(Way Too Much)
About Me
My 95-year-old grandma saved my life when no one else could. Then she did it again — months after her death.

Whenever I was hospitalized due to a bipolar episode, Grandma Bevy would call me on the spotty landline in the white-on-white-on-frightful hallway. I’d will myself out of bed in my oversized scrubs and bring a “psych ward safe” flexible pen to document her wisdom...
Make mine a double
(from "Dating & Sex: The Theory of Mutual Self-Destruction")

“If your writing style is anything like your texting style, I like it… it’s manic and lightning fast and gives the impression that you’re about to go skydiving. And yes, I’m Jewish, too," he said. "So I love bagels and have a huge… collection of Wiesel’s work"...
I celebrated 3 months of sobriety with an all-inclusive vacation. I fell off the wagon when I got home, but I'm trying again.

In her last year alive, my Grandma Bevy boosted me up after a dark period. She knew that I had sought help for alcohol addiction, because I told my mother everything, and my mother had confided in her...
Lifting the weight off my shoulders: How my personal trainer helped treat my mental illness

Coming down from a full-blown, hypersexualized, drug-infused manic episoder in the East Village, I could barely keep my eyes open north of the border. I had not chosen to wind up in my bubble gum bedroom—a hue which never suited my Tomboy personality...
I felt safer in a psychiatric hospital during the pandemic

“Heading to work?” my Uber driver probed. His accent felt heavier through the unbreathable fabric mask. “Sure,” I answered, aware of the collective paranoia sweeping the city. As a twenty-seven-year-old bipolar woman, I had made this trip before...