Spiraling
“Spiraling” aims to depict feelings of anxiety and hopelessness when battling against your own mind. The imagery of a spiral staircase inspired this shoot, as the visual serves as a…
“Spiraling” aims to depict feelings of anxiety and hopelessness when battling against your own mind. The imagery of a spiral staircase inspired this shoot, as the visual serves as a…
Your mom’s boyfriend is a groaner. His sighs sound like an avalanche heaving down the side of a mountain. The groans reverberate through the walls accompanying every activity from browsing the fridge to movie nights. He has neck, teeth, and knee problems from working on a boatyard. Also, he plays the bongos when he’s happy.
But as a former user of dating apps myself, it was never about finding someone who worked with me. It was about similarities and, well, matching. In turn, I was looking for a mirror image of myself without even realizing it. I remember often dismissing any profiles that conflicted with my interests if the algorithm dared to let them slip through.
In our most vulnerable moments, we seek community. We desire the listening ears of others, their comforting eyes and soft hands welcoming our embrace. Until we don’t. Until we’re faced with two words that send shivers down the spine of a brooding teenager: group therapy.
It’s no secret that the T hosts Boston’s best cast of characters. And while some of those characters can be off-putting, others are some of the nicest people I have ever met. I can count on my fellow T riders.
“Multiple Sclerosis,” he stated, in a tone that was more matter of fact than sympathetic. He didn’t care to explain what that entailed, but took the liberty of giving me time to Google it myself. When he came back into the room he asked if I had any questions. I only had one. “Could someone get the needle out of my arm…”
Somehow, a group of people I met six weeks prior changed my definition of home. They flipped it upside down, shook it around, rearranged it, rotated it ninety degrees. It was awful and wonderful and exciting and nerve-wracking and everything in between. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
When you are becoming closer with an acquaintance who is also a friend of a friend, you already know their vibe. There are no surprises. But coming into college where the majority of students aren’t friends with anyone beforehand, there is no familiarity. You are all truly strangers, and it could be the first time you have to ask yourself, “Wait, how do I make friends again?”
“Pain is temporary; swag is forever,” a motto I use to hype myself up whenever I’m sitting in that all too familiar reclined chair, needle dancing in and out of my skin. From a young age, I knew I’d either never get a tattoo or be covered, no in between. When I turned 18, the allure of swag won, and my mother’s pleadings lost.