Thursday, January 14, 2016

professor snape, always

I really hope it doesn't take celebrity deaths for me to a) write on this blog and b) work on my design skills. But y'all, ALAN RICKMAN. My heart can't take it. He was, hands down, one of my favorite actors of all time. And he was in three of my all-time favorite movies: Sense and Sensibility, Love Actually, and Harry Potter. Yes, all 8 HP movies count as my number one all-time favorite movie. I am listening to the 7th movie soundtrack as we speak.

It amazes me every day what a profound effect art can have on the human soul, whether it be written, visual, or auditory art. Books teach us lessons. Music makes us hope. Movies tell stories we either wish we could be a part of, or help us know we aren't alone. So when an artist that gave us all these emotions and meaning leaves us, of course we feel it. We grieve as if we knew the person; we shake our fists at the sky and say, "Why can't you just take Donald Trump instead?!" Because we feel a connection to this person, this person who created just for us.

Alan Rickman had a funny way of getting cast as the villain frequently. But he didn't just play an antagonist. He played villains we found ourselves rooting for. Villains we found ourselves defending. We waited with baited breath as we waited to see whether Rickman's villains would find a way to redeem themselves. I believe every Harry Potter fan let out a collective sigh of relief towards the end of Deathly Hallows, book or movie.

For those of us that read the HP books before the rest of the movies came out, Alan Rickman was not just Alan Rickman playing Severus Snape. Alan Rickman was Professor Snape. Every quip out of his mouth, every mention of his greasy black hair, every hook-nosed description, painted a perfect picture of Alan Rickman in our minds.

For those that watched the movies before (or GASP! instead of) the books, the same can be said. Professor Snape and Alan Rickman were one. The following is a "goodbye letter" Alan Rickman penned for Empire Magazine about finishing up the franchise.

If ever there was a time to say "I can't even", it is now.

In Love Actually, Rickman played Harry, a daft fool who cheats on Emma Thompson. No one likes a cheater. Especially someone who cheats on Emma Thompson. And yet, I found myself pulling for him. Look at his face, his sad, dumb face as his wife calls him out at HIS CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS PAGEANT. How can you not feel bad for that stupid idiot who cheated on Emma Thompson?

I guess I should point out before getting to the ultimate villain that Alan Rickman has a killer acting range. In Sense and Sensibility, he plays Colonel Brandon, a handsome AF military man with a killer hat and a love for poetry. Be still my freakin' heart, kids. Tell me there's an actor that looks better on a horse than Alan Rickman. Impossible. Colonel Brandon gets friendzoned probably harder than anyone in literature ever. And yeah, I know we are supposed to want Kate Winslet to get with Willoughby, and maybe I did when I read the book. But how do you say no to Alan Rickman's gorgeous flowing locks and did I mention the killer hat? I did a pretty mediocre job of drawing it in my banner at the top. I suggest googling it. Hot damn. Anyway, Colonel Brandon was the one I was rooting for throughout the whole movie, and I believe that is because of Alan Rickman and his ability to make the friendzone look like a cool place to hangout, if only so I could spend my time there running my hands through his luscious locks. 

In Die Hard, he plays one of the greatest movie villains of all time. Tell me you didn't, at some point, kinda hope Hans Gruber would blow up the world and take that whiny Bruce Willis with him. The guy said:

"And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer."

And he made everyone think Hans Gruber said that super genius thing and not Plutarch, the actual philosopher who said it which I know from my philosophy class (and Google.)

Alan Rickman made these characters believable. We believed everything out of his mouth. Because Alan Rickman was not a man playing a part. He was the character. He was Hans Gruber; he was (hell, I'll say it, IS) Professor Snape. So yes. When a celebrity, like this amazing man, leaves us, we grieve. Because we aren't losing just the person. We are losing all the potential they still had. All the characters they still had to play; all the art they still had to create.

And, on a personal note, I'm not only losing one of my favorite actors, a man who made acting look so effortless, so easy, so attainable. I'm losing a tiny bit of the Professor, too. I've said goodbye to Snape many times. In print, on screen... over and over, each time I reread or rewatch. And now, I feel like I have to say goodbye to him again. 

But maybe that's the beauty in it. I get to say goodbye over and over. I get to spend a night with greatness as often as I want. 

Whether it's Bowie or Rickman, or maybe all these goodbyes have reminded you of your favorite artist you've had to say goodbye to, just know that they will never be truly gone. They left behind a legacy. And it was all for us. It was all for you. Always.

PS. I fully believe in this whole celebrity death in threes thing so I'm gonna need y'all to check on Julie Andrews. Make sure Maggie Smith has been to the doctor recently. And for god's sake, someone tell Ian McKellen he SHALL NOT PASS. 

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

bye bye bowie

Now that I have a Mac again, I can finally get back into design. As much as I love my chromebook, it didn't have photoshop or illustrator. Now, I can hopefully keep all my different mediums separate and therefore, hopefully, I can be more disciplined. Chromebook for writing; iMac for graphic design and music making.

Here's a doodle for ya to sooth all you weary hearts missing Ziggy Stardust today. 

It's lookin' pretty on my desktop, right now. It'll probably look good on yours too. It's also almost certainly gonna go over into the column on the right, so just go with it. (EDIT: Yep, I was right.)
Also, here's one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies, with my favorite Bowie song. 

Thank you, Starman, for making weird 'cool'. For making 'strange' normal. And for making 'different' an important part of being alive.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

The Old House & The Little Heart

This old house is new again. There’s a new heart beating inside her, one of many she’s held for the past 70 years she’s stood here. She tended to hold more than one beating being at once, but now she has one little heart padding around inside. This little heart is small in this big body, sometimes drowning in the spacious chambers, sometimes overwhelmed with the fact that this old house is all hers. 

This little heart’s little dog click-clacks from room to room, his little toenails beating a familiar rhythm through the wood-paneled house. The little heart listens to the little toenails on little floorboards, matching them step for step through the old house. This little dog keeps this little heart beating. 

This little heart keeps the old house clean. She doesn’t know what hearts beat here before but she sees the scars they left; cracks in the floorboards, paint bleeding down the walls, secret messages carved into hidden corners. This old house has different marks than her last home. That house was new. She put all the scars there, herself. Memories gathered in the corners like dust, choking her in her sleep and making her eyes water even while she laughed. Dirt stuck deep down in the carpet no matter how hard she tried to rub it out. 

This old house knows how to love her. It cradles her at night and lets the light shine through in the mornings. It wakes her up with light breezes and the soft crackles of an old body settling. In this old house, she chases tumbleweeds of dog hair across the floors, giggling as the culprit click-clacks behind her, nipping at her heels. The little heart plays music as loud as she wants, sings as loud as she wants, stomps through the house as loud as she wants. In this old house, this new, little heart beats as loud as she wants. 

Some nights, the little heart flutters softly in her bed. Even the old house can’t stop the darkness from sneaking in. Some nights, the little heart races from room to room, and the old house knows other hearts are coming to visit. Some days, two little hearts beat out a soft harmony through the living room. Sometimes, a whole group of hearts beat out so loud and so randomly in the kitchen, that the old house can’t find her little heart in all the noise. 

But most days and most nights, the old house just sits and watches her little heart. Her little heart gets lost, sometimes. She leaves a lot, sometimes for days at a time and the old house wonders if she’ll ever find her way back. But her little heart always comes home. “You’re my north star, old house,” she whispers as she cuddles her little dog under the covers. “You bring me home.” The old house thinks that sometimes it’s ok to be lost if you’re lost in the right direction. 

This old house is new again. The little heart keeps the old house moving, shifting, growing. The old house holds up the little heart, protects her, and keeps her beating. The little heart is new again. 

Monday, April 13, 2015

A bad day with depression

The sun is up and you are up and you have to get up but you won't. 10 more minutes, 15, 20,25,30, two more hours in the bed and then you'll get up and everything you do today will be worth the three hours you spent in bed after the sun came up. But you're stuck in the sunken hole you've created on the right side of the bed. 

The dogs. They'll pee on the floor if you don't pull yourself out of the hole so you're up and you'll just take a quick shower to wash the gunk of bad dreams off yourself. Remember that bad dream? Faceless people laughing at you and now they have faces and each face is someone you love and they are just laughing at you. Now they are walking away, leaving you in the dark and you want nothing more than for them to come back and laugh at you. Please just come back and laugh at me. 

Just a dream. That was just a dream but you've been sitting on the shower floor for 45 minutes now and you just want to know what you did to make them laugh. Your hair needs to be washed but maybe you'll skip it today. Your arms are feeling heavy so you'll just sit for a little longer on the floor. There's a hole in the corner of the shower where the water pools and turns lukewarm and you're stuck in it. 

The dogs. They'll pee on the floor if you don't pull yourself out of the hole so you're up and you'll just throw on whatever you see first; you can change after you walk the dogs. But it's too hot outside or maybe too cold or maybe there's too much pollen or maybe it's too windy. You can just let the dogs out in the yard. They can play around themselves. You'll just brush your teeth and come back for them in a bit. 

Brush. Brush. Eyes down. Don't look in the mirror. Have the shadows under my eyes gotten darker? Does my hair always look that greasy when I don't wash it? Is my skin really that sallow? You'll use the new product you bought. You'll rub and rub and rub and rub and why are the shadows still there? This stuff is supposed to work. Your eyes are red now. At least it covers the dark rings. Maybe you're just tired. You should take a nap. That hole in the bed looks comfortable. Maybe you'll just sink into it for a couple minutes.

The dogs. They need to be fed. They'll start barking for food if you don't pull yourself out of the hole so you're up and you'll feed them then get started on some work. You're good at this stuff, it won't take you long to finish that report. You'll work at your desk today. You always have good days when you sit at your desk. But this room is messy. You can't work in here; everything is everywhere and your arms are too heavy to clean up so you'll just work on the couch today. 

Ring ring. You don't recognize this number. Who would be calling you? What if it's an emergency? What if someones hurt? What if someone wants to hang out? What excuse are you gonna use this time? It was a headache last time. You could say you have too much work. Thats it. I'll just save my work for tonight so I can tell them I'm busy and it won't be a lie. What if it's a doctor? What if they wanna reschedule your appointment? No, it could be someone you know. Your sister might be calling from school. She might need a ride. You can't do that; you have work to do. What if it's an emergency? What if you have to talk to someone? 

Missed call. Voicemail. It's the pharmacy. Your medicine is ready to be picked up. What if it had been your sister? She needed you and you weren't there for her. Maybe she walked home. Maybe she had to ask for a ride home. That must be embarrassing. You pick her up plenty of times. It's not your fault. You should have been there for her.

It was the pharmacy. It's ok. It was the pharmacy. This time. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. You're a horrible sister. 

Today is not a good day. You'll just chill out and watch TV for a little bit. Then you'll start working. There's a hole in this couch. It's comfortable. It'll make you feel better then you can start working. 


That's the garage door. Someone is home. Work day is over. That's ok; you work from home. You can still do some work. Maybe in a little bit. You haven't done anything around the house today. You should show them you've been doing something. Maybe laundry but your arms are too heavy. You'll just fold it then put it away tomorrow. 

The dogs! You can feed the dogs. The dogs are excited about the food. They are jumping on you, barking. It's so loud in here. Why is it so loud? Why are the lights so bright? Someone is talking on the phone. Why are they talking so loud? Why is it so bright? Why is it so loud?

Did you say Netflix? Yeah, that works for me. You should really spend time with them. Netflix will work. It's easy to talk about what's on tv. Just for a little bit. This hole is really comfortable. You feel better already. 

Go out? I thought we were gonna watch Netflix. No, today is not a good day to go out. Everyone will ask you what you did today. You'll have to lie. Or worse, tell the truth. No, you can't tell the truth. They won't understand. They'll think you're worthless or hopeless or lazy or what is her problem? They're right. What is your problem? What is your problem?

Maybe you'll stay home. You can do some of that work. Or take a bath. Yes, a bath. That will be relaxing. You're tired; you had a rough day. You deserve a bath and a book. What if you had gone out? Everyone would be talking and you would be staring at nothing, not hearing them, just sitting and staring at nothing. It's better you stayed home. You can sit and stare at nothing here. Sometimes you just need to sit and stare at nothing. But what do they think you're doing? They think you don't like them. They think you're a loner or a hermit or a weirdo. That doesn't sound too bad. You should become a hermit. You wouldn't have to worry about people talking to you or calling you or wanting you to come out. 

No. That's not what you want. Today is just a bad day. You should go to bed. Tomorrow will be better. 

The dogs. You should let the dogs out. No, someone can do it when they get home. You should go to bed. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible owner. 

But there's a hole in your bed. It's nice and dark and you can just jump in and be fine. You can go to sleep. Your dreams will probably be better anyway. 

Garage door. Someone's home. You should talk to them. Tell them how you feel. Maybe they'll comfort you. They are tired. Time for bed. You should keep this to yourself. No one wants to hear about your problems. Your problems are your problems. They won't understand. Sure they will. But you can't do that to them. They had a long day. They are tired. You can talk to them about it tomorrow. Its ok. You can jump in your hole and go to sleep. 

They are asleep. You are wide awake. Its ok. Just close your eyes and stop thinking. Remember that bad dream? What if you have it again? Have the shadows under my eyes gotten darker? Did my hair look gross today because I didn't wash it? How did my skin look? Should I go look in the mirror? Why is it so loud? Why is it so bright? You're a horrible sister. What is your problem? What if you have to talk to someone tomorrow? You're a horrible owner. You're a horrible partner. You're a horrible friend. Today was not a good day. 

Two hours. Three hours. You are exhausted. And you're wide awake. NyQuil. That will put you to sleep. Where is the little plastic cup? You don't need it. Just swig from the bottle.

This hole is nice. Comfortable. Warm. You could stay here all day and all night. Why did you ever get out of it this morning?

The dogs. 

You fall asleep, into a world of dark dreams, laughing faces, thanking God for the dogs. Without them, you might never get out of the hole. 


This is just one example of what a bad day can be for a person suffering with mental illness, in this case, depression. 

Depression feels like nothing. Empty spaces. Rooms with no doors or windows. Walking in circles. Forever twiddling thumbs. Depression is numbing.

Depression feels like everything. Too many cracks. Too much dust. Too many people. Too much light. Too many sounds. Too loud, too constant, too much. Depression is too much.

Sometimes a day full of nothing can be too much of everything. 

Not every day is a bad day for someone suffering. Most times, other people have no idea which days are good ones and which days are bad ones.

One thing is for sure. Good or bad, no day is ever easy for someone suffering. 

By Chelsea Poole

Friday, October 24, 2014

I have a new, crazy plan.

Some of you may have noticed the recent change in tone of this blog (minus the ridiculous picture above). It hasn't exactly been intentional but it has seemed to just flow out of me recently. As I mentioned a few posts ago, I have been experiencing a pretty hardcore struggle with my depression and anxiety. Mental illness has been in the news a lot recently with the suicide of Robin Williams and the very public breakdown of Amanda Bynes. Perhaps, the sudden celebrity of the issue is why people are suddenly so comfortable with openly talking about mental illness. Plenty of bloggers and journalists have taken to the inter-webs to share their professional and amateur opinions about suicide, depression and many other forms of mental illness. It is easy to talk about these issues when the person we are talking about is a celebrity. And then when the facade has worn off, we move on to the next big issue.

But I don't want mental illness to be an issue we discuss when a celebrity struggles with it. It should be something we talk about with our neighbors, friends, and family members that live with these issues without a constant spotlight on them. It should be something we talk about regularly. How can we best love and support the people living in these conditions? How can those of us struggling best love and support the people that have to put up with our crazy selves all the time?

I have decided to really go for it and pull a 180 on this blog. When I started it, I pointed out that I didn't know where it was going to go. I had just graduated from college, I didn't have a job, and I was hoping to find some purpose I could put to this blog. After a year of nonsensical outfit updates and ramblings on about beauty products, I think I have found that purpose.

Here I can chronicle my life with mental illness. Recently, I have taken a key interest in mental illness. I struggle with it myself but I have also been affected by it and lived with it through other people. I hope to not only try to erase some of the stigma that follows around mental illness but to help people try to get inside the head of some of us that struggle. It's crazy in there. We truly are some nutty people. And we will be the first to admit that.

So, this blog is for you: the one struggling, thinking you are alone, thinking no one understands and never will. This is for you.

It's for you: the person feeling helpless as you watch someone you love struggle with something you can't control. This is for you.

It's for you: the person who just wants to know more.
                    the person who wants to help.
                    the person who wishes they understood.
                    the person who wants to love everyone.

We will have to wait and see where this blog goes. I am so not a planner but I can tell you that we will do it together. We will keep on living our crazy lives, our nutty lives, our insane lives.

We are all crazy.
We are all nutty.
We are all insane.
Some of us just a little more than others.
And that's normal.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014


This post is gonna be a much lighter note, kids, don't you worry. I've noticed some viral thingymajig going around on Facebook where people are naming their top 20 movies or songs or books or what-have-you of the week. So I've decided that I don't trust Facebook enough to get my amazing taste in all things entertainment out to the masses. Why not blog it? We will start with music because I just love making playlists on Spotify. Back in the day, children, I used to spend way too much time burning these things called CDs for my friends. Ask your elders about those things. They are basically Blu-ray discs FOR MUSIC!? Anyway, trying to pick select songs was hard enough. I was barely able to keep the list under 100. And yes. Before you ask, NSYNC and Britney did make it onto the list. Try and stop me.

This is not a list of 'the best songs ever written' or 'the most classic songs of all time.' For god's sake, Genie in a Bottle is on this list. I put BROADWAY songs on it. It is a list of my favorite songs of all time. Still, I welcome you questioning me on any song on this list and I will fight you to the death with passion and maybe just a smidgen of logic. But only a smidgen.

But seriously, music is a lifesaver. I don't care if you don't like my music, and you shouldn't care if I don't like your music. Unless, it's Led Zeppelin. Then we have a problem. Just kidding. Kind of. I think. Music is important, especially to me. This list of music represents so many insane, different moments of my life. Pink Floyd makes me think of my dad. Sufjan Stevens makes me think of an ex-boyfriend. A song from Wicked makes me think of my sister. Think of a person, a place, an event and a song pops into your head. Music is more than just entertainment. It's a lifestyle. It's 2 AM, on a back street, running low and there's not a gas station in sight. Everything is looking bleak but oh my god I love this song. It's a porch; it's a bike ride; it's a long run. It's off-key in the shower and jamming in the front seat, not caring whose in the backseat.

There are a few songs not on Spotify that are on this list. Some of my all-time faves actually.

Peter Gabriel 'In Your Eyes'
Bob Seger 'Night Moves'
The Beatles 'Blackbird'
Boy & Bear 'Milk & Sticks'

Also, let it be known, I do know my absolute favorite. Numbering the rest of them was impossible but Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd is the winner. Forever and ever. I had to pick my two favorite songs of their's or their entire discography would have been on the list. Favorite band, as well. Hands down.

The list is long. And pretty intense. And all over the place. Alphabetically, it begins with 2pac and ends with Van Morrison. Let that be your summary.

Take care of yourself,

Chelsea Poole

Saturday, August 23, 2014

on being physically sick

Last night, I went to sleep at midnight. It's not a particularly early bedtime but for a Friday night, it was something different for me. The boyfriend and I just got a new mattress, one that is supposed to feel like the epitome of cliche. Like "sleeping on a cloud" or as James put it, "like angels were carrying me off to sleep while playing harps."

This is not what falling asleep felt like to me.

The sheets were suffocating me, wrapped so tight around me I feared I would stop breathing right there in my bed, with James in the next room, never knowing how I was suffering, being pulled under and out of sight as if I'd never even been there. The sheets were too loose. There was too much air billowing in all the extra space, it was filling me up and pushing me around and the sheets were bunching up, rubbing against my legs and I didn't like how the wrinkled fabric felt against my skin and I was going to go out death by cotton.

It was too hot. I was sweating and constantly reaching for the bedside table, where my cold glass of water was growing more and more empty, warmer and warmer, unable to quench the driest throat I'd ever had. Then, it was too cold. It was snowing in my room and no matter how far I cocooned into my comforter, the flakes soaked through, freezing the hair on my arms and making my teeth chatter.

When I finally fell asleep, I fell hard. I fell into worlds of tornadoes and wars and the world ending and screaming and screaming and too much screaming. Nightmare after nightmare of terror and heartbreak, all night. And I never woke up, all night.

I woke up this morning at noon. My entire body ached, especially my neck and my shoulder. My body felt like a hundred pounds, my back clenched with every movement. I dragged myself to the shower where I nearly suffocated, again, on the steam. My head swum in the heat and my stomach lurched as I grew dizzier and dizzier. When I finally managed to get out of the shower, clothed, and onto the couch, I fell asleep and on, for the rest of the day. When I was awake, my mind was all over the place, I couldn't concentrate on one thing for more than five minutes. My motor skills were barely functional. As I sat on the porch, watching a sunset that my brain could barely even register, my thumb struggled to move against my cell phone screen no matter how hard my brain told it to. I fell asleep sitting up in my chair.

Dinner tasted bland. It was spicy Indian food.

As I watched television, still struggling to stay awake, I became angry at everything every character on the screen did. Why did that character just make that face? Why is he talking like that? His face is so annoying! I HATE THIS SHOW. I just want to go to sleep.

It's 11 o'clock. I'm in the bed, again, and I could fall asleep for the night right now.

After reading this, you probably have a diagnosis for me. I have the flu, or a virus, or maybe just a cold. But what if I told you I'm physically perfectly fine? I have no temperature. No sore throat. No ear infection. No flu. No virus. No cold. I am physically fine.

But that doesn't mean I'm not still sick.

But it must just be all in your head. 
Oh, come on, you're fine. 
You're crazy!

Yeah, you're right. But does that mean I'm not sick? People are quick to jump on an ALS Ice Bucket Challenge or #nomakeupselfie for Breast Cancer Awareness. And these things are fine! But why should mental illness not be on the front pages too?

Should someone famous have to kill themselves for us to realize that mental illness is a real disease? 

Too many of us suffering silently do just that. Suffer silently. If we are not hiding ourselves, we are being hushed by those around us. ALS. Cancer. Any other number of physical illnesses. These are acceptable illnesses because they have this idea surrounding them that the people suffering with them didn't choose a life of physical illness.

Depression is not something anyone chooses. Bipolar disorder is not some fun characteristic people decide to tack onto themselves to make their dating profile seem a bit more interesting. Anxiety is not something interesting to talk about at a party. Schizophrenia is not a talking point. ADD is not cute. Post-traumatic stress disorder is not fun. OCD is not adorable. Anorexia is not pretty. Addiction is not something people yearn for.

Mental illness is not a choice. Mental illness is a disease.

My previous blog post on the subject of my depression and anxiety disorder was met with a surprising amount of good and gracious feedback. But I know there were a few select people that wished I hadn't posted it. They didn't understand how I could put it out on the internet where everyone could read it. But how can I keep quiet?

Why should someone have to DIE for it to make the front pages? And why should that person be a celebrity? Why can't a normal, 23 year old,  over-sharing girl from North Carolina put it all out there?

My little sister has a pretty gnarly scar stretched across the crook of her right elbow. She stuck her arm through a window 6-7 years ago. Blood did some spurting; people did some screaming; the babysitter did some mild panicking. My sister got to ride in an ambulance and spend a good chunk of time in the ER. My mom calls that her "story of strength." People want to hear it. People are proud of her. I'm proud of her.

I have a story of strength. It's still being written. And I'm going to share it and probably write a good chunk of it down here for the whole world to see. Mental illness doesn't have to be buried. Mental illness doesn't have to be hidden. Mental illness doesn't have to exist when stories end. It's called "having" a mental illness for a reason. I have a mental illness. Mental illness doesn't have me. Bad days like today come and go. Sometimes they stay for a long time. Sometimes they stay away for awhile. Every person's story is different. All YOU have to do is listen to them.

Disclaimer: this is not an attack on any sort of awareness or charities for actual physical illnesses nor is it an attack on the ALS ice bucket challenge in general. these are all admirable efforts and all that participate should be applauded. it is also not in any way saying that mental illnesses are worse or more important than any physical illness. that is just not true. i merely wish to see as much interest shown in "hidden illnesses" and i don't want a celebrities death to have to be the catalyst that makes people see.

pleasepleaseplease share this on your 
google+ (people still have those?)
myspace (PEOPLE STILL HAVE THOSE? no they don't, jk)
tumblr (lookin at you, angsty high schoolers)
and anywhere else you share stuff. print it out and tack it on a community bulletin board somewhere if you want.

Take care of yourself,

Chelsea Poole