I graduated from college.

I spent 10 days in Florida with my girlfriend Melissa.

I wrote two books. I published three.

I cried more than I expected I would.

I turned 30. It was raining on my birthday. I felt incredibly alone.

I let some things go.

I realized I no longer belonged here.

I didn't really sleep.

I was in a car wreck. It should have killed me. I didn't get hurt.

I was sick a lot.

I tried to help people when I could. It didn't always work.

I spent the anniversary of my 2015 breakdown in my therapist's office.

I was too depressed to write as much as I wanted.

I found out who my friends were.

I took a lot of selfies.

I was given some good advice.

I started trying to repair things with my parents.

I thought a lot about art and how to be a better writer.

I grew my hair out.

I hugged my dog every day.

I drove to places I'd never been to before.

I felt like someone died on November 8th. I stayed in bed until November 10th.

I was scared all the time. Even when I wasn't, I was.

I made hard decisions.

I sat by the ocean on Christmas Eve.

I sat in the sunshine whenever possible.

I didn't think I would make it.

I did.