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(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.

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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...

Crossing borders to confront my bipolar disorder

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They say living in New York can make or break you. My two-and-a-half-year stint in the East Village was like living with osteoporosis. It broke every fragile bone in my body, down to the little piggy that went all the way home...

Make mine a double
(from "Dating & Sex: The Theory of Mutual Self-Destruction")

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“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.

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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...

Sorry not sorry

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Sorry. A simple word. Honest. Unpretentious. Kind. Forgiving.In Canada, sorry is carefree. Reliable, but not too needy. A friend with benefits. It was, at least. Then I traded in my oversized hand-me-down hockey skates for oversnug form-before-function Blundstones...

Just a small-town curl

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I have always struggled to accept my curls. Hiding behind hair ties and blow-dried lies for nearly a decade, I was ashamed. But when I watched Ilana Glazer embrace her "jewfro" on "Broad City," I saw myself as an equally badass Jewess with untamed tresses...

Lifting the weight off my shoulders: How my personal trainer helped treat my mental illness

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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

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“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...

No-one told me life was gonna be this way.

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Asthe cast of Friends officially confirmed their reunion show, I leafed through the copious roommates I’d had since leaving home. While Joey and Chandler had hit it off by season 1, I had yet to happen upon the same fortune...

© 2018 by Jennifer Greenberg

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