’t believe in it because it just didn’t make any sense. I didn’t have any interest in seeing anyone else and I felt like if my Ex 1 saw anyone else, even if we were on a break, I would still get tremendously hurt.

Last but not least, your mental health comes first before the relationship. I wish I had ended my first relationship earlier because I spiraled down into horrendous separation anxiety and depression and that LDR is what caused me to have my first panic attack at prom. When the idea of ending a relationship starts to take a weight off your shoulders, its time to take a break or end it. I am not sure if my depression and anxiety were worse because of my most recent LDR, but they certainly didn’t help. Take care of yourself.

In the wise words of Rupaul Charles: “If you can’t love yourself how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else? Can I get an amen?”

Amen Ru, Amen.

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

Getting Better is Really Hard

So for those of you who don’t know, I’m in an anxiety treatment center because yes, my disorders have gotten so bad that I need intensive therapy everyday for 3 hours. This is also why I haven’t posted for 2 weeks and for that, I deeply apologize. I’ve been sitting at my computer for the past couple of weeks with multiple drafts trying to think of something funny or encouraging or lighthearted to say while I go through this self-transforming process.

But let me tell you, its really hard to take this lightly because this shit is really fucking hard.

I’m receiving multiple kinds of treatment:

  • Exposure Therapy: Exposing me to my anxieties and various phobias and fears and making me feel the anxiety it gives me until it goes away (yes it is as awful as it sounds and I have to trust my therapist when she says it works).
  • Cognitive Distortion Treatment: So everybody beats themselves up and tells themselves things that aren’t true and makes themselves feel shitty. The difference between me and everybody else is that I do it constantly and I didn’t see it as wrong until I was told so. So I’m now analyzing every single self-deprecating thought until I can catch my cognitive distortions or bad thoughts (to be put in much much simpler terms).
  • Teaching Self-Compassion and Mindfulness: Fun fact: I hate myself. I don’t mean this in a joking way; I genuinely hate myself. And I am 100% cool with this fact even though I really shouldn’t be. I built this wall of self-hatred around me because I was sick of putting so much energy into my passions that weren’t getting any recognition while I was in middle and high school. So now I have to unlearn hating myself and recognizing that I actually have talent and I’m smart. Some would call this Impostor Syndrome.
  • Group Therapy

I’ve also been digging up my past and writing letters to people in my past that I have severely affected me but they’ll never get to read and I’ve been forced to let go of some habits that I felt keep me safe. I’ve had to learn that forgiveness doesn’t mean that it makes what that person did okay, but rather a part of letting go and letting that person go as well. There is one I still refuse to forgive, but maybe that will come in time.

Its not easy and its not fun and it doesn’t all start taking affect the first few days like I wished it would. There has been an immense amount of streaked eyeliner, one suicidal thought, an emergency family group meeting, and even some laughter. My therapist is hysterical and extremely helpful despite all my weird quirks and nuances.

I got through the first week of treatment, crying to my mom that I wanted to go home and I didn’t want to deal with this bullshit because it was making me worse and I didn’t believe it was going to help me. I wanted to drop out so badly because I thought I was hopeless and that I wasn’t ready for this kind of treatment. I had just finished my first exposure therapy session and it was the actual worst. Feeling something you’ve been repressing for years is the last thing I wanted to feel and I wanted to go home.

But I’m very glad I didn’t and I can’t believe I’m typing that now.

So heed my warning: I went into this thinking I was going to be fixed like kablamo! And I’m not. I am learning. Treatment Centers are not going to fix you for you; you have to put in work and a lot of work that you’re not going to want to do. Its like going through high school so that you can get into a college. High school (at least for me) really FUCKING sucked. But now that its over, I’m in a college that fits me like a beautiful dress. I just have to get through the high school part of my mental health so that I can graduate and go to the college part of my mental health that makes me feel as wonderful as actual college does. I don’t know if I’m going to get better after 2 more weeks. What I do know, is that I will have the right tools to help me get better, and that’s really really fucking important.

If you’re about to go into treatment for your disorders or anything, you have every right to be scared and even to doubt if you really need this. But if you’re considering it in the first place, that means you do need to. You have to do a trust fall with your therapist and trust that they will catch you and put you on your feet. It will be you though, that will have to do the walking.

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

My London Experience: A Conclusion

I apologize in advance for how long this took me to get to. Jet lag and general laziness helped with the delay. This is going to be a long post, just so you’re prepared.

Here we go..

I am finally back in California surrounded by mountains and fresh air with an improved mood and looking forward to my future. Sure I’m exhausted because my inner clock is all whacked out and I think its 1 am at 9pm and 11 am at 5 am but I feel my mood significantly lighter. I mean, it is pretty difficult not to feel great when you’re staring out at an amazing view with a cup of tea in your hand. But in all seriousness, I think the lack of nature was a huge impact to my mood and was a source of my depression. Although I know my depression isn’t gone, nature certainly helps keep my head afloat.

The reason why this post also took me a long time is because I have trouble putting my experience in words. So I decided I’m going to do this in categories because why not.

What I learned:

Lets start with the obvious and not get too wishy washy (which is going to happen knowing me). As far as academics go, I gained an amazing new insight into paintings and how people interacted with them. My entire independent project was based on what people saw first in paintings and to see if there was a connection between that and how the painting make them felt (spoiler alert: there is none) and I had a blast researching it and presenting it to my peers. I learned and finally understood (somewhat…as best as I could) English politics and how their political system works. Coming from America, its always fascinating to see how other countries are run and how their political system worked. I learned all about the history of English music and theatre (even if the teacher  who taught me those things was a pain in the ass).

As for what I learned about myself…I learned that I am not a city girl and last Summer I learned that I’m not a country girl. I’m a nice in between. I didn’t realize how badly I needed nature or how much the lack of it would impact my mood. People are now going to complain and say, “But Zoey, there are lots of parks in London! Plus you can just go right outside of London and go hiking, right?” Well.. yes you’re somewhat right. There are lots of parks of London, but its manicured and not a substitute for natural nature. As far as going outside of London, let me tell you finding a trail is not that easy. Also I simply didn’t have that kind of time where I could just pop on a 3 hour train and try to go hiking. If I wasn’t working my ass off, I was mentally recovering from it. I learned what it was like to pick myself up without any help and not because I wanted to, but circumstantially I was forced to. I learned how some of my panic attacks are caused: exhaustion and being overwhelmed. I learned how much long distance really FUCKING SUCKS but also how it brings a couple more together and stronger.

Overall rating of the program: 8/10

This rating is based on my fellow participants, my professors, the trips we took, and how I felt in London in general. So here are the breakdowns

Fellow participants: 9/10. I loved most of the people I was on the trip with. There were a couple of people who I didn’t feel any connection to whatsoever but thats not necessarily their fault. My biggest pet peeve was the fact that our kitchen was constantly filthy and I was always having to do other people’s dishes.

Professors: 7/10 I wish I could exclude one professor mainly because he was the only reason why this is a 7/10 instead of a 10/10. The other 3 professors we had were absolutely incredible and I’m even friends on Facebook with one of them and they’re just awesome people in general.

Out of London trips: 10/10 Out of London, we went to Glasgow, Edinburgh, York, Oxford, Stonehenge, Bath, and Leeds.

London in general: 7/10 As far as a city, its pretty incredible how much it can jam into one place. Not only is it a art hub of the world, but it has an incredible theatre and music scene. The biggest issue is that it is scattered all over the city and at times can be very difficult to find. It also seems like there are really stable communities in all of these fields. It is a shockingly neat city seeing as how everyone smokes and are constantly throwing cigarette butts where they choose.


I don’t know why this was so hard for me to write but it was. It was one of the first times I’ve ever gotten writers block writing a blog post. I wouldn’t trade the experience I had, even if it was ridiculously tough at many times, for anything. I learned invaluable things that I wouldn’t have gotten from any other experience and for that, I am incredible grateful.

Now I will start my journey into fixing my mental stability. (eep)

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

From a bathroom to bubbles

No one would have guessed by looking at the girl wrapped in a Scottish cape blowing bubbles and singing along to Debussy’s Clair de Lune was sobbing on the bathroom floor only 5 minutes before. I was blowing these bubbles and watching them flutter about to the augmented and seventh arpeggios of the music and thinking how I could make them symbolize something about what happened.

I’ve said this before, but being this fucked up mental health wise is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through (and my appendix ruptured when I was 12). I’ll be having a fine day, just working my ass off because finals are in 2 weeks and I’ll be reading a web comic to destress and then BOOM! 

All of a sudden you’ll hear me sobbing loudly from the bathroom (the only place in my flat I can find privacy) clutching my boyfriend’s sweater and trying so desperately not to reach for a razor in my bathroom to make the interior pain subside for a few hours. I can’t express how desperately I want to give up. People tell me all the time how strong I’m being (thank you for that) but I don’t want to be strong anymore. I’m tired of constantly having to be strong against myself. I want to just relax and not feel like I’m always fighting off my own fucked up mind. I want to be strong for other people. I want to be able to save this strength for when I need it, not every waking hour.

I want to say something cheesy like blowing the bubbles symbolizes my depression making itself huge and then popping away, never to be seen again. But lets be honest, if depression and anxiety was really like that, I wouldn’t be fighting like this.

I see the same tear stained face reflected in every bubble that flutters away from me and I reflect on Cinderella while she’s scrubbing the floor and singing to herself. All she is doing is waiting for life to turn around for her so she can escape the horrid life she has.

If we take this Cinderella metaphor and apply it to my situation it makes a lot of sense to me . Lets swap the Evil Step-sisters and Step-Mother for my mental illnesses and her little animal friends for the people who have helped support me through all of this. She tries to act happy for her friends who are always there to help her and to keep herself sane, but her step family is cruel and tearing her beautiful life to shreds when she has a sliver of a chance of finding happiness again. When she’s scrubbing the floor and having the bubbles swirl around her, she’s about to hear about the ball and she’s imagining herself in a better place. Step mother of course ruins everything and then Cinderella is saved by her fairy godmother and her friends and marries a wonderful handsome prince.

Except…I don’t have a fairy godmother, my little furry friends are about 8,000 miles away, and my prince is over 10,500 miles away from me. Maybe the Anxiety Treatment Center I’m going to in late April will be my fairy godmother and my prince will return to me one day. Maybe then, I’ll have my happily ever after.


Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

My past and the abusive relationship we have

I really hate the relationship I have with my past and I really hate that I have a relationship with my past at all. I have never been in an abusive relationship, thank goodness, but I imagine that this is what its like.

My past reminds me constantly of how it has made me into who I am and shows me images of all the wonderful things that have happened in my past. It tells me how much I have grown from it and all the wonderful things I have learned from it that have evidently made me a stronger and wiser woman. It showers me with compliments of how much better I am than I was. For that, I am really thankful for my past because those things aren’t false. My past has made me the person I am today and it has taught me many things that have made me a stronger and wiser woman.

But it refuses to let me move on from it.

I have had a lot of extremely traumatic events happen in my life that have given me all the issues that plague me today. Many of these traumatic events happen to coincide with my relationships with people and specifically trust.

Just to give an example, I had a group of friends in middle school who were my best friends in the entire world. They were stuck by me and we did everything together. Then one day, one girl decided that she wanted to stop being my friend. Instead of telling me this like a sensible person, she ignored me and refused to tell me why she was so mad at me. Instead of replying to my messages, my letters, my tears, she turned the rest of our group of friends against me. Despite telling her that I was on the verge of suicide, she shunned me and never told me her reasons for her cruelty. Since then, I have had one person of that group of people apologize to me and I am happy to say we are wonderful friends and I am forever thankful for her bravery.

The reader may be thinking, “Zoey, you were 14 for fucks sake. Middle school girls can be the worst people ever. Why can’t you get over this?” Well dear judgmental reader, I thought I had. I was traumatized by this event for nearly all of high school. I was skeptical of every friend I had. I went to therapy for it and I did tons of self evaluation. I thought I was over it. Apparently I’m not.

My past takes these traumatic events that my past has scarred me with and continues to infect it to make me unconsciously distrust those whom I love the most.  It shoves it back in my face and says, “Look Zoey, this is why you can’t put your full trust in your friends, your family, your boyfriend.”

And I yell back at my past, “Please, please can’t I just accept this happened and move on from it? I have gone to therapy for years because of this. I have accepted this but I just need you to move on from it. I really just want to put my full trust in people again-”

“No. These events happened for a reason. To show that people will betray you. Even those who say that they love you, they will betray you. You must stay with me because I am the past and I know the truth of these events.” Says my past.

And so therefore I can’t escape my past.

I know deep in my heart this isn’t true. I mantra it every time it pops up in my stupid little head. But the scars on my heart get infected and tell me that I can’t trust them. I just can’t. I want to live in the moment. I want to have a beautiful relationship with the present whom I love so dearly at a distance. But my past has me in chains and it won’t let me go. If someone knows how to cut these chains, how to break up with my past without it killing me, please, please tell me.

Dear people whom I love so much, please know that I dearly wish I could trust you with every ounce of my heart. I want to let you know that my past won’t let me. Please, please forgive me.

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

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The power of having a “Dr.”

I was told today by a therapist that I was going to have panic attacks for the rest of my life. I could take all the medication I wanted, do all the tricks, but I was going to have panic attacks for the rest of my life.

Needless to say, I pretty much blanked out any other “helpful” advice she had to give for me.

Why? Because now I was freaking out about how I was going to be able to have a job, have a successful marriage, have children, have grandchildren, how the fuck I was going to remain happy in my life with the fact that someone with a “Dr.” before their name told me that I was going to be suffering with panic attacks for the rest of my life.

I burst into tears as soon as she told me where the bathroom was. To tell a patient that they’re not going to get better, EVER, is basically the last thing they want to hear when all they want to do in life is get better and to be rid of the things in life that ails them. It doesn’t matter if  you have depression or a physical illness. No patient wants to be told that all of their efforts are futile.

Now, I’m exaggerating because I’m clearly upset. She didn’t say that no matter what I do wouldn’t help. She said despite all of the medication I will take, my panic attacks will get immune to them and come back regardless and that I’m constantly going to have to think of new tricks to combat them. For the rest of my life.

Maybe she was trying to be frank. Maybe she was trying to be honest. I guess she was trying to help in some way. Either way, it wrecked me. The worst part? I believed her.

I don’t think some doctors truly understand how much power their words can have on their patients. We come to them for help and we take their words and their advice very, very seriously because they went to school for this for numbers of years, so they must know what they’re doing. So when a person with the word “Dr.” before their name tells me that I’m going to have panic attacks for the rest of my life, of course I’m fucking going to believe her.

Despite this, I talked to two very intelligent people while I was still having my winged eyeliner running down my cheeks: my flatmate and my mom. My flatmate has gone through many similar experiences as I have and more  and has been super helpful in guidance and just helping me know that I’m not alone. She was shocked that a professional told me that and shared her experiences with other doctors who had told her unhelpful and even harmful advice as well.

My mom set my record straight. She looked at me and said, “Thats ridiculous. Of course you’re not going to have panic attacks like this for the rest of your life. Anxiety? Most likely. Panic attacks? I’m doubtful.” We had a very long chat about how these kinds of things tend to move in waves and that this may change, but no matter what, I was still going to be successful and would always have her support. She reminded me of the other two doctors I’ve had (and still have in Portland) who have helped me achieve great strides in my mental health who are convinced and have told me multiple times that I will get better. I have had so many people tell me that panic attacks are mostly temporary. Why did I believe this one stupid woman then?

To be honest, I’m in a vulnerable state right now and I went to a therapist grasping for help and gasping for a breath of professional “YOU GOT THIS GIRL HERES SOME SHIT THAT WILL HELP YOU IN THIS STRESSFUL TIME LETS GO KICK SOME MENTAL ILLNESS ASS WOO!!” and I got the exact opposite. I got what no one has ever told me before. That I will. not. get. better.

But fuck that.

No honestly fuck that. I sat in class for 3 hours thinking about how I’ve been battling with my mental illness for years and how that has made me a stronger person.  I thought about where I was with in my panic attacks 2 years ago and how much progress I’ve mad in combatting them, learning from them, and helping myself.  And you know what? I have gotten better. I have bad days, horrific days, and some days I think this will be the day that I hurl myself in front of those subway tracks. Today was one of those days I’m not going to lie to you.  But you know what? I’m really fucking glad I didn’t. I have worked so hard and I’m not going to let it go to waste on some metal. I have made progress and I am going to continue to make progress.


So when a therapist, a parent, a person, anyone says you ain’t getting better,


cuz thats what I’m gonna do. 🙂

Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?

Zoey K.

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Let’s have some real talk 2016

Hey 2016 how ya doin? Doesn’t look so good…yeah. See, its only the 14th day into this year and you’ve taken away three very dear people to my childhood and heart. Lemmy from Motorhead, David Bowie, and now Alan Rickman? 2016…what the actual fuck. Not to mention I’m 4 days into my London study abroad and I’m burning with fever when I could be at Westminister Abbey listening to evensong. And somehow you’ve managed to conjure up a tropical storm…in JANUARY?? While I mourn for these heroes, I like to share a couple of stories about each of them.


My brother and I listening to motorhead a lot when we were kids. “The Ace of Spades” was one of my first introductions to metal that I actually enjoyed. When we would play multi-person solitaire, we would always sing that song whenever one of us played the ace of spades.

David Bowie:

This is actually a pretty funny story. I had known about David Bowie for a long time throughout my childhood. We were constantly playing my dad’s Best of Bowie album and dancing along to Space Oddity, Changes, and Ziggy Stardust. My father even named one of his road bikes, “The Spider from Mars” which was a nickname he used for a bit as well. However, one of my most, perhaps scarring memories, is watching him in Labyrinth.  For those of you who haven’t seen the movie and aren’t a little freaked out by puppets or super sparkly cock-pieces should totally watch it. I, however, was a little freaked out by the combination of these. It didn’t help that I watched The Dark Crystal the week before and was still a little creeped out by that.

Alan Rickman:

I have a way more personal story with Mr. Rickman. I had the pleasure of seeing him in the Broadway play, Seminar with my high school. Like any other show, we lined outside in the freezing cold to see if he would grace us with his presence, and he did. This was the conversation we had:

Me: Mr. Rickman! Mr. Rickman! May I please take a photo with you?

A.R.: No. (you have to picture this in his Snape tone) but you can take a picture of me.

And like that he beamed a big smile and moved on. (I actually cannot find my picture of him, but to prove to you that I actually met him, heres a photo taken by my friend, Ashley, when we met him) 523668_129295763868580_867888596_n.jpg

It breaks my heart to see such talented people go. They leave a legacy I shall never forget. But I guess the moral is, we should celebrate what they left in our lives instead of their deaths. Or else, what did they create their art form for? (Besides enjoying it of course)

So 2016, let’s hope you just have a really fucked up month and the rest of this year won’t be like this kay? Because I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand.

Have a day filled with kittens, okay?

Zoey K.

A Letter to the City of Miami

Dear Miami,

Fuck you. 

Ok great now thats out of the way lets get to the point. I have not enjoyed living in you, but I guess you brought me up so I can’t hate you entirely. Throughout my twenty years of living here, I have been hit by a car once while riding my bike, experienced at least 10 hurricanes (including one that ruined my Halloween [thanks Wilma.] ), experienced both the Miami-Dade Public School system and private school, I have been bullied to the point of near suicide, was with a guy for 6 years of my life, and somehow learned how to drive with these crazy people without getting hit once. (I did run into my neighbor’s car though because I sneezed while backing up and instead of slamming on the break, I slammed on the accelerator.)

As much as I did hate being brought in this city, I think it shaped me into a pretty cool person solely because my goal in life was to try and be as UN- MIAMI as possible(often the best compliments I would get was when people tell me I don’t look like I’m from Miami [however I’m not sure if thats a stab at me being pale af or not]). Coming back to the city from literally ANY OTHER CITY was always culture shock and trying to explain this city to friends who had never been was always fun.


“No no please. There is a difference between Alexa and AlExa. (pronounced Ah-ley-xa)”

“No pero like..”

“Jasper, you are allowed to sing ‘Welcome to Miami’ ONCE while you are here.”

“Wait so you didn’t have to learn how to walk in heels starting at the age of 13? You don’t have to wear heels to brunch?!?! I DON’T HAVE TO WEAR HEELS TO EVERY PARTY?? THEY DON’T HAVE TO BE AT LEAST 5 INCHES?!? I DON’T HAVE TO WEAR HEELS-“*collapses*

“No guys I can’t take off my shoes at a party thats so dirty. I could be called a pata sucia.”

So on that note, here are some things I’ve learned while growing up in this crazy city/country.

  1. You learn Spanish immediately, but not from school. Shockingly, you learn actually no valuable Spanish from school, but instead from your baby sitters, cleaning ladies, and friends with their abuelas.
  2. Miami is full of the crazy rich and the very poor. It is difficult to see the poverty lines in Miami because its obscured with mansions, but its there.
  3. Miami is wonderfully diverse and I am thankful for being brought up that way.
  4. Many of the people here have a comfort box that they do not like having reshaped or broken or even like watching people reshape the box Miami has made (case: me). If you stick out, I was taught that was a bad thing; you’re a freak.
  5. Cleanliness is HUGE.
  6. There are a shocking amount of Hispanic Jews (the bar/bat mitzvahs I’ve been to…thats a whole other blog post).
  7. You don’t go to the beach as much as people think.
  8. Going to school outside of Florida is rare, going to school outside of the east coast is almost unheard of (“How could you be so far away from your family?!?”)
  9. No one knows what true humidity is like until they live here.
  10. Heels are a must, even if you’re literally going to the mall.

I am so fucking happy that I am finally leaving this city. I’m not happy to be leaving the wonderful group of friends who have helped me survive living in this city. Thank you so much to the cREw, the boys, my wonderful group of theatre friends, and the impeccable teachers I’ve had for making sure I kept most of my sanity while being raised in this city.

And with that I’m out of Miami, bitch.

Have a great day filled with kittens, okay?

Zoey K.