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CHAPTER VI: LOST WOODS

I moved from Orange County California to Orange County Indiana. 

I lasted two whole weeks. 


Even the people in Indiana wondered why I’d move to such a place. They wouldn’t wish it on their own worst enemies.


Feeding sheep and gardening in exchange for a cabin in the woods sounded like a dream come true to me. I imagined myself writing, stretching, and meditating on the porch in peaceful solitude. 


The best creators have that moment where they get away from it all to reconnect with themselves and nature. Solitude meant freedom. I could do whatever the fuck whenever the fuck. 


Indiana was known as The Crossroads of America. It’s in the middle of everything, but it’s also in the middle of nowhere. The Lost Woods were isolated from the rest of the world. It was the perfect place to disappear.


Lots of people asked me why I went from “Fancy Orange County” to “Hick Orange County.” I told them I was eager to get away from the distractions and opinions of other people. Southern California was shallow, expensive, and claustrophobic in comparison. It left me craving nature, space, and privacy. I might have overcorrected a little bit. 


The closest town was a notorious hiding spot for famous criminal gangsters. True crime fans flocked to the area to tour the secret underground tunnels and passageways. The Lost River caves were entrances and exits to private bunkers. Most of the locals were ashamed of the town’s dark history, but I found it fascinating. 


Most of the people in The Lost Woods were Amish or Mennonite. All the locals were excited to talk to me, they had never met someone from Hollywood before.


The small town gossip spread like wildfire. Everyone knew everything about everybody. I was the latest news or dare I say star. A younger version of me would have killed for that level of attention.


People told me I was the smartest person in town. It was a pretty low bar considering none of them had a formal education. Most of them didn’t even have teeth. 


There were less than a thousand people in town, but they had over thirty five churches. People invited me to worship but I feared I might burst into flames or a thousand bats. That would’ve been sick, but I’d rather spend my time chillin outdoors with a glass of bourbon and some woodland creatures. 


When I first moved into the cabin, I asked the landowners for the key. They acted like that was a high maintenance request. The husband told me that people don’t lock their doors in The Lost Woods. I had already gone through enough stalker issues, so I persuaded them to give me a key anyway. 


The wife desperately wanted a new codependent best friend. She kept showing up on my porch unannounced with her kids. She regretted having children and envied my freedom. I wanted all of them to fuck off, so I could smoke and write in privacy. 


They were kind, generous people, but they had no concept of hygiene or boundaries. At one point they warned me not to be gay. They probably burn queer stoners bitches at the stake out there. 


The cabin had no plumbing or electricity. I got water from the local spring or farm hose. There was a compost outhouse toilet facing the woods. Overall it was a much needed grounding experience. I unplugged from technology to be present with nature. I simplified life to enjoy the views. I planted flowers, ate from the earth, and danced barefoot under the stars. 


Leaning into my natural primal spirit gave me much needed relief. It felt so good to just be. No need for masking or acting out in the wilderness. Most of all it felt great to simplify and slow the fuck down. 


My new lifestyle concerned my friends and family back home. They thought that living alone in the woods sounded like the plot of a horror movie. 


Most of them were shocked that I would even consider visiting Indiana. My friends expected me to spend the rest of my life in LA. People kept telling me to come back to reality as if cities were more real than the natural world.


The landowners told me stories about the fairies and spirits they met outside my cabin door. They said that the mystical creatures disappeared after some trees were chopped down. The fairies taught them how to communicate and collaborate with plants. 


Most people in town assumed that I was a witch. Probably because I wore all black and lived in a cabin in the woods with my black cat. Everyone hoped I could bring back the magical fairies somehow.   


After spending lots of alone time in nature I started noticing interesting signs and synchronicities. All the supernatural stories started to make more sense. 


Everything I previously thought no longer seemed true. Maybe I had to abandon my preconceived ideas in order to make room for a new level of consciousness. Maybe we have to lose our minds or egos in order to go through spiritual awakenings. 


When my bare hands and feet touched the earth there was an inexplicable enchanted sense of magic in the air. It inspired me to look up the spiritual meanings associated with certain plants, numbers, and animals. 


Beautiful red cardinals made nests surrounding the cabin. I started writing, dancing, and gardening around the same time their eggs hatched. Cardinals symbolize creativity, adaptability, and spirituality. They seemed to be more active when I was being artistic. It felt like they were my little cheerleaders encouraging me to be more creative. 


Most of my friends and neighbors were deer. Since they shed and regrow their antlers, they are often associated with renewal. Deer look frightened, panicked, surprised, and confused. Their fears and anxieties are what keep them alive. Deer have the ability to move through obstacles and regenerate quickly. They seem soft and gentle despite their strong survival instincts. 


Black cats are curious, independent, flexible, defensive, and magical. People associate them with rebirth and resurrection. My cat Lando has been by my side during many life changing adventures. He hissed and growled at predators to protect me from harm. 


Sheep often represent community and peace. It was my responsibility to take care of them on the farm. Sometimes the sheep would get lost in the woods. One time they ran away, but I found them grazing at a Mennonite Church. They always stuck together as a herd and were easy to control with food. Holding newborn baby sheep felt more healing than drugs or therapy. 


The spiritual symbolism behind most of the plants and animals encouraged me to follow my creative passions and natural intuitions. That sounds like a pretty good idea, no matter what you believe. 


All the mystical theories I heard from the locals started to sound increasingly more plausible over time. The trees were my friends, so communicating and collaborating with plants sounded natural. Was I going crazy or waking up? 


Years ago I heard a Native American story that spoke about the future of our planet. It said that many people would die, some would survive, and the rest would lose their minds. That time had come and I knew what group I was in.


Maybe I was losing it, but wasn’t everyone? Our world had too many fucking people. We were in the middle of a global pandemic. Normal people were weird for not being crazy. We had to learn how to adapt to survive a post apocalyptic dystopian plague! 


Most Amish people hate the American government, healthcare, food, and education systems. They enjoy arts, plants, and animals. I appreciated their lifestyle choices and wanted to be more like them to a certain extent.


In the woods it was our responsibility to take care of our own waste. We composted, burnt trash, and drove the rest to the dump. Everybody out there strived to be eco-friendly and self-sufficient. 


Some people were embarrassed that they had to burn their own trash. I told them that bonfires were a pretty big deal back in my hometown Huntington Beach, which inspired them to throw a campfire party. 


Most people in that area avoided technology and preferred crafts or live entertainment. We sang songs, played instruments, and danced around a campfire. The locals ate roadkill and begged me to perform. They gathered around me and started chanting “Sing! Sing! Sing!” I told them I wasn’t a singer, but they didn’t care. They really wanted to hear my voice. At first it was hard to sing, but once I started I couldn’t stop. 


It was refreshing to be an artist without having the pressure to be good, competitive, or impressive.


Out in nature I was able to be myself and enjoy art for the sake of being creative. It wasn’t about being good, it was about having fun. The Amish people helped me realize how much I loved and missed performing arts. They made me feel like a kid again. 


Growing up I loved drawing, singing, dancing, acting, and playing dress up. I didn’t care about what other people thought. I cared about what I thought! It was all about self expression and cathartic release. My art was made for me by me. I needed to decenter the audience and recenter myself again. 


Our bodies are meant to move and create. Guess I lost my creative instincts after so much heartbreak in Hollywood. Leaving LA felt like the grand finale, but it was just the intermission. I thought that was the end of my life, but it was just the beginning. 


Leaving people and places behind dramatically improved my life for the better, even though it looked concerning from the outside. If you reconstruct your home or life it’s going to look like shit before it starts looking better. 


The deepest healing happened when I could be my wildest true creative self without the fear of being judged. It’s crazy how much growth and potential we can find in the most unlikely places. 


Doing things alone is a great way to meet like minded people.


In Orange County Indiana most people were poor, but happy. In Orange County California most people were wealthy, but miserable. They seemed happier in the woods, because they were connected to nature, instead of ignoring it or destroying it. 


Hollywood obese was Indiana anorexic. People kept trying to feed me. The local produce came straight from the Amish farms. The fruits and vegetables were usually covered in dirt or bugs. Most of the neighbors hunted and ate deer regularly. 


Watching animals die in the woods was shocking. I was probably the only vegetarian in town. The west coast was vegan heaven compared to the midwest. Roadkill upset me but excited the townspeople. If you ever hit a deer in Indiana, go tell some locals, they’ll be stoked to eat it for dinner. 


My only source of income was from selling nudes pics online. It was hard to find the privacy to shoot and even harder to find wifi. The local market and library had horrible internet, but that was better than nothing. I tried to hide my screen from the Amish locals, because I knew they would judge or die of shock. It’s not like I had any connections or job opportunities out there. My skanky ass nude pics helped me survive. 


Indiana was a great place to people watch. One day I saw some hillbillies take a canoe out onto a large lake. They got wasted and lost their paddles. The Amish people sat back and watched them drunkenly struggle to get back to land. They failed and ended up sleeping in the canoe. When I saw them a few days later they looked extremely sunburnt and dehydrated. 


Another day some Amish people rode by my cabin and saw me drinking on the porch. Even though I knew that they don’t drink, I offered them some wine anyway just to be polite. I was shocked when they said yes. They drank the wine like a shot instead of sipping it. I kinda enjoyed watching the guilt wash over their faces. It’s safe to say that I was a bad influence. 


Most Amish people looked like ancient teenagers. Their diets, sun damage, and lack of teeth seemed to drastically age them. It was hard to tell people’s age in Southern California too, thanks to botox, tanning, and plastic surgery. 


Stoner Dean, the town hero, lived on one side of me. He ate roadkill, drank beer, and shot cans on his porch. He was a true hippy who had no desire to work or participate in society. Most of the locals appreciated his ways and helped support him. On the other side of my cabin was his ex wife Jolene, who was by far the coolest person in town. She had a goth vibe and worked in the yoga industry. It was strange living in between a couple that was in the middle of a gnarly divorce. One of their daughters sold weed, so they hooked me up with some top shelf bud when I arrived. Their other kid was a heroin addict, which made them the main characters of all the juicy small town gossip. Thanks to them I got to smoke some big ol doinks in Amish. 


It was weird knowing so much about the neighbors, considering how many acres were between us. Back in Hollywood people avoided acknowledging their neighbors' existence while living on top of each other.


Even though weed was still illegal in Indiana that didn’t stop people from smoking it. Many locals grew their own bud and used it to barter for other crops. Since we were on the border of several other states, it was easy to drive elsewhere to shop for it too.


People would ask me about life back in Hollywood. It was hard for me to explain entertainment news and modeling work to them. My LA life revolved around famous people they had never heard about. Having to explain the concept of celebrities to them made me realize how strange my culture was. I kept making pop culture references out of habit and people would have no clue what I was talking about. Those experiences inspired me to reevaluate who I was keeping up with and why. Over time I became more interested in the stars in the sky than the one on our screens.


I met some interesting characters in town at the laundromat. When I told one guy about my living situation he said it sounded worse than his military training camps. A lady overheard us and loved the fact that I was living in the woods amongst nature while learning about religions and spirituality. She was obsessed with angel numbers and encouraged me to learn more about numerology. Her daughter owned a big plot of land and she lived in a cabin on the corner of the property. Her ex baby daddy lived in a different house across from her on the other end of the same property. It was normal for exes to be neighbors out there, because there weren’t that many people. 


The hottest town gossip was about an Amish girl who ran away from home and got a job as a truck driver. She wanted to see the world after spending her life on a small secluded farm. One day she drove a gigantic truck over a tiny historical iron bridge. The structure collapsed and the townspeople were outraged! Being so sheltered from the world made her lack common sense. Even though the locals were uneducated, they were very creative, kind, and hard working. 


After a couple weeks there was a strange shift of energy in the air. It felt like someone was spying on me. Sadly it was not the magical forest fairies.


Unfortunately, one of my neighbors was creepy as fuck. His signature look was a camo hunting outfit with a beer in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He kept drinking and driving his tractor onto the landowners property. One time he asked me if I wanted to take a ride on his lap. I yelled “NOPE” then turned around and walked away. That creep gave kids rides on his lap all the time. It was super inappropriate, but totally normal out in hicksville. 


The landowners asked me if I could clean their house and watch their kids instead of feeding the sheep and gardening. What the fuck? No. That was NOT our agreement. Their socially awkward homeschooled kids scared the shit out of me and their home was filthy as fuck. 


The scary old neighbor kept parking in front of my cabin to get drunk and stare. That guy made me so uncomfortable. I repeatedly asked him to go away and leave me alone. Sometimes he would move a few yards away and continue to watch me. I told him to fuck off, but that didn’t stop him from stalking the shit out of me. Bitch made me feel like a Pretty Little Liar. 


I ran over to Jolene’s house to ask her about the landowners and our other neighbors. She told me that everyone was insane and urged me to leave as soon as possible. Then she gave me a list of safer farm options in the area.


Jolene said that the landowners spent time in the local psych ward after sharing their stories about the fairies they met by the cabin in the woods. 


Their spiritual, religious, and mystical tales sounded increasingly more plausible the longer I stayed there. Of course I couldn't tell anyone that, they would think that I was fucking crazy. Getting drugged up and thrown into a psych ward in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Indiana sounded like the worst case scenario. 


I know that others have gone through similar experiences. So many people have explained their spiritual awakenings to American medical professionals, who diagnose them with psychological disorders, then suppress their beliefs with medications. All the supernatural stories made more sense to me than our capitalist societies and healthcare systems. 


Was I going through a spiritual awakening or psychosis? 


Maybe mentally ill people are magical and normal people are muggles. If you can see or hear things that other people can't, are you crazy or do they just lack your set of superpowers and abilities?  


America needs a makeover, but we drug up and repress the people that would create the most powerful changes. Most humans are like sheep who just follow the herd. The ones who think for themselves get locked up and labeled crazy. Our government fears they’ll disrupt the system, but maybe that’s what it needs. 


Our wealthy old as fuck politicians can’t help change our societies for the better if they can’t relate to the people who are struggling. They don’t ask mentally ill or homeless people about their opinions, which could actually help solve their housing problems. They just keep making more things for normal neurotypical standards and wonder why it doesn’t work for everyone. 


When I left Jolene’s place my creepy stalker was waiting outside for me. As usual he was lurking around the corner with a beer and a gun. Sadly I was used to having stalker issues, but that dude was next level terrifying. 


I ran through the woods as fast as possible to get away from him. There were dead animals all over the place. When I got back to the cabin I looked up the spiritual meanings behind them, which urged me to move on, and start over. I still wanted to live in the wild, but I needed some money and safety. Leaving sounded easier than calling cops or buying more weapons. There was no need to wait around to see what was going to happen next. 


I knew it was best to move quickly and quietly. Most of my things got left behind, because I wanted to get out of there unnoticed before dark. I put Lando and my essential belongings in the car and drove off without saying goodbye. 


Then I called the landowners from the road to thank them for having me and explain why I left. They got super upset and begged me to come back. At least they were happy to get my old stuff for free. 


I knew that I could eventually get new possessions later on. I was already minimalistic, so everything was easily replaceable. Simply surviving felt like an accomplishment. 


If you’re ever in a situation you need to leave, just fucking do it. There’s no need to give people the opportunity to manipulate your goals and plans. You can always apologize or explain yourself later if necessary.


CHAPTER VII: SEATTLE FREEZE

Driving from California to Indiana to Washington in one month with my cat was an exhilarating but overwhelming experience. We spent a few nights in hotels to relax and clean ourselves up, since we looked like feral wild beasts after living in the woods. 


As soon as we got to Seattle I went to a local health food market. Seeing the west coast, queer people, vegan produce, and dispensaries brought tears of joy to my eyes. 


Crying in public was embarrassing, I soaked my mask and suffocated. The cashier had baby pink hair which made me feel at home. For some reason I told him that I was stoked to be out of Indiana and near queer stoners again. He had just moved from Iowa to Washington, so he knew exactly where I was coming from. We made eye contact, grabbed each other's hands, and had a moment of silence. That was the first time I had human skin to skin contact that year. Technology made it way too easy for us to be alone.


Seattle was the perfect balance of nature and city life. It provided modern amenities, but there were still plenty of big parks to explore nature nearby. All the mountain, water, and plant views were gorgeous. Spring reminded me that change is beautiful. It felt like a real fresh start. 


My mom’s friend Dee agreed to let me stay at her place, while I looked for a job and somewhere to live. Her family totally spoiled me. I got to meet their fabulous friends and hangout on their Bainbridge Island properties. 


Dee had a great sense of humor, taste in music, and enjoyed delicious craft cocktails. I loved checking out her fabric collections and listening to her play the guitar. I’ve always enjoyed being around smart, funny, creative, inspiring characters. She appreciated my stories and encouraged me to start writing them down. 


Dee reintroduced me to her sons, which was quite memorable. “Adrian is married, Dakota has the height, and Ryder has the money.” Ryder overheard and barked back “Don’t tell her about my money!” Then he hopped into his fancy new car and zoomed off while we cackled over our cocktails. Of course she didn’t mean to upset him. She was just proud of his success and the fact that she convinced him to go for the napa leather interior. “It was only an extra four thousand dollars.” I nervously laughed while gulping down my drink, in hopes of forgetting about the state of my life and bank account.


Dakota was the silly, adventurous, wildcard. I appreciated their eccentric androgynous style and bubbly sense of humor. Their brother Ryder was more of an angsty, brooding, gamer, tech nerd. It was obvious that we were both going through some heavy emotional shit. I loved his dark humor and emo music. They were both really smart, attractive, and fun to be around in their own unique ways. 


They made me wonder if I was too brokenhearted to consider dating again. I didn’t like the idea of picking one or the other, because stupid Levi had most of their likable qualities. I stuck to my default mode of being single as fuck while flirting with everyone.  


So many things still reminded me of Levi. I hated how I kept looking for him in other people. How could I still be so hung up on someone who treated me like shit? That bitch didn’t even like me! I was on a beautiful island with nice, smart, successful, good hearted people, but I couldn’t get that fucker out of my mind. He didn’t even like cats!


Maybe I held onto that story for so long, because the ending was too fucked up for me to fully accept. It felt like we had unfinished business, things left unsaid, which postponed real closure. 


Kaia and Levi hadn’t been in my life for years, but it didn’t really feel that way. The pandemic altered my sense of time and ability to properly rebound. The days were never ending while the years flew by. 


I had a little fling with one of my friends since then, but hooking up with her made things weird, and ruined our friendship. I should probably stop fucking my friends, but I like getting to know people before sleeping with them. 


Moving away helped me move on, but it was not an automatic fix. I had so much more I needed to work though mentally and emotionally. It was time to see new people, places, and things. 


Going somewhere else isn’t always hard, it’s just different. It takes time to adjust to dramatic changes. Trust me, I’ve tried out every lifestyle and hair color imaginable. 


I could tell that Ryder was broken from something, so I pried the gossip out of him the next time we hung out. I told him about how I fell for Levi and was slut shamed out of our friend group. Even though it happened so long ago, that was the first time I told anyone about it. I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable. It felt good confiding in him. I held onto that story and anger for so long, I wish I released it sooner. 


Sharing that experience made Ryder feel comfortable enough to tell me about his most recent heartbreak. One of his best friends had been flirting with him for years. He developed a crush on her and asked her to cuddle. She said yes and then freaked out on him for crossing a line. She acted like he assaulted her, even though she gave him cuddle consent. She played the victim, their friends sided with her, and outcasted him from the friend group. I couldn’t believe all that drama went down over attempted cuddling. At least in my story I got some hot sex out of it. 


Ryder and I trauma bonded and shared our emo playlists. I told him that I cut unsupportive friends out of my life, which inspired him to do the same. The pandemic taught so many of us who our real friends are. 


Another one of my friends went through a similar situation. I asked her if she noticed any differences in her life since she removed some people from it. She said that her ass got fatter when she cut toxic friends out of her life. After she mentioned that I noticed my own personal booty gains. I should’ve asked Ryder if he got thicker too. 


I hung out with Ryder and his friends a few times, but struggled to keep up with them financially. One night we went out for wine and tapas. There were opera singers belting while our table kept ordering bottles of wine. I was too broke and underdressed to be at such a fancy establishment. 


Ordering family style with bottles stressed me out, especially since the prices weren't listed and I don’t eat meat. I loved their group of friends, but they were on another level. Sadly I couldn’t afford to keep up.  


At one point I visited Victoria, Canada with my mom and Dee. All the people were so kind and the views were incredible! Dee worried that border control might not let her into the country, because of her “record.” 


When she was young she got thrown behind bars for having a “dog at large.” Dee’s German Shepherd ran around town causing havoc. The police laid down the law and threw her in jail. Luckily the border guards didn't care about her dog's past reckless behaviors. 


We saw Johnny Depp laying out on a yacht in Canada while blasting Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. All the Canadians loved that song and yelled at him to play it on repeat. 


When we got to our hotel we left our luggage at the front desk before check in. I was scared someone might jack our shit. The Canadians laughed at us for being paranoid Americans. Visiting a place that actually felt safe gave me much needed relief. The thought of ditching the United States turned me on.     


I got a job at a yoga studio in Seattle, but it only lasted a couple weeks. The owners wanted me to relentlessly and repeatedly reach out to people to get them to sign up. Their sales approach was way too aggressive for Seattleites and their fluorescent lighting drove me nuts. The other yoga studio I worked at in the past had more of a dark stoner hippy woo woo vibe, which was way more my speed. 


One of the yoga teachers ended up inviting me to go backpacking with her and her husband. At least I’ve met some cool people through stupid jobs. 


It still blows my mind that I slept in a glacier basin on the side of a volcano with total strangers. Sharing edibles, wine, and ghost stories in the woods at night wasn’t the safest or smartest idea, but it was a memorable adventure, so I weirdly stand by it. 


We found a camping spot really far out in the middle of nowhere. The moon was full and bright that night. We didn’t see anyone for miles. It would have been terrifying to see another human way out there in the wilderness.


Since I didn’t have any classic ghost stories to share, I told them about my time in Indiana. My stories totally freaked them out, they couldn’t even sleep that night. I wondered what part scared them most: the hicks, spirituality, or potential psychosis. 


They had plenty of ghost stories from their time in Australia. She grew up in a small farm town near the outback. Her mom never allowed her to visit her grandma’s house, because it was haunted. All of their family members had stories involving ghosts on that property. Whatever happened out there truly traumatized her entire family. She could barely even talk about it. 


We all slept with one eye open with high hopes that none of us were murderers. In the middle of the night we heard some rustling sounds. Of course we thought wild animals were coming after us, but it was just her husband's beard scratching up against his sleeping bag. 


I got so used to changing in front of people while working as a model. Nudity doesn’t phase me at all. So many designers, dancers, and models have seen me naked. Sometimes I forget that nudity can offend some people. 


When we were camping I changed in the woods near our tents. Maybe they saw my butt cheeks, but whatever. Everyone has an ass. Who cares? I didn’t want to go into the trees and get covered in cobwebs again. Homegirl went deep into the woods to change, which made it clear that stripping in front of her husband was inappropriate. 


Of course I ended up hitting it off with him way more than her. I grew up in Huntington Beach and he was from Riverside, so naturally we bonded over bro culture. He asked me to fetch some water from a stream with him while she was cooking. She got so panicked and paranoid, she left the fire burning and followed us through the woods. I think that she saw me as a threat and was afraid I might try to steal her husband. I was just trying to help him use their complicated water pump filter at night. She later got mad at both of us for talking too much. She wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of nature, but the two of us wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Maybe she could sense my history of third party bullshit. 


We got to watch a mama and baby bear play in the snow. The local tribes saw bears as a symbol of courage, playfulness, and protection. The other animals they noticed represented survival, while the ones I saw preached letting go. 


They kept trying to point out animals I couldn’t see while I kept trying to show them creatures they couldn’t see. I wondered if the universe was sending us our own personalized messages. 


I got eaten alive by mosquitos and they barely got any bites. I took that as a sign to stop letting drama, people, and jobs drain me. The next day I started my period. Mosquitoes are attracted to pregnant and menstruating women. I’m just glad I didn’t bleed out in front of that family of bears. 


Dee had some family coming to visit, so I had to find a new home as soon as possible. I wanted to get a place in nature, preferably on an island, but there was a major lack of housing options. Looking at apartments made me cry. I couldn't believe such shitty options were so fucking expensive. 


I ended up getting my own place in Seattle. I couldn’t believe I recommitted myself to city life again. I managed to find a spot that was affordable. It had gorgeous views of the water, mountains, and the Space Needle. 


Lando and I finally found a real home! I had been fantasizing about having my own personal clean private creative space for years. 


Seattleites are known to be distant, cold, and standoffish. The locals call it “Seattle Freeze.” The passive aggressive culture was intense at times, but I appreciated the DGAF emo angsty punk vibes. All the arts and gardens made me feel alive. Overall people kept to themselves there, which was refreshing. 


Sometimes my neighbor would knock on my door if she needed me to save her from bugs. I caught spiders in her apartment and released them outside. 


Spiders often represent birth, growth, death, and rebirth. They are creative, talented, and know how to evolve. Spiders create connected webs. They are often associated with feminine powers and ancient wisdom. 


There was a psychic in our neighborhood near the local pot shop. I thought about going there, but never actually went inside. Sometimes I smoked nearby and debated getting a reading. I think the psychic could sense my energy. She would come outside, look around, then go back inside with a confused expression. For some reason she kept crossing my mind.


I spent most of my time in Seattle writing, stretching, smoking, and taking pictures of plants. Walking around the parks and forests was extremely therapeutic. The dark rainy aesthetic matched my angsty emo goth vibes.


On the days I felt depressed I forced myself to go outside. I took blankets and pillows to the park and laid around in the sun when the weather was nice. It was a safe area and it felt better than moping around indoors. Yoga, weed, and nature always improves my mood. 


The trees in the park were my best friends, they each had their own unique personalities. My apartment was minimalistic, but filled with tropical plants. 


When I cut people out of my life I talked to my plants about it. One time I asked a fern to absorb all the negative energy coming my way and it died the next week. 


I saw deer everywhere! Their flighty tendencies have always been relatable. When it comes to fight or flight I usually bail as fast as possible. That natural instinct has helped me survive! It’s important to notice red flags and trust intuitions. 


When I worked at the yoga studio, I put some water and treats outside for the neighborhood dogs. Some crows came by everyday to soak the treats in the water and eat them. They recognized me as their friend. Food is the best way to win anyone over. When I sat outside the crows nuzzled up on me for some pets. Once I called one over to hang out and it landed on my shoulder! 


Crows are often associated with transformation, intelligence, witchcraft, adaptability, magic, and mischief. They’re incredibly smart! One time my friend's dad tried to shoot some crows and they came back for revenge. They attacked all the people who visited their house for weeks.  


Plants and animals are much smarter than we realize. It’s hard for humans to understand their level of knowledge and talent, because we all have such different skill sets. Just like humans, plants and animals have a wide range of personalities and intelligence levels. 


We are nature. We are animals. 


I became obsessed with researching spirit guides, angel numbers, tarot cards, crystals, and astrology. Younger me would have made fun of all that woo woo shit for sure. 


When I first started believing in the concept of spirituality I didn’t want anyone to know. My new friends would ask me what I believed in. I would still claim to be an Atheist out of fear that they might judge me. Back in a closet again. It was such a self sabotaging move. I kept holding myself back from meeting cool like minded people. It’s wild to see how much us humans can change and adapt over time. 


I got sucked into some TikTok tarot readings that claimed toxic people were coming after me. Witchy online creators convinced me that my ex besties put a hex on me. It was kinda believable, all my protective plants died! 


Plus those bitches literally called themselves “The White Wine Witches” I shit you not. If you’re ever in a group of friends that names themselves as if they’re in a fucking band like “WE’RE THE CIRCLE, WE’RE THE SEAONS, WE’RE THE WHITE WINE WITCHES” RUN! FUCKING RUN! 


I deleted all my social media accounts again for the sake of my mental health and sanity. I even deleted my Only Fans page which severely hurt my finances. Media is best in moderation. 


Washington was an incredibly spiritual place for me. I felt so connected to art, nature, and animals. My wardrobe and decor was much more unique than when I lived in other places. It was hard to tell if I could trust people there though. Sure I made some new friends, but were we really friends? 


I couldn’t tell if I could be successful there long term. I had opportunities, but were they going to last or be lucrative? Everyone in that city was so career driven compared to me. I craved going back to a softer life in the wild. 


Manifestation practices were intriguing, but I didn’t quite understand them. It seemed to work for some and not others. I decided to try manifesting free weed. It’s completely natural and it helps me in so many ways. 


Since then I have successfully manifested free weed everywhere I go. Stoner Superpowers! People love to give me lots of free joints or unopened eights. Sometimes I just randomly find jars of weed on the ground. I'm a powerful marijuana magnet! 


I got a job at a fancy dispensary that had cannabis products in every form imaginable. The discounts and perks were amazing, but the customers were awful. I only lasted a few weeks there too. 


My inability to keep any sort of normal job became quite evident. Working in customer service during the pandemic was horrible. I was proud to be part of the great resignation. Fuck stupid ass day jobs. Let’s be creative in nature amongst our animal friends!


The first day of training was all about addressing people by non-gendered pronouns. Most of the employees and customers were nonbinary. I felt so at home and at peace being around queer androgynous stoners. MY PEOPLE! By the way I’m happy to call people whatever they want to be called, but it was kinda hard for me to break some old habits at first. 


Back home in Huntington Beach I addressed everyone with words like guys, bro, or homie. “Sup Dude” wasn’t an appropriate or formal way to address people around the rest of the world. I had so many toxic Californian habits like saying “like” or “fuck” like every other fucking word. 


I loved sampling free cannabis products and learning all about them. It’s crazy how the plant quality and laws vary so much between each state. I always thought that sativas were more hyper while indicas were more of a sleepy vibe. That’s kinda true, but it mostly has to do with the elevation in which the plants are grown. When it comes to eating edibles the dosage is more important than the type of strain. Some companies put sativa or indica on the packages just for marketing reasons. Edibles have a heavy high that is stronger and lasts longer than smoking straight up flower. Cannabis lubes can get people high anally, but not vaginally, so they’re usually more popular amongst gay men. Weed lubes do not get women vaginally high, but they can increase blood flow, which can boost pleasure. If you want to get high as fuck take a dab or drink liquid edibles. I love smoking straight up flower, so I got into buying jars of fancy prerolls. Vape pens were a great understudy if I needed to be discreet. 


Back in the day I used to think that whatever strain had the highest THC would be the best high, because it was the strongest. That’s like going to a bar and asking for the highest percentage of alcohol. Classic cocktails are way better than drinking the highest proof, let’s be real. There are so many other things that go into making a great drink besides having a high alcohol percentage. Just like how there are so many things that make up a good weed strain besides having a high THC percentage. 


There are tons of different weed strains, just like how there are so many different types of alcohol. When I drink gin I’m such a bitch. When I smoke certain strains I can get extra anxious and weird. Over time I learned what things do or don’t work for me. I tried my best to smoke plants that were natural and pesticide free, because I didn’t want harmful chemicals in my body. I’ve gotten plenty of judgment for my love of weed. Sadly square ass prudes can’t get over the outdated negative stigma or stereotypes. 


People thought that pot caused some of my health problems, but I think it helped heal them. Weed enhanced my friendships and creative endeavors. Cannabis products helped me manage my diet, sleep, anxiety, mood, etc.


I have intense manic depressive mood swings. Weed helps lift me up when I’m down. It also helps me take it down a notch when I’m being too much. I often get accused of being bipolar, but I think that I’m somewhere on the artistic autistic spectrum. Kinda like Kanye West!


It didn’t take long for me to reach a fuck this shit burnt out breaking point. Mad respect for anyone who did post apocalyptic customer service work. Spiritual healing sure fucked up my work ethic. 


Over time I realized that I would rather be homeless in the woods than deal with another asshole customer. Jobs felt like a waste of energy. Everytime I went to work I would think about how I could spend my time doing literally anything else. 


Maybe I could be stretching, meditating, journaling, dancing, walking, or sleeping instead. I decided that I should spend my time writing or taking pictures instead of working stupid soul sucking jobs. 


I’ve hated jobs because I was forced to do them. I’ve had no choice but to work to survive. Capitalism feels like slavery. We have to pay just to live! How weird is that? 


Technology took over jobs so we wouldn’t have to work anymore. That was the whole point, but most of us still needed to earn an income to survive. Having real experiences sets humans apart from robots. That’s why I enjoy nature, traveling, and storytelling so much.


People get stuck doing shitty jobs while living shitty lives they hate, all because they need money or healthcare to survive. I disagreed with the societies I was forced to work and participate in. 


Our systems needed to be reconstructed to better fit our world. We all collectively wanted and needed to work towards changing things for the better. It was time to evaluate who or what we might need to release. Let’s tear down that old shit and build something better. 


I spent most of my time in Seattle isolated in my apartment smoking weed while cathartically writing. I finally got my productive, creative space, near nature. I used writing as a tool to examine myself in hopes of improvement. 


Journaling about the past was heavy and emotional, but I needed to work through those feelings. The shadow work was necessary, but it led me into a deep depression. I had to accept the fact that I am a villain in other people’s stories. Organizing my thoughts helped me understand some of my actions and repetitive patterns.   


I kept running away from people, jobs, places, and situations. I had such a hard time pacing myself generally. My fame whore tendencies were out of control at times. I got obsessive over things and needed to remind myself to slow down, remain balanced, and take breaks. I had to force myself to rest to avoid burnout. 


For some reason I couldn’t stay put, but maybe that’s because I hadn't found the right place yet. I wondered if there was actually something wrong with me or if bouncing around was a trauma response from never having a stable home or family. My parents never loved me, so let’s just blame them.


I’ve always felt like an ironic and conflicted character. I’m a total attention whore who needs to hide in isolated peace. I thought I should be in the city around people and opportunities, even though I craved nature and solitude. 


My anxieties, addictions, and inability to let go of the past were draining me. I needed to take more accountability for my words and actions. My temper and constant need to bail held me back from success. Noticing more of my patterns was good character development. I wondered if I had been living in survival mode my entire existence. I was pretty self aware, but wondered if it was enough to actually change my habits. It took me a long time to accept all sides of myself.


Being creative has never been an issue for me, but I’ve had a hard time following through with some of my plans. I’ve embarked on all sorts of artistic adventures, but rarely saw projects through to the end. Imposter syndrome often leads towards self sabotage. 


Even though I loved Washington I was still obsessed with the idea of living in Hawaii. I asked the universe to show me pink flamingos if I should go to the tropics. The next day I went on a little walk and saw hundreds of plastic pink flamingos decorating my neighbor’s yard. Then I asked the universe to show me a bunch of moving trucks if I should keep moving forward. The next day I saw hundreds of moving trucks all over Seattle.


I ended up catching COVID that same week, which sucked the life out of me. My lack of motivation was alarming. I layed around sick in bed and lost most of my hair and taste buds. I burned through all my money while I was sick, so I ended up moving back to my mom’s house in Orange County. 


EPIC FAIL! 


Whatever. It’s okay to fuck up. I’ve learned way more from my mistakes than my successes. Many people have risen from their ashes and maybe someday I will too.


CHAPTER VIII: THE DISAPPEARING ACT

The drive from Seattle Washington to Southern California was gorgeous, but there were some weird vibes. 


Brian Laundrie had just murdered his girlfriend Gabby Petitio while doing social media nomad life. I followed Gabby Petitos murder investigation on TikTok while on the road. I overheard van lifers at rest stops say things to each other like “babe please don’t murder me tonight.” My ex Levi was living in fucking a van, so I couldn’t help but think, that could have been us! 


In the past my friends and family members urged me to find a partner to travel with me. People have stopped suggesting that since Gabby’s famous news story broke. 


I was looking forward to swimming at the beaches in Orange County again. Indiana swimming holes filled with snakes did not have the same appeal. 


Of course there was a horrible oil spill right before I arrived in California, so all the beaches were shut down. It was heartbreaking to see all the wildlife wash up on shore. I heard that they could have stopped the oil spill sooner, but it would have cost the company too much money. The way humans treat nature and animals is truly fucked up. We have destroyed our planet and the lives of so many creatures. So many animals are extinct because of us! 


My mom’s neighbor got shot in the chest by her boyfriend during quarantine. Her silver Tiffany’s heart necklace caught the bullet which saved her life. The boyfriend got shot and died. I’m not sure if he killed himself or if she did it in self defense, but that story lowkey felt like an ad, because it made me want to buy that necklace. Another neighbor hung himself during the pandemic. His family found him hanging in their garage. 


The pandemic took such a toll on the town and people while I was gone. Most of my favorite local spots closed down. Parts of the beach turned into homeless encampments. The ocean was polluted with oil, trash, and dead animals. 


I sensed a surge of chaotic negative energy when I arrived back home. My mom looked like she was losing her mind. She came up to me full of rage with a tiny spoon in her hand. She kept asking me what it was and why she found it under the bed in my room. Then she started hysterically yelling and threatened to put me into a rehab facility. I was stone cold sober and had never seen anyone do spoon drugs before. I told her that it wasn’t mine, but she didn’t believe me. 


She repeatedly asked me who I thought the spoon belonged to, so I said one of her ex boyfriend’s names. She said that he never did any drugs. I laughed in her face and told her that he looked like drugs. 


How the fuck would I know who was in her house while I was gone? Why was she snooping through my room and stuff? Was that spoon really used for heroin or was it just tarnished? The sky was always falling in her messy chaotic house. 


My mom worked with abused and neglected children, so she was used to seeing the worst of humanity. Her strict tendencies and hatred for drugs came from a loving place, but it was too much. Her style of parenting gave off an authoritarian dictatorship vibe. She couldn’t handle the fact that I was independent and had different viewpoints from her. My mom and her friends were such basic prudes. They’re all anti drugs, anti alcohol, anti tattoos, anti piercings, anti bi, anti gay, anti trans, anti fun, fucking ableist. They wanted me to go to college, climb the corporate ladder, get married to a man, and have babies. Ew fuck no! I’d literally rather die. The American dream sounds like a total fucking nightmare to me. 


I love being alone, because I can’t handle hanging around weak minded people who project their stupid insecurities onto me. Taking my own path and forming my own opinions was seen as dishonoring the family. 


Whatever. Strict parents deserve rebellious children.


My mom kept making rude comments about how she thought psychic spiritual people were crazy. She was constantly diagnosing and judging others. I doubt she’s ever taken the time to pause, reflect, and look inward. 

Of course she was the one with the real fucked up issues. Since she was so scared of COVID, she didn’t leave her house for years, which made her a crazy fucking bitch! 


My mom and I have been through a lot together. We’ve been best friends and worst enemies. Some nights we drank wine and watched tv shows like true besties. Other nights we wanted to rip each other's heads off. When I was little I glorified her. 


She was obviously the better parent, since my biological dad was completely absent. Over time I realized that my dad physically abandoned me while my mom emotionally abused and manipulated me.


When I was little I was overly obedient. I eventually realized that I wouldn’t get anything out of that. My friends bonded over parties and events that I wasn’t allowed to go to. There were no rewards for being perfect and there were no real consequences for being imperfect. The rebellious independent path looked much more fun and rewarding. I went from being the golden gifted perfect child to being the black sheep outcasted weirdo real fast.


My thoughts, ideas, and goals were often shot down. I got into hosting and writing because I wanted someone, anyone to listen to me. My parents were both alive, but I identified as a magical orphan. At least I grew up with Harry Potter, so I could kinda romanticize it.


When I performed how I was programmed to, my mom would praise me. If I rebelled by simply just being myself she would withhold love or give me the silent treatment. For the longest time I didn’t know who I was because I had to act the way she wanted me to. 


I loved my mom, but I love myself more. I’m the one who’s actually living my life, not her. So, it’s up to me to call the shots. I’m never going to live my life according to other people's limited viewpoints or expectations. If people can’t see my talent or potential that doesn’t mean I don’t have any.  


While I was in Huntington Beach I hung out with my old friends from childhood. It was trippy catching up with them after all that time apart. When I told my friends about my adventures they would say things like “THAT’S NOT YOU!!!” As if people aren’t allowed to change. Their brains completely malfunctioned when I told them about the compost outhouse toilets in the Lost Woods.


Most young people thought I should settle down, while most old people wished they got the chance to travel and adventure like me. When people tell me that I’ve changed, now I thank them, and take it as a compliment. 


I learned to accept that I have evolved and would continue to do so. Why would I stay the same if I could keep growing? There’s always more room for plot and character developments. 


Even though Huntington Beach was an amazing place to grow up I couldn’t imagine living there again long term. It sparked too many memories that I wanted to leave behind. I didn’t want to run into any ex friends, ex family members, or ex employers from the past. 


I told my mom that I was done being accused of doing things I didn’t do. She acted confused and then completely denied the whole heroin spoon accusation. She said that I must be mentally ill and told me to stop making things up. Why would I make something like that up? It’s not like I want to have shitty parents. I can’t control how people treat me, but I can control when to leave. 


Driving through Mexico could be dangerous, but worst case scenario I would die, and I was already feeling suicidal. Death by cartel or shark attack kinda sounded like a sick end to my story. 


People talk about suicide being selfish, because it can hurt the people who loved that person, but we have no idea what other people are going through. It’s insanely selfish, narrow minded, and narcissistic to take someone’s death personally. Dying is part of living. It will happen to all of us eventually. 


After some extensive research I decided Puerto Vallarta would be a great fit for me. I started studying Spanish and read travel horror stories in hopes of avoiding scams on the road. Then I set up new car insurance, updated my cell coverage, and booked a place to stay. I was so stoked to get the fuck out of Orange County again to embark on another epic road trip adventure.

People thought that I was crazy for traveling alone, but I wasn’t just going to wait around for other people. If I did that I’d probably be waiting around the rest of my life. Plus I’m not really alone, my cat Lando is always by my side. 

I realized that I needed to let go of my past dramas and victim mentality. I was still upset about things that happened with people who were no longer in my life. I leveled up spiritually to a higher level of consciousness. Why did I care so much about the opinions of people who had no consciousness? 

Hitting the refresh button felt so good it became addicting. Lando and I hopped back in the car and hit the road without saying goodbye. I couldn’t stand being back in my hometown any longer. Adios bitches! 

My friends called me just before we crossed the Mexican border. They had just bought a farm, so they offered to let us stay there, while we figured things out. That’s how I ended up in Georgia. 

Who doesn’t love a juicy plot twist?


CHAPTER IX: BLESS YOUR HEART

Well I’ll be darned. I never planned on livin in the south. Guess I never planned on livin anywhere else either. I reckon the only thing we can expect is that life never goes as planned. 


My friends bought a horse farm out in Georgia, but they were still livin back home in California. Their southern farm house was a classic antebellum style manor with white columns and a wraparound porch. 


It was surrounded by horse pastures, forests, and wild animals. I’d been cravin nature and privacy, so it was nice to be out in the purdy country with so much space. 


I loved driving around the rolling hills, mansions, farms, woods, and gorgeous sceneries. No reason to leave, unless you’re curious like me.


Georgia was less hick than Indiana, but that’s a pretty low bar. Walnut Grove was away from it all, even though it was close to Atlanta. Most of the history from that area involved slavery and native american massacres. 


There was still a lot of fucked up shit goin on. The protests, shootins, and viruses seemed endless. It was shockin to see confederate flags everywhere. Luckily the farm felt like its own little world away from it all. 


Since I stayed in the basement with my cat next to the woods, we heard all sorts of rustlin noises at night. 


Weed was still illegal in Georgia, so I had a tough time sleepin for the first few weeks. I desperately wanted to be high like my anxieties. 


One night I woke up in a panic. The room was dark, but I could see a black fuzzy creature scratchin and snarlin in the corner. At first I thought it was my cat, but then I noticed he was sittin right next to me, lookin spooked in the same direction. Whatever that was noticed us watchin, so it scampered out of the room in a wild fury. 


It was truly untamed and unbelievable! Like a supernatural beast from a movie. I bravely turned on the lights, grabbed a knife, and searched the house. All of the rooms were completely empty. I fixed myself a strong drink and stayed up to watch the sunrise. 


I wanted to believe it was just my imagination or sleep deprivation. Watchin my cat’s equally stunned reaction made the unexplainable believable. What the fuck was that thing? 


There’s no way I could tell my friends that I thought their new house was potentially haunted. They’d think I was fuckin crazy. The hicks and ticks scared them enough already. Sometimes in the south it’s best to hush up. 


The next day one of the neighbors told me a strange story. He had visited his mom’s house the night before with his sister. Both of them heard voices coming from the laundry room, even though they were the only people in the house. The strange noises freaked them out so much, they got the fuck out of there as soon as possible. 


When they told their mom what happened she was completely unphased. The noises showed up after her husband’s death. The neighbors' security cameras kept recording an orb traveling out of the laundry room, through the backyard, and into the woods. 


That neighbor had tons of stories about horrifying southern ghosts, homes, and people. He warned me not to be so trusting. One of the nearest towns was known for mass murder. Hearin other people explain their unearthly encounters made me feel a little less mentally ill. 


One night I woke up to the sound of someone screaming in the woods. I yelled out into the darkness. “HELLO???!!” There was no response. Dead silence. I couldn’t even hear any bugs or animals. 


Once again I poured myself a strong drink and stayed up all night to write. There was no need to search the woods alone at night. It sure was strange. Recon it was just a weird dream. 


Soon after that a couple things went missin. I was the only person in the farmhouse or so we thought. My friends asked me where things went, but I had no idea. Goodness gracious where did everything go? 


Some cops came to the farm lookin for someone who was on the run that used to work there. The doors were controlled by codes. There were people on the property boarding horses, gardening, and doing construction projects. The house was rented out for vacations and events. I wondered if someone or something else was living in the house. 


Even though strange things kept happenin I was at peace. It was all hunkey dorey. Most nights I slept snug as a bug! There was no sense of fear, but maybe I was numb to the traumas of life by that point. 


Most people are scared of adventures. They’ll never get to experience the magic of spiritual awakenings, nature, or higher levels of consciousness. 


It all sounds crazy, till you experience it yourself.


The farm boarded horses and there were dead ones buried all over the property. There was also a small human cemetery right across the street. 

Locals told me all sorts of magical stories. Most of the town’s church goers believed in paranormal activity. 


Appalachian mountain people warned me not to go into the woods when it’s dead silent. They told me to quietly walk out if I ever got weird vibes. It was normal for people to see faces in the tree trunks, but that’s a sign to get out of the forest. They urged me not to stare into the tree trunk faces, especially after dark. I wondered what would happen if I took a picture of them. 


A few of the locals warned me about skinwalkers. They told me that witches impersonate voices or crying babies to lure their prey back into the woods. When people hear a scream in the woods on the west coast they assume it’s a mountain lion. When people hear a scream in the woods on the east coast they say it’s a shapeshifter. If you hear anything strange near the woods, no you didn’t. Especially in the Appalachian mountains. 


Walking through the woods next to the farm was my favorite daily routine. I wasn’t goin to let myths or legends keep me from livin my life. 


Over time it felt like someone or something was watching me from the trees. I kinda hoped it was supernatural. Anything other than a creepy ass dude. 


​​Do you know what real angels look like? I mean like the biblically accurate angels. Some Bible Belt locals told me that they look like monsters, but I thought they sounded fucking sick.


Biblical angels don’t resemble humans, cause they aren't humans. They have to be terrifyin inorder to protect heaven by scarin demons back down to hell. 


In most religious stories the angels have a disclaimer when revealing themselves. They say “do not fear” when they show their appearance to humans. People say they have tons of wings and eyeballs. I’d probably shit my pants if I saw something like that zap into existence.  


We can’t judge characters based on looks alone, dead or alive. Angels might look like demons from hell. Some of the most dangerous serial killers were incredibly handsome. A hideous person could be the one who saves your life. Some of the most beautiful animals have the most venomous bites.  


Were the ghosts, spirits, and creatures real? If we have guardian angels or spirit guides what do they look like? Who were they before they died? What type of angelic role did they take on and why? Are angels considered to be a kind of ghost? How many spirits forms could there be? Are our spirit guides other people or our higher selves? Also what the fuck was that thing that I saw? Was it the same thing that I heard screaming from the dark woods?  


My experiences along with the local myths made me question my beliefs and sanity. I decided to keep all my theories to myself and continued to research the spiritual symbolism behind each animal. 


There were beautiful bright red cardinals all over the property. They built nests outside my windows. Cardinals represent a spiritual connection with the universe. They’re assertive, confident, creative, and protective animals. They can easily adapt to new situations and are used to startin from scratch. 


Whenever I talked about the cardinals to other people, they would say that they had never seen them before. Inconceivable! They were loud, bright red, and all over the place! 


There were cute little ladybugs everywhere. They usually symbolize talent, peace, health, and good fortune. I also kept seeing spiders which represent birth, death, growth, and creativity. 


The horses on the farm were truly majestic, but some of the horse ladies were bat shit crazy! It turns out that stereotypes are for a reason. Not like I should judge, I’m a crazy cat lady. 


Horses embody freedom, travel, and endurance. Spending time with them felt meditative. They love eatin and chillin outdoors, just like me. 


It was hard to tell if the horses liked people riding them. Some barely tolerated their humans, while others truly loved their owners. If you ever ride horses please make sure you don’t override them! All animals need plenty of food, water, rest, and space. 


Southern farms were fancy compared to western ranches. I was used to the denim cowgirl look, not British derby fashion. Cleavage felt criminal along with the rest of my wardrobe. Southerners dress and act way more formal than west coasters. I looked like a fuckin ragamuffin most days on the farm. 


Ma’am is actually a polite way to address women in the south. If someone calls you ma’am in LA it’s time to crumble up your headshot and die. I was fine with people callin me things like sweetheart, peaches, or baby. 


So many locals bragged about southern hospitality, but most people didn’t seem genuinely kind to me. It felt like everyone wanted to know everything just for the sake of gossip. 


All the churchgoers in the beauty parlors talked mad shit. They all praised Jesus, but sure didn’t act like him. Those Baptist Bitches didn’t seem to love or accept anyone for who they are. 


Most southern expressions sound condescending or backhanded. I wondered if the term “southern hospitality” was sarcastic. 


My favorite thing I picked up from the south was the phrase “I’m going to let you go now.” What a great way to end a conversation. Another option is to yell “WELP!” then slap your thighs while standin up before leavin. 


I hated southern music before visitin the south, but it sure grew on me. Somethin about country music goes great with being out in the country. The word “y’all” grew on me over time too. It’s a sweet way to address people in a non-gendered specific way. 


Most of the town was filled with radical racist gun totin Republicans, but there were also a bunch of witchy goth lesbians hidin out in the woods. All the borders on the farm were women and most of them were gay. Guess it makes sense for them to hang out on a horse farm, away from homophobic southern churchgoers. 


Most country folk didn’t seem to care about their health or the planet. It was horrifying to see so much litter everywhere. I worked on cleaning it up, but I could never keep up! I hate seein hicks use our planet as a dumpster. People need to be held accountable for destructive tendencies! 


One mornin I was feedin the horses carrots when a shrill woman came out of nowhere to nag the shit out of me. She thought her horse was too fat, so he couldn’t have one. As if a baby carrot would force a horse into obesity. She wanted me to call each owner and make sure their horses were allowed to eat carrots. 


My brain flashed back to that time I yelled “STOP TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB!” at that yoga studio. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but instead I took a big deep breath, and explained how I was just following orders. Then I politely told her that I wouldn’t feed her horse any carrots and to let us know about any other dietary restrictions. Then I yelled “HAVE A NICE DAY!” As I walked away I burst into tears. I’m not built for post pandemic customer service work. 


Her poor horse looked so sad and left out, he didn’t understand why everyone got treats except for him. I was proud of how I handled the situation. It kinda felt like progress, even though there was still a long way to go. A younger version of me would have popped the fuck off on her for sure.


People used to get a rise out of me pretty easily. My whole life has been full of dramatic confrontational moments. There was still so much built up anger, resentment, and trauma that I needed to heal. Of course I wanted to blame others, but I had to take accountability for my life and actions. 


Another day a woman rode up to me in panic. She was frantically worried because she couldn’t find a wheelbarrow. She was so worked up to the point of hyperventilatin. I found it nearby and offered to clean the stables. That’s what I was supposed to be doin anyways. I couldn’t believe how high strung those horse ladies were even after spending time with animals amongst nature. Georgia desperately needed to legalize weed already. 


I learned all about construction, framing, electricity, landscaping, spirituality, religion, and animal care while working at the farm. I collected random new skills from my adventures all over the country. I’m a jack of all trades, but a master of none. 


I loved walkin on the trails in the woods, it was great exercise and eased my anxiety. One of the boarders was ridin on the trail and she freaked out when she saw me. She told me that the horses weren’t used to seeing people out there and told me to go elsewhere. As if she was the boss of me? She didn’t know I was livin out there or that I was already best friends with her horse.


It surprised me to see humans in the woods. I felt like the trees and animals kept luring me back into my own little forest sanctuary. The borders shocked me every time I spotted them on the trails. 


Most horse ladies were rude to me out of jealousy. The farm was their happy place and I got to live there for free with their animal friends. There were nice borders too, but of course the crazy horse ladies stood out the most. 


All the horse people got more comfortable with my existence over time. I went to one of their holiday parties which helped break the ice. The farm’s manager reminded me that I don’t need to wear lipstick and a pushup bra to a barn party. Most of the horse people thought that the other horse people were crazy. They were more fun to be around after a few margaritas. 


I met a man who told me about his experiences in Orange County California. He went out there for a business meeting at Vans and was shocked to see how unprofessional everyone was. People smoked weed while skateboarding around their offices. They called him a “tucker” and judged his formal attire. It’s rare to see people wear tucked in collared shirts in Southern California. They bullied him into smoking a joint and then took him to see the Pageant of the Masters, which is an authentic Orange County experience. 


Most southern small town conservatives judged my hair colors. They said all sorts of backhanded ‘compliments’ like “Ma’am that hairdo is just so you.” Aw, bless your heart “You must not be from around here.” Sweetheart “You sure dance to the beat of your own drum.” Darlin, “I bet you’ll find a church and a husband someday.”


I was fixin to throw some joints in their mouths. Is it rude to toss xanax down people's throats while they’re talkin?


Everyone in Georgia loved animals. They loved huntin them, eatin them, wearin them, and ridin them. Most of the local restaurants were drive-thrus or steakhouses. Findin vegan or vegetarian options was sure a challenge in the south. Luckily I found a local farm stand with fresh produce nearby. 


One night I accidentally hit a deer. He crashed into my headlight, bumper, and bounced off the driver side door. Of course we made intense eye contact while collidin. We were both frightened, awestruck, surprised, and panicked. My friend and I survived, but sadly the deer and my car did not.


I can’t think of a time I’ve felt more guilty or shaken up. I’m grateful my friend and I are still alive, but I had a hard time accepting the fact that I murdered an innocent animal. I try so hard to refrain from eatin, wearin, or usin any sort of animal products. Roadkill breaks my heart. I couldn’t believe that I was part of the problem. 


The deer crash happened while we were on our way out to dinner. When we finally got to the restaurant the hostess sat us at a table under a taxidermy deer head. It looked exactly like the stag I just hit. 


Everyone in the steakhouse was eatin and wearin animals. It was like a vegan horror movie. Luckily they had strong liquor. 


Was the deer crash some sort of message from god or the universe? Was it supposed to symbolize something? It sent me into another existential moral spiritual crisis. Talk nihilism to me!


Deer are known for their abilities to regenerate. They are sensitive, intuitive, innocent, and move through life with grace. Deer are timid, gentle, and able to change directions quickly. They know how to sacrifice, move on, and let go. Their antlers give them an assertive defensive quality. They grow back strong after they fall. 


I wanted to completely regenerate. My animal instinct told me that I needed to heal by spendin even more alone time in nature. It was time to finally let go of old thoughts and patterns that no longer served me.


The next day we saw deer in the woods. My friend told me it was a good sign and urged me to forgive myself, but what if those deer came back for revenge? I probably killed their fuckin dad!


We all need to help protect animals! They have nowhere to go and they’re goin extinct because of us humans. We all need to do better and be better. 


Most days I went on walks through the woods and would see female deer, but no males. The one I hit had huge antlers. I couldn’t get his face out of my mind. 


Luckily I was able to find some CBD shops nearby. When I asked the girl workin there where she was from she said “I’m not from around here.” Then she told me that she was from Covington, the next town over. I laughed in her face, cause I thought she was jokin. She was dead serious. 


Movin a few miles away was a big deal out there. She had to make all new friends and everything! Most of the people from that area had no desire to travel or explore different cultures. I felt like an alien visiting from another planet. 


The CBD products helped my anxiety issues. I didn’t realize how much I relied on it medicinally until I went without it. 


The girl who worked in the CBD shop was also a cat lady. Sadly one of her precious fur babies died on a day she had to work. When she found her cat dead, she lit a candle, and prayed. She could feel the cat’s presence in the room after it died, but when she blew out the candle she felt her spirit leave. 


My life was filled with art, nature, and animals. Birds woke me up with their magical songs every morning. I made sure to look up at the moon and stars before going to sleep at night. I watched the sun rise and set everyday. 


Daydreamin while watching wildlife was my favorite form of meditation. I’m my best self when I have time and space to be creative amongst nature.


The deer would show up when I was smokin and stretchin. The cardinals would show up when I was writin. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. I enjoy my own company and have plenty of animal friends.


Art has always been my favorite way to express myself. I think a lot of only children are extremely talented. They get plenty of privacy to practice arts, but they’re often too scared to show off, cause they’re afraid of what people might think. 


My friends would ask me what I was workin on. When I told them I was writin they’d laugh or tease me. One of my family members asked “Why would anybody read stories by someone who didn’t make it in Hollywood?” 


If anyone wants to judge me that’s fine. Critical people usually do the least, while successful people focus on their own lives and goals. I’d rather be the one people are talkin about than the one doing the talkin.


Most of my friends and family members encouraged me to find a minimum wage job. They just couldn’t imagine me being an artist, even though that’s all I’ve ever been. I had no desire to break back into their rat race matrix. 


The older I grow the more confidence I gain. I care less about what other people think and care more about what I think. Fuck what other people feel! How do I feel? My decisions are based on me, not other people’s judgments or perceptions of me.


My creative projects didn’t give me immediate gratification, but I knew that my hard work would pay off someday. I learned that if I really want to do somethin, I can’t tell other people about it. Sometimes friends and family are enemies in disguise. 


One of my friends urged me to go get a job as a greeter at Walmart. Fucking Walmart? Bitch was praying for my downfall. I just wanted to keep workin on my personal art projects out in the wild. 


Some of my friends and family members had a hard time with me changin. They expected me to keep bein an insecure shallow people pleasin doormat. I made strong new boundaries and reached a whole new level of cunt who doesn’t give a fuck. 


I hid my dreams from unsupportive people. I finally knew my worth. I didn’t need extra validation from others. If we each had the same point of view our world would be so boring and competitive. 


If I keep working on writing and photography I can become a writer and a photographer. Once I finally reach those goals I’ll probably get over them and move on to something new or exciting.  


It’s okay to want more out of life! Failures happen, but they make people stronger. Learning how to accept failures can lead towards positive change and success. 


There are no rules when it comes to art. You can use reality, make shit up, or create your own concoction. The weirder the better. Why not play around with different creative styles or mediums?


Journaling has helped me relieve so much stress, traumas, and anxieties. I always need a creative outlet for my thoughts and ideas. Dancing, breathing, stretching, and writing are my favorite ways to purge and release. Writin has helped me understand all of my goals and patterns. It gives me the ability to organize my thoughts in a productive way. Short term discomforts bring long term results (like workin out, writin, movin, detoxin, eatin healthy, runnin, or tryin new things). 


Writer's block is real, it’s probably best to power through it. I had to force myself to write this. I knew that I had to get some painful thoughts out of my head and onto paper. I stubbornly resisted that necessary release. 


Instead of focusing on writing something good I obsessed over makin the right margin perfectly line up to mirror the left. I would cut some lines short while ramblin on in other sentences. I let some weird sort of perfectionism hold me back from creatin something great, even though I knew these font styles and sizes would probably change later anyway. When I write without carin about my handwritin or text fonts I create better content. For some reason I kept holdin on to pain while standin in my own way.


My goals were big. I wanted to dramatically change my life for the better. I made all sorts of vision boards and manifestation lists. Movin to Hawaii to live in a tropical jungle with some wild animals was still my dream. I was ready to make that shit happen and up my nature photography game. 


Maybe fixin patterns helps manifest our desires. If I could break through all the bad habits that were holdin me back I could get whatever I want. 


I had so many toxic patterns and health problems. It’s safe to say I had trouble managin my emotions, relationships, and finances. Recognizing issues and learnin from them could lead towards better results. 


Makin myself make and save more money would lead me towards better financial stability. Standin up for myself and communicatin better would lead me towards havin stronger relationships. Feelin my emotions would lead me towards workin through them instead of bottlin them up or coverin them up with substances. Detoxin my body would reset my system, which would give me health and clarity. 


Maybe I could learn how to enjoy things for fun sometimes instead of being completely reliant on them. Most of my patterns stemmed from fear instead of confidence. If you think “how much worse can things get?” things will get worse. If you think “how much better can things get?” things will get better. 


Unresolved traumas create mental and physical illnesses. If you go through shit work through it sooner than later. Don’t bottle things up or sweep them under the rug. It’s important to make an effort to process things and move forward from past horrors before they make your life a living nightmare.


A great way to get to know yourself is by makin lists of what you love and hate. Incorporate more of what you love in your life and then fix, remove, or create boundaries from the things that you hate. 


Throughout most of my life and career I focused on what I enjoyed. I love laughin, sleepin, stretchin, eatin, talkin, dancin, swimmin, writin, gardenin, takin pictures, smokin fresh greenery, and spendin time with animals. 


Of course I want my life to be filled with the things that I love, but maybe I should focus on fixin what bothers me. I hate how humans treat animals. I hate how wasteful people can be. I hate how much garbage is in our oceans. I hate how some people treat me. I hate our political systems. I hate certain patterns in my life. I hate when I don’t have creative control. I hate being sick and poor. Maybe focusin on trying to fix what I hate could bring me more success, fulfillment, and happiness. 


It took me a long time to accept all sides of myself. Humans are complex multidimensional creatures with so many conflicting characteristics. Good, Bad, Happy, Sad. We should explore ourselves and our lives with curiosity instead of judgment.


After lots of cathartic shadow work, journalin, and spiritual healing practices my manifestations started to pull through. Thank Jesus Hallelujah! 


Heavens to Betsy I sure hope we didn’t overstay our welcome. My friends were so generous for lettin Lando and I stay out on the farm. We sure did take our sweet time. Most folks would be madder than a wet hen!


We were fixin to leave the south, but I sure liked it out there in the purty country. My life felt cattywampus so we were gettin hissy. It was time to saddle on up and get the fuck out of Georgia. Aloha Hawaii!


CHAPTER X: LIVE ALOHA

The Big Island is an extremely spiritual place. People say that if you aren’t a spiritual person before you arrive, you will be before you leave. 


My landlord gave me a tour of my jungle cottage through video chat. It was perfect, like a dream come true. I thought I should jump on the opportunity, so I booked the next flight over. He offered to pick me up from the airport, but he ended up catching COVID, so he had his friend Coconut pick me up instead.


I never really spent much time in the volcano towns before moving there. Rent was much cheaper in the lava zone. I decided to choose faith over fear and hoped that everything would work out for the best. 


Coconut showed up with the spirit of aloha. He gave me fresh tropical fruits and flower leis when I arrived. During our drive he told me all about the Big Island's spiritual nature. 


Of course I was nervous about trusting random male strangers that I met on the internet. Luckily they were kind and generous people. Taking a big leap of faith is the most important part of every spontaneous adventure. 


My mom was so pissed that I didn’t tell her about my moves, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wasn’t going to let anyone fuck up my plans. Sometimes it’s easier to make moves in silence. I kept my cards to myself then went all in. 


My mom’s lack of boundaries and overbearing tendencies infuriated me, so I dramatically cut her off when I moved to the island. Kuokoa!


Hawaiians respect their elders much more than mainlanders. Locals sought knowledge from aunties and uncles. It’s always a good time to talk story in Hawaii. 


My Hawaiian neighbor told me about his beliefs. He was raised in the church, but identified as an Atheist, until some crazy shit went down. I wanted him to tell me more about what happened, but he said it was too long of a story. He had plenty of lengthy tales, so I knew it was a touchy traumatic subject. Whatever happened led him back towards church and the belief of a higher power. He was from Oahu and wanted to move to the Big Island. No matter how hard he tried he faced intense resistance, until he became spiritual. He ditched Atheism and all the doors opened for him. 


His story was insanely relatable. When I first tried to move to Hawaii, I faced endless rejections and obstacles. After I started to recognize signs from the universe and embrace spirituality everything flowed into place. My Hawaii experiences would’ve been so different if those concepts never clicked. 


Everyone had their own spiritual and religious practices. Mine involved being devoutly vegetarian, creative, and minimalistic. My personal practices often included dancing, stretching, meditating, and journaling. Smoking weed near plants and wildlife was my ritualistic tradition.


Pahoa was magical but sketchy. It was full of lawless hippies, lost souls, and vagabonds. Spiritual shops sold crystals, bongs, and tarot cards. The grocery stores had fresh organic tropical produce and exotic healing herbs. 


People talked about native legends, witchcraft, astrology, tarot cards, angel numbers, ghosts, magic, and spirit guides. Most of the women were braless and covered in tattoos or piercings. Most of the men had intense dreadlocks and surfed gnarly waves by the lava rocks. 


My cottage was in the heart of the jungle next to an active volcano. Tropical birds, cats, dogs, chickens, pigs, and lizards were my immediate neighbors. I loved hearing the wildlife sounds at night. I tried to chase the geckos out of our place, but I eventually gave up and accepted them as our roommates. 


Most people grew their own food and weed. Many jungle homes had compost and catchment systems. Friendly strangers gave me free nugs and papayas regularly. Everyone in Pahoa was truly unique and original. 


I felt so connected to our planet and the universe while living in Hawaii. The tropical fruits, plants, and animals enchanted me. The air was fresh and the leaves were lush. I couldn’t believe how bright all the stars were at night. It was magical!


Pahoa was a wacky ass freak show, but part of me was all about it. There were no resorts or tourists in that area which was part of the appeal. Locals only.


My latest hobby was taking pictures of nature and wildlife. Watching hot lava drip into the ocean made me feel grounded and connected to our beautiful planet. Mother Nature will always be my favorite artist. 


My photography featured palm leaves, which often represent peace, victory, sacrifice, and survival. Palms are tough and can thrive in extreme climates. 


There were so many problems in paradise. My neighbor got murdered one of my first nights on the island. I heard the gunshots go off in the middle of the night. His family found his body in the street the next morning. Life is so fragile. We have to do what we can while we have the time.


The small town gossip murder mystery theories were insane. It seemed like everyone knew who the killer was except for the police. My landlord bought most of the land around us to drive out some crackhead neighbors. He was robbed a few times by people that he knew. The Big Island was way more dangerous than I expected. Guess there’s hood ass shit all over the place, even in paradise. 


There was no point in owning anything nice. The island was full of parasites and criminal thieves. If people didn’t steal your shit the humidity would melt it away. Bugs and molds spread everywhere. It was a beautiful disaster.


The window in my bathroom had paint smeared across the glass. It vaguely resembled a handprint. Seeing it in the mirror and water reflections scared the shit out of me. The neighbors told me that the house on the corner was haunted. Things kept disappearing. I wondered if thieves were blaming the spirits and menehune for their crimes. 


Of course my nervous system was shot from my past chapters. I was still processing supernatural experiences and the fact that I got robbed and raped. Plus I went no contact with my mother, but that was a relief.


My cottage was a few miles away from the old downtown. The bus was free, but never on time, if it showed up at all. Hitchhiking was quite common. So many people pulled over to offer me rides. The first guy that gave me a lift was from Santa Cruz. I told him that I was from Huntington Beach, so we bonded over being Surf City rivals. One time a local farmer gave me a ride and some fresh papayas. He had a machete in his center console. While he was driving he picked it up and threw it on the ground towards his feet. I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. He gave me some weed from his garden and professed his love to me. All the intense jungle weapons made me so nervous. 


Life in Pahoa was truly wild. I carried a hunting knife everywhere, which came in handy for tropical fruits more than anything. I loved finding fresh mangos and papayas on the ground. 


There was an outbreak of rat lungworm. The slugs slithered through rat shit and left slime all over the fruits and vegetables. It gave people brain, spinal cord, and neurological problems. I made sure to wash everything multiple times. 


It didn’t take too long for me to remember all the locals. Big island small world! The rain was my best friend, because it kept some of the weirdo criminal freaks inside. Everyone there was crazy including me.


There was a couple that brought their pet chicken on the bus into town with them everyday. One guy rode around on a golden bike covered in stars. He gave the locals free papayas, but charged the tourists. Multiple men invited me to roast pigs with them, but that’s not my idea of a hot date. 


According to the internet there were less than a thousand people living in Pahoa, but that data was inaccurate. There were so many undocumented jungle characters that were unaccounted for.


Hawaii has a brutal history of white people destroying their nature, animals, and culture. Part of me felt guilty for moving there during the plague, but I was sick of putting my life on hold. It also felt like I had nowhere else to go. 


Of course I didn’t want to be on the wrong side of history. I wanted to help keep the native arts, plants, animals, and stories alive! I’ve never intended to be invasive. 


I was warned that people would hate me for being a haole, but my Hawaiian neighbors were somewhat welcoming. They left tropical fruits on my porch and offered me rides into town. 


My race bothered them, but they managed to be somewhat kind anyway. They told me that they were only nice to me because I was nice to them. People are mirrors. 


My neighbors told me to stop hitchhiking and reminded me that the island had many desolate places with no cell service. If I were to get into trouble on the lava fields or in the jungle, nobody would be able to hear me scream. When shit went down in Hawaii the cops showed up hours later if at all. 


Everything was on island time. 


So many people shared horrifying stories about haole women getting brutally raped and murdered. They convinced me to quit hitchhiking and only catch rides from people that I know.  


Many locals told me that I moved to the wrong part of the island. Most of my neighbors wished me luck, told me to stay safe, and asked how I was doing. We all looked out for each other, because we had to. Nanawale was sketch.


Back in LA I wore hillbilly teeth with my friends as a joke. I was so privileged I didn’t know that people actually looked like that outside of Orange County. Seeing what else was out there made me realize and appreciate just how fortunate I am. 


Speaking of the fake hillbilly teeth, Maggie from Chelsea Lately reached out. She got a new job, house, car, and husband. I was relieved to hear she got back on her feet again. It gave me hope that I could get out of my series of rock bottom moments as well. 


Life gives people brutal lessons sometimes. 


Every time I left the house I carried a pack with a hunting knife, bug spray, water, sunscreen, trash bags, and cash. Since it was constantly raining I carried trash bags around to protect my stuff. Most places were cash only when or if they were open.


My unrealistic expectations have lured me into dangerous lifestyles. Thanks social media! I missed modern conveniences like cars, restaurants, rideshare apps, take out, dispensaries, and delivery services. 


Hawaii had so many wonderful beautiful qualities, but I craved an easier life. I was warned about the constant crimes, poor service, high prices, and bad vibes. Those things didn’t concern me, because I was hooked on the fantasy concept of living in paradise.


Of course it wasn’t all bad. Hawaii is an incredible place! The waters, plants, and tropical fruits were amazing. Hawaii is epically beautiful, but way more dangerous than I expected. Most of the violence came from outsiders who ruined the spirit of aloha. 

 

The Jungle Gym was a popular local hangout spot. They held yoga, cooking, and journaling classes. On weekends it turned into a rave. Some people lived there, but others were just visitors. They paid to stay there but also worked on gardening and preparing vegan feasts too.


Another hot spot was Uncle Bob’s which was known for its space alien welcome center, jungle raves, and fresh tropical produce. Extraterrestrials were more accepted than haole white mainlanders like me. 


My favorite place to hang out was The Tin Shack Bakery. I was addicted to their kona coffee and sourdough pancakes. Most mornings I went there to write, but I usually got sucked into the local freak show instead. Whatever unfolded was often more interesting than whatever I was going to journal about anyway. I loved when the trippy locals shared stories about Hawaiian ghosts, myths, and legends. 


Kehena was the most popular nude beach in the area. Most people went on Sundays to take drugs, skinny dip, or join drum circles. I got to go on lots of fun island adventures, but a lot of the locals in that area totally freaked me out, so it was hard to fully let loose. I expected to feel relaxed out there, not uncomfortable. 


The people we surround ourselves with have such a huge impact on our lives. The right crowd will lift you up and the wrong crowd will drag you down. It’s all about finding the right tribe and vibe. I was still looking for mine. 


The town menace was called George of the Jungle. I preferred the hot guy from the movie. George lived out of a grocery cart in the jungle. He was an angry old man with one leg who spent his time harassing everyone. Some say he lost his leg because people chased him down with their trucks. Others say that he was drunkenly sleeping in the streets when someone accidentally ran him over. He had a reputation for provoking and upsetting people. 


George regularly broke bus and store windows. The cops and bus drivers were tired of dealing with him. The police begged him to behave, because they didn’t want to have to put him in their cars again. They were so sick of filing reports and throwing him in jail all the time. Some of the locals wanted them to drop him off on the top of the volcano. He lived right next to a pack of dangerous wild boars. They were angry and violent just like him. I quickly learned to avoid that part of the jungle. 


One day I walked past a wild boar and decided to take a picture. Finally, the opportunity to get into animal conservation photography! It felt threatened by my camera and charged towards me. The boar chased me into the jungle and almost knocked me over. A Hawaiian man trapped it between his arms, truck, and palm tree, so I managed to escape. Dude saved my fucking life! 


Hawaiians worship pigs. Especially Kamapuaʻa, their untamed supernatural transformer pig god. Boars represent wealth, power, adventure, and sexual pleasure. Most of the legends involving Kamapuaʻa focused on his thirst for sexual activity. What a pig.


If a wild boar tries to attack you, back away slowly and calmly while facing it. Do not run away, they will chase you down. Try to avoid them and respect their space. They are aggressive and territorial. Fight back if you have to. If you throw the pigs some food they will probably leave you alone. People say the wild boars eat decomposing bodies of murder victims on the lava rocks. 


Nature is gnarly. 


During my first week on the island I found some dead pigs on the side of the road. In most cultures death symbolizes change. The end of one chapter and beginning of something new. I took that as a sign to release everything that was no longer serving me. It was time to progress forward. 


Life in Hawaii was filled with animal action. One day I found a kitten crying in the jungle. It was helpless. I couldn’t just leave her there! Luckily a few locals stopped by to talk story. They told me it was 11:11, which inspired them to take the kitten to the vets and find her a new home. People were eager to help eachother out. 


Most locals lived off the land. We grew our own food, but we had to race to eat it, before the wild animals. Growing papaya, dragon fruit, mango, and blackberry plants in the jungle was enchanting. I didn’t really feel safe but the lawless wilderness was part of the whole appeal. I couldn’t tell if it was the perfect place for me or if I needed to get the fuck out of there asap.


I was surprised to see bright red cardinals all over the jungle. Whenever I wrote they would sing and dance in the trees near my windows. There were also axis deer brought to the islands illegally. The deer swam from island to island. People saw them as an invasive species and killed most of them off. 


It felt like the cardinals and deer followed me there from the mainland. They seemed to guide me along my journey. We all had the strength to renew and regenerate after many wild moves and setbacks. 


Over seventy five types of birds have gone extinct in Hawaii. It breaks my heart to hear about how many animals no longer exist because of us. 


One day I got attacked by a vicious ankle biting chihuahua. Even though I got hurt, I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want the dog to get killed. People need to put their dogs on leashes to protect them and others. 


There were tons of road kill cats, dogs, pigs, and birds. People had off leash dogs that would attack others and get hit by cars. One of the locals always had a new puppy. When I asked him about his other dogs he would explain how they all brutally died after running into the street. If you own a pet the best thing you can do for them is stay present and offer protection. Animals remind me how to love and live in the moment.


Uncle on the corner told me all about the native animal symbolism. In Hawaii geckos click to warn people before someone comes over. The giant cockroaches start running around right before it rains. If a white owl flies past you that’s good luck, but if it flies towards you that’s bad luck. If you cross dead cats or black cats you can spit out your window three times to erase any bad luck (or you can throw a coin out of your car window).


There were lots of conflicting opinions over the stacked rock towers around the island. People stack rocks in honor of their dead lost loved ones. If you knock the rock towers over their ancestors might haunt you. Other people stack rocks to guide others on a path. Some people knock the rock towers over, because they think they’re harmful to the environment. Just to be safe I decided not to create any of them or fuck with any of them. 


Pahoa was known for its powerful healing plants like ayahuasca, mushrooms, weed, and kava. Most of the people in that area were fucked up and seeking enlightenment. Pahoa’s culture revolved around drugs. The shop Jungle Love sold some shirts and stickers that said “We’re all here because we're not all there.” They should make a sign for the town that says that too. I expected psychedelic stoners but was shocked to see so many cracked out tweaker thieves. 


One guy told me that he rolled himself into a fire at an ayahuasca ceremony. Even though he burnt his whole body, he stood by that decision, it was what he was meant to do. I heard a few too many stories about people hurting themselves with fire or lava while tripping ballz. That guy ended up going missing! I wonder if he’s still alive.  


The local kava bar was my other favorite spot. I was so wound up compared to the people working there. Drinking kava while smoking fat blunts on the clock looked like a sick gig to me. The employees there were so fucking cool, but it was kinda hard to get service there sometimes, because the workers were too busy smoking and socializing outside. The kava lounge was full of eccentric nomadic characters. People bragged about how they ditched the rat race and their high paying jobs to lay around in hammocks between palm trees. One of the regulars ran nudist ayahuasca ceremonies. I wasn’t sure if I should join in or run away. Ayahuasca heals trauma, which I needed to do, but some of those characters were too far gone. They bragged about doing hundreds of ayahuasca ceremonies over the course of one year. 


Trying some of the local psychedelics sounded tempting, but I didn’t feel like I was around a safe enough crowd. My state of mind wasn’t strong enough to handle all the strange Pahoa energies while tripping. Plants have magical powers. I’m eager to try and learn more about them at the right time and place in the future.


One day I met a guy who made his own psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars. After a few coconut shells full of kava at the lounge he smoked me out. I ended up getting super dizzy and lightheaded then I almost fainted. I sat back down and chugged some water. Once I was somewhat coherent I paid my tab and stumbled out the door. The guy who smoked me out followed me outside to the bus. He got on and I bounced instead of boarding. I went to the store instead, because I didn’t want him to follow me home. There must have been something stronger than kava and weed in my body. I had such a hard time checking out at the register. The employees could tell that I was fucked up. I kept entering the wrong pin number while dropping things. I was drugged up, which officially made me a local “PUNAtic.” The three mile walk back home seemed endless but the views were gorgeous. I couldn’t believe how much fucked up shit was going on in such a beautiful place. Somehow I got back to my little junglow in one piece. 


When I got back home my neighbor asked what happened to me, because I was covered in mud. I lied and said that some asshole splashed me while driving. Honestly I did it to myself because I was so fucked up. My stomach was in knots. I was so dehydrated that night I couldn’t even sleep. I wrote in my journal like a maniac. Was I getting creative inspiration from adventures or was I cracked out of my damn mind? I wondered if I smoked something like meth in that joint. I’m a victim of my own decisions! My diary could be inspo for dramatic thrillers.


The next day I apologized to my neighbor for being weird and explained how I got drugged or roofied. He told me that we never saw each other that night which blew my mind. I guess I apologized for doing something I didn’t even do? But he also said “I only had like twelve beers last night.” So we were both fucked up! Who knows what really happened.


He joked about Pahoa being an open air insane asylum. If it was, would we know? Guess we were all insane for living in such a place. PRAY FOR PAHOA! 


I was not in my right mind, but vividly remembered our conversation. It was such a trip, because he looked really different after that experience. I spoke to him regularly, but something about him seemed to change. He was longer and lankier. I swear his voice, teeth, and hair slightly morphed over night. It made me wonder if we were in some sort of simulation. Was there a glitch in the matrix? At least I wasn’t the only person explaining the unexplainable to others. Paranormal was normal on the island. So were drugs. I wondered if I had mental health problems, drug damage, or magical superpowers. 


Spiritual Psychosis was kinda normal or dare I say trendy at that time. Social Media reminded me that I wasn’t the only one struggling during the plague. My closest friends were mentally ill strangers on the internet. My TikTok FYP was filled with witchy tarot card readers and self diagnosed autistics. At least my algorithm gets me.   


It seemed like many people changed their beliefs while enduring a series of spiritual awakenings. Maybe there was a collective shift in consciousness. I wondered how many of us became enlightened. 


Am I manic or the chosen one? 


Unfortunately the kava bar wasn’t the only place I’ve been drugged. I got roofied at a college party in Berkeley. Luckily my friends were with me and they got me home safely. When I got drugged in Hawaii I was alone, miles from home, in a dangerous area. 


I thought that living amongst nature would bring out some sort of soft side of me, but it threw me into intense survival mode. I’ve had to act a certain way to protect myself from male human predators in the cities and the wild. Was the United States as great as we were brainwashed to believe? There had to be safer places out there for women to live, thrive, and survive. The thought of ditching America really intrigued me.  


All of the people at the kava bar seemed genuinely kind. I thought they were my friends. It was hard to imagine any of them wanting to hurt, drug, roofie, or take advantage of me. Sadly Puna was a hotspot for drugs, violence, and sex trafficking… especially during the pandemic. 


My neighbor told my landlord that I got drugged. He thought that I asked for it by dressing a certain way. I hate the way men think. I was covered up way more than how I dressed back in Southern California. Women should be able to wear whatever they want without having to be stalked, harassed, raped, assaulted, or murdered. 


Around that time I started wearing baggy masculine clothing to protect myself. Men went from harassing and objectifying me to making horrible homophobic and transphobic comments about me looking or acting like a man. Survival mode heightened my masculinity. I was hyper feminine when I was younger, so it felt like I lost a huge part of myself. IDENTITY CRISIS! 


My landlord was incredibly kind, but his rules were way too strict. He didn’t want his tenants to smoke weed, have sex, make noise, show skin, or have friends over. I couldn’t be myself there. The town was wild but my landlord was super religious and close minded. One time he talked mad shit about his other tenants in front of me. He hated when they wore tiny outfits and slept around with any sex. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there so I could smoke, drink, curse, and dress like a gay whore again. 


Pahoa was known for its artists, stoners, plants, and nudists. Where was all that free spirited freedom? I wasn’t sure if I should find another new place in Hawaii or go back to the mainland.


Kinky moved into the bungalow next door. She was a little old haole wahine who wore a coconut bra and sarong. When we moved into our places we promised our landlord that we wouldn’t smoke weed. I told her that I was going to rebel and smoke anyway which excited her. 


She picked up weed for both of us and we hotboxed our little jungalows. We called our landlord “the principal” or “parole.” It’s like we were the bad girls waiting to get sent to detention. Kinky acted like a teenager around me. She spent most of her life being a rule follower and thanked me for bringing out her sneaky little rebellious side. 


Kinky wished she was more wild, daring, and promiscuous when she was younger. She claimed her nickname came from her kinky hair. Bullshit. Our Mormon neighbors complained about the clouds of smoke that would blow their direction as soon as our landlord left the hood. 


It’s funny that we kept sneaking around him, because we were also friends with him. Our landlord was such a nice guy. He gave us tropical fruits and chocolates regularly. Many people warned us that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He had a really greedy reputation, but often boasted about helping others. My neighbor told me that he would park on their property and sneak around my place to sniff for weed smells. He always hated when we “cackled like witches” together. Our little stoner bond confused and concerned him. 


Pakalolo brings people together. 


I actually almost moved into a guy's fancy house on the north shore of Kauai. It was free rent in exchange for gardening. Right before I booked my flights he told me that he couldn’t wait to explore my body. He confessed he subscribed to my Only Fans and talked to me while posing as someone else. 


At the last minute I backed out of our deal and found my own place. I went to the Big Island instead, because it was more affordable. Discounts are usually for a reason. Kauai was more beautiful, calm, and peaceful. A few months went by and he reached out to see how I was doing. He invited me to come to his mansion in paradise and urged me to ditch creepy Pahoa. He proposed that he could take me out on his kayak with wine around sunset. 


He texted me “It would be summer so we'd both be wearing our swimsuits. Me in my boardshorts and you in a bikini that's nearly bursting at the seams. As the sun sets we'd look into each other's eyes. I’d slowly come closer and start kissing your neck while wrapping my hands around your waist. You'd move your hand onto my leg and my dick would immediately grow hard at the near proximity of your hand. My free hand would undo your bikini. My kisses would go lower and lower on your body until you find yourself with your hand pulling my hair while I'm eating out your wet pussy.” Then he sent me a dick pic that was so impressive I wondered if it was real. Honestly he was less creepy than Pahoa. Maybe I should’ve put out for Tunnels Beach!  


Most people in Pahoa had nicknames like Sunny, Phoenix, Mermaid, or Baby. Fairy, a local hippie, told me about her recent breakup. She was trippin balls when we met. She used psychedelic mushrooms to cope with all her traumas and move forward. It was hard for her to focus on our conversation because she was infatuated with a rock on the ground. When I listened to her stories she admired my sense of empathy towards others. Fairy gave me malachite, quartz, and tiger’s eye stones to thank me for my positive energy. In return I gave her a black tourmaline bracelet from Seattle, which happened to be where she was born. She could tell I was a fellow Aquarius. There were lots of nomadic quirky creatives like us around old town Pahoa. 


Pele the volcanic deity will curse you if you steal any black sand from the islands. She punishes selfish humans and rewards people who embrace the spirit of aloha. Most locals say that the native spirits will either accept you or kick you off the islands. 


Nature has many powerful energies that can work for or against us. People buy crystals in hopes of them having protective or healing properties, but what if your jewelry was taken from sacred land? You could curse yourself while seeking protection! Know and trust your resources. We should be able to feel when or if the vibes are off. 


When I was kid I loved collecting shells on the beach with my friends. Some of their families wouldn’t let us bring any rocks or shells into their houses. Stealing from nature could curse their homes or families. 


A Hawaiian guy told me a story about how his friend disrespected Pele.​ They hiked up the volcano and his friend started screaming “Fuck you bitch! You aren’t even real!” The sky suddenly turned black and it started raining ash. They heard the sound of pounding drums as they ran back to the car. While they were leaving they felt heavy energies in their throats and chests. They felt like they should reroute, so they drove the long way home. The next day the volcano erupted and wiped out part of the town. 


Pele was in a good mood when I was out there. I think that she liked me. Many of the locals prayed to her daily and gave her presents. By the way, Pele loves gin and cigarettes. 


It’s crazy that I lived in the jungle on an active volcano in the center of the ring of fire. Pele shocked me the first time I felt her jolt. People say she can appear as an old woman with long white hair and a little white dog. If you see her, ask if she needs help. It’s important to greet elderly islanders with the spirit of aloha. 


I went on adventures with some island boys. We smoked bomb weed, played drums, danced in the rain, and sang show tunes in the jungle. Some of them told me about how they saw fire dancers out on the lava fields. They hiked for miles, but the dancers were always in the same spot, just a little to the left in front of them. They couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive. 


Night Marchers are the spirits of ancient Hawaiian warrior fire dancers. They may be dead, but they are ready to reclaim their land. According to legends, people who look at the Night Marchers get cursed. If you whistle near lava at night you are summoning them. If you hear beating drums after the sun sets it’s time to run and hide. People say that if you hear them coming it’s best to lay down flat on the earth for protection. 


They also told me all about the menehune, which are tiny mischievous crafts people that star in many legendary Hawaiian myths. Locals often talk about seeing them in the forests and jungles at night. They shoot magical arrows at cold hearted assholes, all in hopes of making them less angry and more loving. They sound nice in most stories, but in others the menehune swarm and scare people in the wild at night. Locals say if one of your shoes goes missing, that’s a sign to start acting right, or else the spirits or menehune will steal your soul. 


Many people warned me about the haunted places around the island. Back in the day the Hilo Hospital maternity ward got burnt down and not everyone was evacuated. People who visit that area have crazy ghost stories, many of them involve hearing the sounds of babies crying. 


Most of the haunting ghost stories involved tribal warriors dancing or babies crying. The side effects included heavy chest pains, throat choke sensations, soul snatching, extreme chills, and horrific unexplainable deaths. 


One day I was hanging out at the Tin Shack Bakery when a lady sat next to me. I could tell she was a ballerina from her bun and posture. We started talking and figured out that we went to the same dance schools back in California. She made me feel at home for a moment. Meeting her inspired me to get back into stretching and dancing again. Maybe the night marcher ghosts would accept me for being a fellow nature loving dancer. Just kidding, I'm a haole. 


Both of us went to the Orange County School of the Arts for Dance. I got to take fun classes like Hip Hop, Ballet, Shakespeare, SciFi, Lyrical, Modern, Musical Theater, Jazz, and Tap. I hosted the school’s announcements and modeled for my friend’s art projects. Every class encouraged us to be unique and creative. The weirder the better!


There was a sexy Australian surfer dude at our school. He slept with all the hot chicks and was friends with everyone. About six months into the school year he dropped the accent. He confessed that he had never been surfing and had never been to Australia. Everyone applauded his incredible acting abilities. He became even more popular once the truth came out.


My friend Allie and I were both nominated for homecoming queen in high school. We didn’t want competition to ruin our friendship, so we combined forces. On the day of the dance we squeezed into the same dress and won together. We were our schools first and only siamese twin homecoming queen. Luckily most of our classmates praised anything unconventional. 


One time we wore the siamese twin outfit to an all you can eat buffet. We wanted to see if we could pay for just one person instead of two, but that didn’t work out. If we went to a normal school somebody would’ve beaten us up for sure.


Allie and I went to college in San Francisco. We loved to laugh, so we signed up for standup comedy class. We always showed up in matching costumes and flirted with all the comedy boys. Our teacher wasn’t funny at all. He hated us. We had to perform standup comedy routines for our final project and we both epically failed. My lowest report card grade was from standup comedy class. 


Most days we played dress up, took pictures, started dance parties, and ate bomb food. Life is all about having fun. We loved being silly and creative just for the sake of having a good time.


In one of my classes I met a girl named Kali. I introduced myself, because I appreciated her ridiculous propeller hat. She was relieved when we met face to face, because she thought I was her high school nemesis. Luckily we just happened to have the same hair. Later on Kali became a flight attendant. We kept in touch and continued to meet up for random adventures. 


When I moved to Hawaii Kali managed to get the flights from San Diego to Kona. It was nice to have a friend on the richer, safer side of the island. We visited all the fancy resort bars and beaches. I got to swim around without having to worry about people jacking my shit. 


Since Kali lived and traveled all over the place, she stayed in a series of haunted hotels. Most of her paranormal encounters took place in Hawaii. 


Kali flew to the island on the weekend of the fourth. Most of the locals hate that holiday, but love any excuse to get fucked up and blow shit up. 


Hawaii has a brutal history involving white people stealing native land, but that didn’t stop us from wearing dorky patriotic outfits. We weren’t really thinking. 


Since I accidentally moved to the hood of Pahoa, I wanted to check out the rest of the island while we had a rental car. Maybe I could find a safer place to call home. We went to a kona coffee shop on a hill that looked over some beautiful tropical beaches. It seemed like a wonderful area, so we decided to explore the local towns. 


The west side of the island felt much safer and more touristy. It had a better vibe than Black Sands (or as the locals call it Crack Sands). It had a richer vibe than Nanawale (or as the locals call it No More Money).


We went down to Kealakekua Bay, which happened to be where white people first reached the islands. The name of the beach roughly translates to “God’s Pathway.” It had many ancient historical sites and temples, like Hikiau Heiau, which was used for human and animal sacrifices. Some say it’s the most sacred part of Hawaii. It’s also where Captain Cook was killed. 


I couldn’t believe how breathtakingly beautiful that area was. When we read the historical and religious signs we got some weird vibes. We knew that we should leave and go elsewhere. When we discussed our options we both felt our chests get heavy and throat choke sensations. 


In hindsight it was super fucked up to wear patriotic colonizer energy outfits on sacred native Hawaiian land. When I mentioned potentially moving there I started bleeding, even though my period wasn’t supposed to start for a few more weeks.


We hopped back in the car and drove to Pu’uhonua o Honaunau National Historic Park. All the bright blue waters, tropical fish, and palm trees were stunning. It was epicly and unusually beautiful. As we hiked around the park we couldn’t seem to shake that heaviness on our chests. 


Anyone who broke the ancient laws faced death, unless they made it to the city. If they got behind the great walls they could work off their misdeeds instead of being killed. People say that the criminal ghosts still try to make it beyond the city walls in that park. So many people have stories about orbs traveling around those areas.


We kept feeling like there was something following us, but there were just some goats hopping around the lava rocks. I felt like we should turn around and leave, but the scenic views kept luring us further down the path. That was the most I used my camera that year. 


The area was known for possessing intense mana (spiritual powers). It was gorgeous, but there was such a strange presence in the air. At one point we both thought we were going to shit our pants. 


Everyone else in the park seemed to have babies with them. I couldn’t help but notice them crying while passing by certain areas. Some British tourists mocked our patriotic outfits while sarcastically wishing us a happy fourth. 


Our wardrobe choices were so insensitive along with our timing. Can’t even blame the negative energy on native ghosts. I would have haunted the shit out of us too. Haole Wahine problems.


Just before we reached Ki’ilae Village I heard Kali scream! Someone put a dead goat in the middle of the pathway. It looked like a human sacrificed it by decapitating it. It looked somewhat ceremonial, since it was covered in flowers, sticks, and lava rocks. There’s no way that goat naturally died in the middle of the pathway like that. It scared the shit out of us, so we ran back to the rental car as fast as possible. 


Next we chugged beers while binge eating at The Four Seasons in hopes of making us feel better. Then we went in the water to cleanse our souls, it was like our own little DIY baptism. We held hands while repeatedly submerging ourselves for ten second increments. We still felt haunted, so we tried some breathing exercises while swimming. Nothing helped us shake off the cursed feelings. At least I got some bomb nature pictures out of those adventures. 


Kali couldn’t wait to get off of the island. She had already gone through some other strange supernatural experiences. Kali went to a wedding at a hotel on Maui that was on sacred grounds. Everyone who attended got sick and had to go to the hospital. One of the bridesmaids was pregnant and had multiple seizures on the property. 


Since we both wanted to move, we looked up our astrocartography charts. Every place has unique energies that could enhance certain qualities within us. 


My chart was so on point. Los Angeles totally made me feel standoffish, dark, negative, and trapped. Indiana made me feel introspective, natural, independent, peaceful, and vulnerable. It also made me irrational, moody, and unpredictable. The chart said it was a bad place for business and might lead towards pregnancy. Seattle made me feel spiritual, relaxed, creative, dreamy, stylish, and easygoing. It also made me feel connected to a higher presence and inspired me to help others. The chart said it’s not the best place to make money and to beware of fake people. Georgia made me feel calm, creative, relaxed, and connected to wildlife. Hawaii made me feel lonely, eccentric, independent, and elitist. It forced me to change and be flexible. The chart said I would be more attracted to the theory of my plans than the practicality of them there. Both Big Sur and Lake Tahoe seemed like they’d be great places for me to balance independence and relationships. 


My astrocartography chart resonated with me. Nowhere is perfect, but everywhere is wonderful. There are always more places to adventure and explore. I only told a few of my friends about my desires to move and travel to places according to astrology. I was still in the spiritual closet around certain people from past chapters. 


After I dropped Kali off at the airport I used the car to continue wandering. Everything on the island was gorgeous, but there were still conflicting vibes. 


Honomu was filled with scenic waterfalls, jungle views, and creepy men. I pulled over to take a picture there and I felt someone following me. I saw a man stalking me while masterbating. Every time I turned around he would jump behind a palm tree. He kept gaining on me with his little tiny dick. I didn’t know what to do. 


For some reason I chose fight over flight. I pulled out my knife and camera and started chasing him back. I yelled “IF YOU DON’T STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME I’LL CHOP YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF!!!” 


The world is a dangerous place for women. Acting like a crazy fucking bitch is a powerful form of self defense. 


People always talk about all the invasive species in Hawaii. I was totally fine with the pigs, cats, and plants on the islands. Too many guavas? Call me. I’d be happy to take them off your hands. Creepy old men are the most invasive species everywhere. How do we get rid of them?


Most of the Pahoa energy vampires had dirty fingernails and they always wanted to shake hands. Whenever I got home I immediately hopped in the shower and deep cleaned everything. Jungle men are next level disgusting. 


I’ve struggled with my own addictions, so I don’t want to judge people for doing drugs. It’s a real problem when people’s vices affect others. I didn’t feel safe around all the next level druggies who were hurting and robbing everyone. It was hard for me to sleep because I was scared some crazy jungle crackhead might break into my place. I often woke up to the sounds of roosters crowing, gun shots, cat fights, fireworks, or squealing pigs. 


Riding the bus was a great way to meet the local weirdos. Creepy old men constantly asked me where I lived or where I was going. Sometimes I would respond by saying “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT” which really set them off. 


One time I said that to a guy and then he ranted about how white haole mainlanders ruined Hawaii by moving there. He said he was just trying to help me, but why would I tell a random stranger where I live? I didn’t want or need help getting back home. Shit like that happened all the time there. 


Men would often follow me off the bus. Whenever I’d call them out for being creepy stalkers they’d get mad at me for being white. Welcome to paradise. 


A toothless man kept stalking me in his car. He would ask me if I needed rides, I would say no thank you, then he would u-turn and ask me again. The way he stared at me was beyond ridiculous. Like rubber neck cartoon awooga moments. One time he saw me at a bus stop, so he turned around, and pretended to fix his car. I got on the bus and he followed it around for way too long. Thankfully I was friends with the bus driver who let me ride around for hours. Finally my little stalker gave up and I was able to go back home. Riding the bus in Pahoa was such a freak show every time. One time a dirty dude asked me for a fucking foot massage on the bus. EW NO. AS IF!


Whenever I took the public bus, drugged up weirdos stalked and threatened me. Whenever I walked I got chased by aggressive boars and dogs. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather deal with animals than humans any day.


When I told my neighbor about how I got harassed he was unphased. Then joked that the guy probably just wanted to rape me a little bit. He also made a comment about how he wanted to burn my house down, then he found me again later to make sure that I knew he was joking.


I ended up becoming close friends with most of the bus drivers on the island. Back in my tour guide days I sat at the front of a bus and talked to the drivers all day. I basically did the same thing in Hawaii. I’d ride shotgun and gossip about the locals with the drivers. They always knew all the juicy hot goss in town. Some of them would stop by their homes for snacks or quick breaks. The timing of everything was super laid back in Hawaii. Island time can be such a patience test sometimes, especially at the post office. 


I started having strange vivid dreams after visiting Pu’uhonua o Honaunau. My Hawaiian nightmares usually involved me shitting my pants. 


One night I couldn’t sleep because I felt a haunting presence in my room. There was nothing for me to see, but my cat was watching something. It seemed to frighten him, but he chased it out the window somehow. Once again, what the fuck? I felt crazy for believing in things I couldn’t visibly see. All I know is that there’s a lot more going on than what I can perceive.


Maybe the spiritual world tries to guide people. The living scared me more than the dead. I desperately wanted to experience more supernatural shit.


One day I was smoking a joint on my porch while watching Vanderpump Rules on my phone. A big group of Hawiian men came up to me. One guy said “We get that you like our culture, but don’t bring your culture here.” 


It made me wonder if I would ever find a place to call home where I could just be myself. I missed West Hollywood. I missed swimwear, dresses, and makeup. There's freedom in safety. I just wanted to smoke outside without being stalked or harassed. It was hard living in such a rough neighborhood. 


One night I went over to my friend's house and he taught me how to shoot guns and crossbows. I’m not a fan of violent hunting weapons, but I needed to learn how to defend myself. We were drinking and smoking when I first shot the crossbow. My arrow missed the target and went somewhere deep into the jungle. We never found it. Hopefully I didn’t hit anyone. 

I was seeking freedom through my adventures. It took me way too long to realize that money is the best form of freedom. The more money you have the more travel and protection you can afford. It gives people the ability to go wherever they want whenever they want. Most importantly, money can help people out of really shitty situations. 

Which is good, because rich famous people need it most. After dealing with my own stalker issues, I wonder how celebrities handle that shit. Back when I worked at TMZ I was accused of being invasive. Dealing with intrusive people made me understand what it feels like to be on the other end of that. 

Don’t be too nice if someone is creepy towards you. People say that rapists and murders target women who say sorry for no reason, because they are easy to manipulate. If you are too sweet it’s obvious that you won’t put up a fight or take legal action against them. Never linger anywhere for too long. Don’t let many people know where you live. Cover your windows at night, you never know who might be watching from the darkness. 


If you sell things on the internet and need to meet up with someone in real life, pick a safe public location, even if it’s more of a hassle to get to. If you live in a sketchy area do not be out after dark. Make sure to carry multiple weapons on you at all times. If you are in danger do not scream, yell for help. If a guy is harassing you, kick them in the balls. If you think someone might be following you, walk around all four corners of a block. If they are still behind you they are stalking your ass. Keep walking or driving in strange repetitive patterns while you call the police. Make sure nobody is following you before you go home or arrive at your destination. If you get bad vibes from someone that is your animal instinct, do not trust them, listen to your intuition, even if they seem nice. 


I realized that I’d rather scrape by in a nice fancy area around successful people, than be the richest smartest person in a sketchy ghetto ass hood.


Life is a gnarly competition to stay alive. Navigating predatory behaviors can be difficult. Always beware of your surroundings. 


I didn’t see many security cameras around town, but auntie and uncle were always watching. Old people spied on their neighbors through their windows and gossiped about them after church. 


Small towns have less privacy than big cities. I thought going away to a small town would help me get away from it all, but people are so nosey. My neighbors asked me why I kept leaving my house to put something in the trash can outside. I never thought I’d have to explain how or why I throw my trash out. People need real hobbies!


I reached a toxic level of independence in Hawaii. It’s good to have freedom, but it’s also smart to have people on call for health and safety reasons.


The most common crime in Hawaii was aggressive assault towards women. Every day I read tons of posts about girls going missing. Their bodies were rarely found and when they were it was too late to save them. 


I was living a loner lifestyle so I had to be extra careful. Independence can be a blessing or a curse. Nobody would have noticed if I went missing. 


MacKenzie State Park had the worst reputation. It’s known to be the most haunted place in Hawaii. Even though I lived nearby I never checked it out. That area has tons of unsolved murders, rapes, and ghost stories. The park was built by criminals who died on the job and were buried beneath lava rocks. People say their ghosts haunt the park at night. Bodies have been found dismembered, drowned, and covered in bullet holes. One woman saw a man who waved before vanishing. Dogs usually act nervous while entering the park. 


Campers have the scariest stories, if they live to tell their tales. Most of the stories from MacKenzie Park involved seeing ancient warrior men marching around with drums and torches. People fell through booby traps then into lava tubes. Piles of human bones were found underground in the lava rock tunnel walls. Cats roamed the island, but avoided that park. If animals feel the bad vibes there must be something off about that place. I think my cat can see ghosts. 


Both psychological breakdowns and spiritual awakenings change peoples minds which leads towards powerful transformations. Some cultures don’t stigmatize mental health and spirituality as much as others. 


On the mainland schizophrenia is seen as a mental illness that needs to be cured. In Hawaii and the Philippines schizophrenic symptoms are often seen as magical powers. A connection to the spiritual world. 


American doctors diagnose people then drug them up to suppress what's happening rather than curing the root of the issue. That’s why so many people end up fucked. Homeless, jobless, and helpless. 


A lot of people who seem to struggle with mental health issues are really just having natural normal reactions to living in poverty in a capitalistic world. Our people are fucked up because our societies are fucked up. 


My friends wondered why I kept exploring such strange places. The internet has led me towards questionable destinations. My addiction to social media inspired me to explore dangerous areas. People glamorize nomadic lifestyles without sharing the downsides. Humans are the most dangerous predators. There was too much violence in Puna for me to want to live there long term. 


I needed to take responsibility for getting myself into dangerous situations. Of course I wanted to stay present, look on the bright side, and make things work. At a certain point I had to force myself to accept the fact that I felt unsafe and afraid of my surroundings. I needed to stop playing victim to my own choices. There’s no need to force ourselves to stay in uncomfortable and unhealthy environments. Smart people know when to give up and quit. 


You never know when creative inspiration might strike. Wanting to get the fuck out of danger lit a fire under my ass. It was time to get my fucking life together. I couldn’t handle the thought of being in the same place a year later. It inspired me to take action towards a whole new set of goals. 


Of course I wanted to talk mad shit about my Hawaii experiences on social media, but I didn’t want anybody to beat me up. Plotting my escape then sharing my stories later sounded like a safer idea. 


I needed to learn how to meet in the middle instead of having extremes. I could live amongst nature and wildlife, but also have modern amenities like transportation, technology, running water, and electricity. I’ve learned that I can enjoy both artificial fantasy and natural reality. I love cities and the wild. Combining worlds creates powerful change. It’s called balance!


People think it’s crazy that I move and travel to places alone, but there’s so much power in a solo fresh start. You can always reinvent yourself and be whoever you want to be. If you’re alone you can do whatever the fuck you want. Loners have freedom, especially if they have money. Of course there are dangers while traveling solo. Be careful if you’re a woman, especially in America. 


Most of my friends in Hawaii were men, who absolutely loved the area, but they had completely different experiences. Nobody harassed the shit out of them! 


I kept seeing dead cats all over the place. According to random blogs on the internet, seeing roadkill kitties is a sign that something isn’t working. Island life didn't work out like my idealized fantasies. I was anxious the whole time! 


It seemed like everything and everyone wanted me to leave the island. Things didn’t work out how I planned or hoped, but do they ever? There were too many red flags to ignore. I had to act aggressive for the sake of safety and survival. At least my cat was with me throughout my adventures. Lando was the only stability in my life. 


I asked my neighbors “WHERE’S THE ALOHA?” They told me things got bad right before I arrived. Everywhere got worse. The pandemic left many people homeless, jobless, desperate, and violent. 


Even though I had lots of hardships in Hawaii I felt amazing. My mental and emotional health was better than usual, because I didn’t have my mother in my life. She always belittled me. It was refreshing to simply live without her constantly cutting me down. My skin was tan and glowing. I felt healthy and happy from walking in the sunshine while eating tropical fruits. It was a hard chapter in many ways, but it was also a healthy reset. I enjoyed learning all about my personal spirituality while discovering Hawaii’s magical energies.


Hawaii has wonderful towns and islands. I just happened to pick the most dangerous area to call home. Luckily problems can lead towards powerful lessons and transformations.  


I asked the universe if I should stay or get off the island. When I looked up I saw a restaurant called “PAU” which means dead, done, over, finished. If the spiritual nature of somewhere or something doesn’t agree with you it’s okay to leave it behind. 


PAU is a common word on the islands. A lot of places close at “PAU” which means they close whenever the fuck they want. Employees often throw up PAU signs if they want to smoke or surf instead of doing their jobs. I knew that looking for a sign was a sign, but the literal sign was the confirmation I wanted. 


PAU! THAT’S A WRAP! NEXT CHAPTER! END SCENE!


There’s no need to move to Hawaii. 

You can learn to LIVE ALOHA wherever you are!


CHAPTER XI: CABIN FEVER

Hawaii taught me the importance of safety, family ancestry, native lands, and spirituality. I learned how to release expectations to avoid heartbreak.

Hawaiian cultural practices inspired me to move back to Northern California, my family's native area. The volcano Mauna Loa erupted right after I left the island. Maybe Pele got pissed that I moved away.


My grandparents owned a cabin in Lake Tahoe when I was young. For some reason I felt a strong urge to go back to those beautiful mountains. Paradise doesn’t have to be tropical.


When I arrived in South Lake Tahoe I got a call from my aunt, asking me to go to the hospital in Sacramento immediately. My grandma was dying. I got a rental car and booked it down the mountain as fast as possible. 


Even though I hadn’t talked to my mom in six months I decided to call her to tell her that her mom was dying. It’s kinda crazy that’s how and why we started talking again. Death brings people together.


By the time I got to the hospital my grandma had a stroke and couldn’t even speak. She was naturally a comedic storyteller, so it was hard to see her go nonverbal. Unable to use her voice, humor, and opinions. She died the next morning. 


My mom arrived after she passed. By that time I was already back up in the mountains, because I didn’t want to see that bitch. She sat there alone with her dead corpse in the hospital. My mom was pissed she was the last to find out about how sick my grandma was. For some reason she expected to get one of the first calls, even though she wasn’t close to any of us in the family. My mom never got along with me, my aunt, or my grandma. She should’ve been grateful we even called her!  


I loved spending time with my grandma in Lake Tahoe, she was so excited to hear that I was moving there. It’s like I was spiritually drawn back to her to say goodbye. The timing was wild. She died right after I arrived! 


My grandma was the center of attention wherever she went. She was a star who had the natural gift of gab and popularity. It’s rare to know someone so funny, smart, and attractive. Her nails and lips were perfectly painted red when she was younger. She had bright blonde hair and only wore the colors black, white, or red. 


My grandma was raised on a small chicken farm and started working hard at a very young age. Her tough upbringing inspired her to live a fabulous life. All of her travel experiences gave her an incredible eye for art, beauty, and fashion. 


Sometimes she would suck down a cigarette in one long drag, for dramatic effect, to emphasize part of whatever story she was telling. When she first got sick she screamed and cried for her eyebrow pencil while being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. She didn’t want any of the doctors, nurses, or neighbors to see her without eyebrows. It’s safe to say that drama runs in our veins. 


Even though she could be a total diva at times, she was extremely giving towards others. My grandma was always there to help all of us out with whatever we needed. Our age gap was annoying, because we could’ve been besties. We loved drinking margs and watching comedy together. Whenever I asked her how old she was she would say “twenty nine” with a smirk. She was truly an unforgettable legendary character. I miss her so much!


My grandparents were creative, funny, smart, and adventurous characters. Their homes always looked like modern art museums in magazines. They owned fabulous cars and airplanes that took them all over the world. When they were home there were always cats in their laps. I remember them showing me stars and planets through their telescope in Lake Tahoe. 


My grandpa was always looking up into the sky because he loved to fly. He enjoyed walking around nature while taking pictures of birds. I thought of him when I saw Blue Jays by the lake. If my grandpa could choose how to be reincarnated he would return as some sort of flying creature for sure. 


Both of my grandparents came from humble beginnings, but changed their lives to be full of art, travel, and luxury. So iconic. I’m lucky I got to have them in my life!


Even though I was extremely close to my grandma, I seemed to handle her death better than the rest of our family. Probably because we shared some morbid discussions about life, death, suicide, and murder. She outlived all of her friends, lived a full life, and felt ready to go. Of course I missed talking to her and wished she was still around, but so it goes. 


My mom accused my aunt of killing my grandma because she accidentally gave her COVID. It was so wrong. My aunt was the person taking care of her. She would never intentionally hurt anyone!


After my grandma was cremated my mom took her ashes back to her house in Huntington Beach. My aunt still lived in my grandma’s house and worked at the cemetery burying people for a living. The ashes should have been left with her in Sacramento, where she was supposed to be buried. My psycho control freak mother took them and refused to meet up with us to bury her! It was so selfish. 


My grandma wasn’t even invited to my mom’s house while she was alive, because they hated each other. It pissed me off that her ashes were held hostage in my toxic childhood home. She would be rolling in her grave, if she had a grave to roll in. Actually she’d probably think it was funny. She’d roll her eyes, scoff, and laugh while muttering something like “Good Lord.”


Since my aunt worked in a cemetery for years, I asked her if she had any ghost stories. She told me about a young man who died from a Fentanyl overdose. Hundreds of people showed up for his burial, so he must have been pretty popular. During the funeral a big Native American chief gave a memorial speech that turned into a ritualistic chant. A hawk circled over the grave and landed on a branch next to everyone. The bird watched the entire burial while making eye contact with all the family members. My aunt totally thought that the bird was the chief’s pet, but it was a wild animal. Everyone talked about the hawk after the ceremony. They agreed that the bird had to be their dead loved one. It made all of them believe in reincarnation. 


Blue Jays are known for being funny, bold, bright, smart, creative, and powerful. They know how to face adversity and help others in need, just like my grandparents. I couldn’t help but think of them when I watched the Blue Jays fly around the lake. 


If reincarnation is real how does that explain ghosts and mediumship? How could a psychic communicate with the spirits of the dead if they’ve gone on to live a completely different life? Many spiritual people believe in ghosts and reincarnation, but how could both those options exist simultaneously? 


Of course I had to look up all the local Tahoe myths and legends. One native tribe believed there were newborn babies with tadpole tails swimming in the lake. People said that the babies cry to lure people towards the lake so they can drown them. I also heard tales of an eagle with the face of a man who ate people. There were also rumors of a long necked nessy living in the lake. I heard that the mob disposed of their murder victims there too. Despite all the horror stories I still wanted to jump in the water. 


South Lake Tahoe had such a chill laid back stoner vibe. It suited me better than most other places I lived. Mountain people enjoy outdoor activities like skiing, snowboarding, hiking, biking, swimming, paddle boarding, and scuba diving. It was easy to meet fun like minded people that appreciate nature. 


I got a seasonal gig working as a liftie and rented a cozy little cabin nearby. Of course I needed all new clothes to match my new snow bunny aesthetic. It felt good to have a temp job with a month to month rental. Where you are does not dictate where you will go. Everything is temporary.


When I walked into my liftie training group I couldn’t help but ask “AM I THE ONLY FUCKING GIRL?!?” The room was filled with stoner snowboarder bros. Luckily they laughed and accepted me as one of their homies, even though I was an elderly female skier. Hot boxing the ganjala before hitting the slopes brought us all closer together.


Working as a liftie was a strange mix of being bored and stressed out. It’s kinda like being a lifeguard. You do nothing most of the time, but when shit goes down, you better be ready! I wanted that job for the ski pass and ride breaks. It was nice to be up on the mountain away from it all. That was a pretty chill job as long as there weren’t too many Jerrys or Karens around.   


I got paired up with a Hawaiian boy named Makoa for training. We shivered in the lift shacks while reminiscing about the tropics. Moving from summer in Hawaii to winter in Lake Tahoe was sure a shock to our systems. We needed all the water, lotion, and chapped sticks in town. It took us both a while to acclimate to the high altitudes and low temperatures. We missed knowing our neighbors and talking to strangers. 


When Makoa moved to Tahoe he knocked on his neighbors door to introduce himself and they acted like he was insane. On the mainland families seemed like strangers. In Hawaii strangers seemed like family (sista, brotha, auntie, uncle). 


In Hawaii there was no night life, so it was exciting to live near the stateline casinos. My tropical friends got such bad fomo. They wanted to follow along or meet me on the ninth island. Vegas Baby!


My snarky black cat hated the snow. He missed playing with the cockroaches and geckos back in the jungle. Moving Lando to Hawaii was such a tedious paperwork process, but he loved it out there. We both got a little seasonal depression when we moved into our snowy log cabin. 


Over time I began to notice how I remembered things differently at different times. I romanticize island life, even though that chapter was gnarly to say the least. Even though I had a hard time in Hawaii, it was harder to adjust back to life on the mainland. I’m just grateful I survived living in the fucking hood of a psychedelic volcanic jungle. 


Some of my coworkers were surfer bros from San Clemente. I couldn’t keep up with them on the slopes but we had fun hotboxing their cars after work. They taught me that bongs can explode in cold cars at high elevations. It was refreshing to work with nice funny men. They said I love you to each other when hanging up phones and walkie talkies. 


Most of the daytime lifties smoked hella weed and most of the night time snow makers snorted lines of ketamine. Driving snowcats and snowmobiles through the dark mountains while fucked up at night sounded like a great plot for a horror movie. 


I loved when we got to smoke joints and take ride breaks with our friends. Some days we spent all day shoveling snow instead. Hawaii didn’t seem that bad during the brutal avalanche storms. The grass literally wasn’t greener. 


My first real winter was like the most brutal winter of all time. There were record breaking levels of snowfall. It was a difficult adjustment to say the least. 


I missed seeing stars and hearing jungle noises at night. Hawaii is such a incredible place with some weird ass fucking people. Guess I could say the same about most of America.


Experiencing different seasons is magical if you have the right supplies. Lake Tahoe California was much safer than Pahoa Hawaii, but of course I still kept getting myself into dangerous situations. 


Part of being a girl liftie was being hit on all fucking day. Of course I loved it when the hot funny guys flirted with me but there were too many old creeps. 


Since I still didn’t have my own car I ended up hitchhiking and catching rides during desperate times. Everyone knew where I lived and worked. Privacy is a luxury. 


One day it was dumping snow and the power was out. A guy in a hummer pulled over and offered me a ride. Since we were in the same work uniform I hopped in his car. We drove about a block away and picked up more girls in the same ski uniform. Both girls were from Costa Rica and they assumed I knew that guy personally. They flipped out when I told them he was a total stranger and that we hitchhiked. For some reason they thought he was my boyfriend.  


I ended up becoming great friends with one of those girls, it’s crazy that’s how we met. I told her about strange American traditions like Groundhogs Day. I loved hearing all her stories from back home. 


Hawaii and Costa Rica are both known for having happy chill vibes. Aloha! Pura Vida! Unfortunately paradise isn’t always safe. There are way too many dangerous men EVERYWHERE. 


My friend Aria and her family took me on a fabulous trip to Costa Rica when we were teenagers. It was epic! The margs were strong, the plants were lush, and the sloths were adorable. We went jet skiing, surfing, snorkeling, atving, rafting, and zip lining through jungles. I can’t wait to go back! Costa Rica has amazing biodiversity. I could totally see myself ditching the states to live there someday.


The ski job was such a sausage fest and most of the dudes were thirsty as fuck. One of my coworkers straight up told me that his new year's resolution was to get laid more often. Cool story bro!


There was a cowboy liftie who gave me rides regularly. He was missing his front tooth and drove around town in a truck with a hound dog. We kinda bonded over weed and our past farm life chapters. He also had a Hollywood show biz phase filled with douchebag narcissistic egomaniacs. I liked him as a friend, but he wanted more from the relationship. I just wanted to get to and from work in one fucking piece. 


There was also an old former firefighter liftie who gave me a few rides. Whenever men offered to drive me around it seemed like they wanted to turn the ride into a date. Luckily I was able to make real friends with cars.


The ski resort was in the mountains above the casinos. I got to meet snobby rich people and broke ass ski bums from all over the world. Tahoe tourists usually go there to party. Some people would try skiing or snowboarding for the first time while coked up and wasted. They never let their inebriation or the weather get in their way. Total fuckin bombers. 


There’s nothing scarier than watching a fucked up beginner adult barrel down the mountain at full speed. We often had to call ski patrol for the party people. One of my coworkers said he saw more dead bodies at ski resorts than in the military. 


When I first moved to Lake Tahoe I kept eating shit. I told a British coworker that and she looked at me in disgust as if I literally ate shit for breakfast. 


One of my coworkers got chased by a bear while walking down the street with carnitas fries. He just ran into his cabin and shut the door to escape. That same dude drunkenly fell asleep while making snow angels and his neighbor reported him as a dead body. 


Another one of my friends kept falling asleep in nature while tripping. One time he fell asleep on a surfboard in Hawaii while shrooming and woke up in the middle of the ocean. Another time he passed out mid rafting on shrooms and woke up when he hit white water rapids. He was also reported as a dead body after falling asleep in the woods during a little snowboarding weed and shroom break. One day he called out of work to ski around the resort, but our manager caught him trippin while doing tricks on the slopes. They didn’t fire him, but they begged him to be less of a fuck up.  


Nature always wins. Weather can destroy even the strongest people. One of the most advanced skiers on the patrol team died while cutting through the forest post storm. If you ski or snowboard, watch out for tree wells. 


It’s crazy how many people bought lift tickets without buying or renting gear. They would walk up to the lifts ready to hop on with no skis or snowboards. How the fuck did they expect to get down the mountain? Common sense is uncommon. 


Snowboarders often broke their arms or collarbones, while skiers were more prone to knee injuries. Lots of people got head injuries from falling on rocks without helmets. Most of my coworkers rode through ungroomed woods, but I stuck to the blues and greens.


One time a girl got fucked up at her bachelorette party down at the casinos. She ditched all her friends to hit the slopes with her snow and snowboard. After doing lines in the bathroom all day she finally emerged ready to shred. We told her we were closing, so she had to get back down the mountain. She refused to leave the ski resort and gave her number out to most of the male lifties. They eventually had to shove her onto a gondola. While it was leaving the station she attempted to prey her way out of the doors and her arm got stuck in the process. She got arrested and banned from the resort when she reached the bottom. Later she texted some of my coworkers to let them know that she was newly single because her wedding got called off. She ruined her friendships with all the bridesmaids and groomsmen too.


Another time a lady wanted her own chair lift. Instead of simply asking for what she wanted, she jumped off the lift while it was leaving the loading station. She landed in the middle splits and got dragged by the next chair. The liftie hit the stop button and popped off her skis to help. She cried, screamed, and accused him of assaulting her before she got arrested.


There were some horrible storms that prevented us from working. Plus there were still gnarly viruses going around. All of us were financially fucked and scrambling to find work. I needed to break back out of the rat race corporate day job scene for my spiritual and creative sanity.


My coworker Jack talked about how God wasn’t in charge of our finances, but then he got paid double! He returned the money back to the company, but I totally would’ve pocketed it. 


He asked me if I thought my black cat brought me bad luck over the years. I couldn’t blame my precious kitty boy for our misfortunes! It was time for me to take accountability for my actions and decisions. Sometimes karma has to balance shit out.


Jack’s brother Terry told me stories about seeing ghosts around Lake Tahoe. One time he was waiting to order at the Burger Spa. He turned around and saw a bunch of dark shadow figures waiting in the line behind him. After he ordered he looked back again and they were all gone. 


Jack and I ended up dating for a couple months. I’ve always had a thing for hot snowboarder surfer dudes. That was my first time being a total cougar. I had to look up what his texts and slang words meant, because I don’t speak young or snowboarder. He never got any of my “old” references. We actually took things slow which was refreshing. It felt good to have a crush and open up to someone again. 


Jack often talked to his friends and family on speaker phone. It was hard to get him to open up to me, but I overheard his friends asking him about his manic bipolar mental health problems. He was prescribed some antipsychotic medications. Since I struggled with similar symptoms and I was dating him I wanted to hear more about his issues. 


Whatever led up to his diagnosis embarrassed him. I couldn’t get Jack to open up to me, so I knew our relationship wouldn’t work out. Who was I even dating? What did he do in the past? Maybe I could have understood him better if he gave me a chance to. He had no desire to communicate. I overshared while he under-shared.  


On the night of my birthday we ate some magic mushrooms with friends. We climbed up Cave Rock and watched the sunset with some blunts and beers. There were baby bunnies in the snow, which is a sign of good luck in most cultures. Once again the mushrooms eased my problems and inspired me to dramatically change my life for the better. 


Isolating myself in the woods, jungles, and mountains made me kinda socially awkward. I got comfortable with my solitude and forgot how to interact with people. 


The Lake Tahoe ski crowds gave me major anxiety. I felt claustrophobic working with hoards of tourists. Maybe anxiety and stress are our body’s ways of telling us that how we are living is wrong. It’s natural to want and need space, but maybe I dramatically isolated myself away from people for too long. 


I knew the liftie job wasn’t the right fit for me, even though I loved my ski bum friends. My purpose is to explore, create, and help others! 


I need to explore more of our beautiful planet. 

I need to create art and keep trying new mediums. 

I need to help as many animals and insects as humanly possible. 


My adventures showed me that I’m naturally a nomadic creative person. I could always keep moving or traveling to seek better alignment elsewhere. 


After a huge storm we had to shovel out all the chair lifts and magic carpets. I was bitching about the cold hard work when my coworker yelled “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK THEN FUCKING QUIT!” 


I quit and walked out on the spot. Fuck that place. Impulsively leaving jobs and places while PMSing has been such a trend throughout my life. I kept repeating history, but at least I was self aware?


Or was I? Maybe my PMS problems were the real problem! I needed to get my hormones checked out before officially getting diagnosed with autistic manic bipolar schizophrenic borderline personality depression disorders. It seemed like I couldn’t keep a fucking job no matter what it was. 


I didn’t have the money or health insurance needed to deal with any of my issues at that time, but that’s exactly why I needed that help! If I could get a diagnosis then maybe I could qualify to get financial or medical help, since I couldn’t hold a fucking job. I just kept boppin around while raw doggin my mental illnesses. The resources needed to help me weren’t readily available, so I kept putting off dealing with my problems.


The storms in Tahoe were gnarly to say the least. Some locals told me it was the worst winter in over thirty five years. I got mad cabin fever and chopped off all my hair. It was down to my ass and damaged from all my adventurous traumas. 


My short natural brunette hair didn’t feel right to me. My soul is blonde! My personality is blonde! But I had to get rid of that dead old hair to make room for some natural healthy growth. I’ve officially mastered the art of letting go. 


I told Jack that I wanted to ditch Lake Tahoe to explore more. It didn’t make sense for us to be in a romantic relationship since I was planning on leaving. He asked if we could work something out and thankfully I agreed. 


Since I couldn’t afford rent I found a van with a great loan. I got everything all lined up, but there was a problem with the license plates. The company wanted to send them to the address I listed, but I was moving out of my cabin and into the van. When the car company found out that I planned on living in the vehicle they revoked all their loan offers. 


I was homeless, jobless, carless, and fucked. Jack invited me to move in with him for as long as I wanted, so I stayed with him for a couple months.  


Lake Tahoe taught me the importance of having people. Jack was my best friend there and if I didn’t have him I would have been out on the streets in a fucking blizzard with my cat. Donner Party Vibes. I was so over the gnarly winter storms and eager to bail on mountain life. Independence is important, but so are friendships and relationships. I held onto some good people and we all helped each other out! 


I stayed outrageously optimistic about my goals. I switched gears, got shit done, and made moves. It was time to take control of my fucking life. 


The day the van plans fell through was surreal. Every store would only take cash or was closed. I kept seeing 555 and 1010 everywhere. It felt like the universe hit the brakes on my plans. Maybe I was unintentionally rushing her. For some reason I was trying to force things to move faster. Guess I wasn’t quite done there yet. I kept thinking about Big Sur and Santa Cruz, so I felt like I needed to visit the coast next for some reason. I hadn’t seen the ocean in so long.  


My intuition told me to finish up creative projects and move forward. The synchronicities encouraged me to deepen my spiritual practices and share them with others. It felt like the right time to write down more stories. 


I wanted to make the worst shit that has happened to me the best shit that has ever happened to me. Maybe our problems are super powers.


A few days later I was hanging out at Tahoe Bagel, stressing over what I should do, and where I should go next. I was totally zoning out, but then I realized that I was staring at Big Sur & Santa Cruz bumper stickers. Next to them was a smaller sticker that said “Don’t worry. It’s going to be ok.” I wasn’t sure if I was going through another spiritual awakening or losing my fucking mind. 


Divine guidance is psychotic, if you’re a muggle. You have to believe in the magic of the universe for it to be real. Muggles think that Harry Potter is a weirdo freak orphan, because they don’t have the abilities to recognize his powers or perspectives. Thankfully he escaped and found a magical place filled with like minded characters who loved or hated him for who he really is! Only magical people can experience magic. Of course it all sounds crazy to people who can’t see it. That’s why they call it “SPIRITUAL PSYCHOSIS.”


I was so fucking broke. I walked around town wondering if I should really be focused on writing. When I looked up I saw paintings of deer all around me. The art felt like confirmation that I was on the right path. I trusted myself and the universe. I assumed my creative endeavors would eventually pull through. Some breakdowns lead towards breakthroughs. 


I couldn't help but think about Maggie from my Chelsea Lately days. She trusted in the powers of the universe and her manifestations which led to her being homeless. I wondered if I was making the same mistake, but did it anyway. She eventually got back on her feet, so I knew that I could too. 


Did I reach a whole new level of enlightenment or psychosis? Was I about to receive real substantial positive change? Or was I about to get thrown into a loony bin for a fucking lobotomy? 


Even though I liked Jack I knew we wouldn’t last. He always had a screen in front of his face. I noticed that most people adventure through video games and movies instead of exploring in real life. Once again I realized that I need a vehicle and my own clean private creative space near nature to thrive.  


Traveling around felt way more fulfilling than artificial fantasy media. That stuff can be fun sometimes, but I didn’t want to get sucked back into that broke ass couch potato lifestyle. NorCal was known for natural hippy vibes. Maybe I could find a nice tribe of spiritual vegan nature yoga freaks nearby. 


Jack preferred fishing over drag shows. His love for hunting and lack of hygiene bothered me. Jack confessed that he put fish through trauma from catch and release, but “AT LEAST THE FISH HAD A GOOD STORY TO TELL!” 


Maybe that’s how God sees me! A creature to traumatize for the sake of a good story with lessons to share. God would totally do something like that. 


My friends and family encouraged me to speak to a professional, but that shit’s expensive! Going to therapy could ruin my artwork. Working through trauma creatively was therapeutic. Plus western medical professionals kinda scared me. What if I’m too honest and they throw me into a psych ward for a grippy sock vacay! What if their drugs suppress my spiritual superpowers!


I wondered if I subconsciously kept putting myself through shit for my art. For the sake of a story or cathartic creative release! It’s healthy to use art to heal, but it’s toxic to keep going through bad things on purpose in hopes of creating better art. I had so many photos and stories to share. I just needed to get over my crippling imposter syndrome and put my work out there already. 


If I wanted to be an artist, I would need to create art. If I wanted to be a writer, I would need to write. If I wanted to be a photographer, I would need to take photos. 


That sounds so simple, but self sabotage was my daily routine. Having a manic identity crisis was very on brand for me. Chaos became addicting. 


My lack mindset kept me stuck, borderline homeless, jobless, and unable to level up. Obsessing over the past and my mental health made things worse.     


Mountain life was magical, but the storms were way too intense. I missed being around creatives in my favorite cities. Ditching my mountain flannels for blue hair and red lipstick was such a move. I edged up my image to look more like a “real artist.” Bye clean mountain girl aesthetic, hello angsty emo bitch. 


I ended up leaving Jack the same way Levi left me. I planned on traveling before we hooked up or lived together which made things complicated. He was so kind, welcoming, and generous towards me. I didn’t want to hurt him after everything he did for me, but I needed to be single and free to roam. 


Levi’s past actions made way more sense to me after I was put in a similar situation. I was so heartbroken over him back in the day, but I legit forgot that he existed. Part of me wondered if I blocked him out of my mind due to trauma, but I think I just naturally healed over time. Moving is a great way to move on. 


Looking back I wondered why I let his words hurt me so much. Every person I have dated provided valuable lessons for the future. I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy. I’ve taken an independent path that doesn’t make sense to most other people and that’s okay. I’ll accept more love into my life when I meet the right person in my own time.


My experiences in Hawaii and Lake Tahoe were completely different from what I expected. Paradise was not calming or relaxing. Running from hot lava and avalanches left me in panicked survival mode. Now I understand why people go to those types of places for vacation, instead of living there.


The winter storms in Lake Tahoe were so bad, I barely made any money up there. Most of the town closed down. All the smart rich people got the fuck out of there before the roofs collapsed.


Just before leaving I saw a wild bobcat roaming through the neighborhood. Bobcats are curious, stealth, independent, and self reliant. They enjoy being alone and know when to leave a situation.


I drove down the mountain in a moving truck with my kitty boy and bags. We escaped the winter storms and survived! I was able to get a car before our next chapter. It was such a relief to be able to drive around freely again. BYE BYE BUS LIFE!


CHAPTER XII: VAGABOND

I never planned on being such a nomadic person, but if the rug keeps getting ripped out from under you, you’ll learn to jump before it happens again.


After Lake Tahoe I had the hardest time finding a place to live. The rentals were astronomically expensive all over the country. My credit score, lack of funds, and unstable track record disqualified me from renting most places. I ended up traveling all over America AGAIN while being borderline homeless. Luckily my generous friends let me couch surf, while I bounced around from state to state again. 


My favorite places in America were Seattle, Big Sur, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, The Rocky Mountains, Yellowstone, The Grand Tetons, Cascade Mountains, and The Napali Coast. 


Everywhere west was best! At least for nature loving stoners like me. 


People from California and New York usually talk mad shit about the rest of the country. They call everything between LA and NY “the flyover states.” The areas I used to judge and avoid ended up being surprisingly beautiful. 


The Colorado Rocky Mountains were incredible. Drive through dispensaries, next to drive through coffee shops, next to fabulous ski resorts? Yes please! The rocks, trees, rivers, and mountains were insanely gorgeous. Part of me wanted to stop and settle down there instead of traveling through. 


At one point I pulled over to take a picture and my car got stuck in the snow. Lando meowed and cried while I dug the tires out with my hands wrapped in trash bags. Neither of us were prepared for the harsh winter storms.


I couldn’t believe how much I liked Utah. It’s such a beautiful underrated state. I have to go back to Park City for a ski trip someday. I couldn’t get over the epic mountain views, rocks, and farm lands. Everyone looked kind, healthy, and attractive. I didn’t see any sketchy mentally ill homeless drug addicts in that state besides me.


Some random Karen bitch cussed me out at a gas station in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Utah. She was mad that I quickly ran inside to use the bathroom while my car was still filling up. When I told her that I was trying to multitask and keep my cat in the shade she threatened to pull a gun on me. That cunt had furs and leathers covering her carnivorous body. It blows my mind how little people care about others, especially animals. As I drove away I yelled “BYE BITCH! HOPE YOU GET SOME WEED OR SOME FUCKING D!” She for sure wanted to murder me. 


Lando and I almost got sucked into a tornado while driving through Kansas. I saw it in the distance approaching the freeway, but it was hard to tell how far away it was. We passed by just before it hit our path. All the heavy winds and static electricity in the air made my hair and Lando’s fur stand up.


In the middle of bumfuck nowhere North Dakota I stopped at a gas station. Luckily I locked my doors when I got back in my car, because a drugged up psychopath tried to break in and attack me. He crawled onto my dashboard and started licking the front window while meowing. I turned on my car and started driving. He rolled off the car like a tumbleweed. Of course he had a gun and only one fuckin tooth. I’m shocked we survived whatever the fuck that was.


Life on the road was not as fun as creators make it seem on social media. I loved all the adventures, but it wouldn’t be enjoyable for most people. There are epically beautiful places all over America, but people rarely share stories about the dangers and hardships that come along with nomadic lifestyles. 


Horror stories lie behind pretty pictures. 


I weirdly enjoy talking about all my fuck ups and bad experiences. Nobody wants to hear me or anybody brag about being an amazing person. People like that are annoying as fuck! Also what are we supposed to get out of that? You were an outstanding employee? Cool story bro! I’d rather hear about the juice and the drama! Entertain me with stories or lessons. Please don’t bore me with perfection.


Lando and I traveled throughout the entire pandemic and it was wild to see such a dramatic increase in crime and murder cases. All sorts of crazy shit was going on everywhere, especially in America. It was hard to know where to go and who to trust. 


There are dangerous predators in cities and the wild. Having a variety of flashlights came in handy more than anything else during our travels. I wanted to be able to see what was around me at all times. 


Some say that hyper independence is a form of trauma. I think that sounds about right. Most of my life I felt like a misunderstood black sheep outsider. That’s why I have a long history of being a quirky, insensitive, weirdo. Plus I’m an Aquarius. If you choose to be authentic you have to accept that most people will not like you. 


If you’re a woman traveling solo, it’s best to avoid being out alone at night. Owning a dog or cat helps scare the creeps away. Having pepper spray, wasp spray, or bear spray is smart for self defense. Just make sure that you don’t aim for yourself. Some of us like learning things the hard way. 


Whenever I slept or went to the bathroom in my car I covered the windows with black trash bags or construction papers for privacy. That’s also a great way to hide valuables, because it just looks like tinted windows from the outside. Having a small portable camping toilet came in handy, since most public restrooms were closed during the pandemic. Baby wipes helped me stay clean if I didn’t have anywhere to shower or wash my hands. Having extra water on hand is always a good idea. 


I love my ride or die kitty boy more than anything else. He was cage free for all of our US road trips. Lando and I stopped and rested at the big 24 hour gas stations. They had security, lights, cameras, bathrooms, food, blankets, and pillows. 


Lando loved the car’s seat warmers. He sat in my lap most of our journeys. I gave him treats and water along the way. He eventually got used to moving and traveling. I doubt other cats would be so well behaved. I had a plastic cage with the bars taken off in the back seat that was filled with toilet paper for him to use as a litter box. It was easy to clean up, because I always had supplies ready to use nearby. Lando isn’t a fan of traveling, but he adjusted to life on the road overtime. Don’t worry I made sure to spoil the crap out of him the whole time.


After our Lake Tahoe adventures we bounced around Norcal in search of housing. Since I couldn’t find an affordable rental in Big Sur I considered joining the Esalen Institute, which is a rich hippy yoga wellness center that offers employee housing. Super exclusive, reservation only! 


Unfortunately, they don’t allow cats, so we got disqualified from their program. I kinda wanted to join that famous NorCal hippy “cult” just for the plot and experience. Maybe someday I could just visit Esalen for some sort of workshop, instead of trying to make it my entire fucking lifestyle. 


The commune life sounded a bit intense anyway. I don’t think I like people enough to pull that off. If I couldn’t handle having roommates, boyfriends, girlfriends, or coworkers the commune lifestyle probably wouldn’t really work out for me long term. 


I dramatically went the opposite direction. I found a modern minimalistic tiny home isolated away in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The landowner told me I was their finalist, but then he ghosted me. I told him that I was staying in hotels, but he still didn't have the balls to tell me that he chose somebody else instead of me. I wasted so much time and money waiting to hear back from that fucker. 


After some shitty pretentious job interviews and rental nightmares I realized that Big Sur and Santa Cruz were not the right options for me at that time. Everything was way too expensive! Plus everyone in Santa Cruz was like a little baby college kid or an old as fuck senior citizen. 


I was technically homeless while living in a series of cars, tents, and airbnbs. It was kinda like taking a vacation at rock bottom. When people asked where I lived I would say “I’m a nomadic artist!” It sounded way better than saying “I’m a homeless jobless loser!” I delusionally romanticized my fucked up life until it actually started to get better. 


If you lose everything, all you’ll have left is faith. 

That’s why so many people meet God at rock bottom. 


My friend Kali had just moved to Seattle. I really missed the arts, nature, and culture up there in Washington. It sounded like a civilized safe haven after my adventures in the woods, farms, volcanos, and mountains. Kali let Lando and I stay with her while I looked at home and job options there. Just another attempt to dig myself out of a hole I created. 


At first it was such a relief to be back around some smart, hot people, with amenities. Then I realized just how hard it would be to jump back into the rat race matrix city life after living so remote in nature for so long. 


I would check things out in the city, but run back into the woods after any minor inconvenience. It was hard for me to go out to bars, restaurants, and concerts again. I became so socially awkward after being trapped in a cabin during the harsh winter storms. I was still recovering from the never ending pandemic. I was numb yet hypervigilant.


Kali and I struggled with PTSD from our adventures. One day we passed by construction and a nail gun went off. Kali screamed and ducked while I had no response. Both of our reactions were equally concerning, but they kinda paired well with Seattle’s vibes. I was so emo and angsty. I was like dead inside. Maybe we were both still recovering from getting haunted in Hawaii. 


I got a job as a photographer at The Space Needle, but all the hordes of tourists overwhelmed me, so I quit immediately. I looked at apartments all over town, but they all sucked. Anything tolerable was out of my budget. 


At times I worried about not having a steady home or job, but I remembered that flexibility is my superpower. My life never really had stability. Everything is constantly changing. Luckily I have generous creative nomadic friends that totally get me and let me stay with them. I knew that I would figure out how to survive, because I always do. 


Even back when I had my own place and a job I wouldn’t fully settle down. There’s no need for furniture if you want to keep moving. I was always able to do freelance photography gigs and little side hustles all over the country.


My social battery did not last long in Washington. I kept ditching human friends to hang out with plants or animals instead. I ended up spending a couple days on Orcas Island with my mom and her friend Dee. The island was absolutely magical, but hanging out with them sucked. It was like an interrogation vacation. 


It was blatantly obvious that my mom and Dee had been talking mad shit about my mental health issues before meeting up with me. Out of nowhere Dee said that as a spiritual person it upsets her to hear people talk about spirituality when they are really describing psychosis. She made comments about how she used to help out her brother, but stopped because he does drugs. All the stories were very pointed and judgmental. I felt so attacked.


I can’t handle listening to alcoholics judge stoners. Dee always had a gin martini in her hand. I can’t even drink gin, it makes me a snarky fucking  bitch. She saw me smoke a joint years before and judged me ever since. I assumed she would be chill with that considering she was a Seattle based artist. Isn’t everyone a stoner in Washington? If not, they should be. They have the best fucking weed in the whole country!  


When I first cut my mom out of my life she gossiped about my mental health to anyone who would listen. She didn’t tell people that I cut her off, she just continued to project her narrative of me being an insane problem in her life. 


The truth is that she was an emotionally abusive and manipulative parent. She continued to gaslight me into believing I’m a mentally ill problem while lying to me and about me. At a certain point I had enough.  


I let her back into my life briefly, but she was walking on thin ice. The only reason I started talking to her again was because of my grandma's death. I wanted to stay on good terms with her while we figured out memorial and burial plans. Maybe my mom hijacked my dead grandma's ashes as another attempt to control me or drag shit out as long as possible. 


Before my grandma died my aunt called me ungrateful for never thanking them for all the money they sent me. I had no idea what she was talking about. My aunt and grandma had sent me thousands of dollars through my mom for Christmas and Birthday presents, but she pocketed all the money. We confronted her for stealing and she said that I didn’t deserve it, so she was saving it for a rainy day. Whatever the fuck that means.


My mom stole thousands of dollars from me, spread lies and rumors about me (like a full on smear campaign), ruined my reputation, and she got away with it! She could no longer control me, but she found a way to control the narrative about me. Most people knew that she was full of shit, but some dumb fucks totally believed her, without caring to hear my side of the story. 


When I was borderline homeless after the Tahoe avalanches my mom helped me out financially, but it wasn’t worth the price. She used money as a way to breadcrumb, dangle the carrot, and manipulate me. She played the victim by crying to her friends and family about me being a horrible burden. 


According to rumors my mom “bought me a car” and “gave me sixty grand.” BULLSHIT! In my dreams. The only way I know how to cope with pain is to learn how to find the humor in it. I mean it’s kinda funny that she’s such a fucking loser. She has to lie or steal to get any ounce of love or attention, because she’s such an insufferable bitch. Actually it’s really sad that all of her bad qualities drown out the good ones. My mom is extremely talented and beautiful, but she’s more focused on tearing others down than building herself up. Worst of all, I know that my parents suck, but recognize that I’m just like them. I love myself, but it’s hard sometimes, when I remind myself of the people that I resent or hate.


My mom never liked me for who I am. She constantly hounded me with negative comments about my weight, health, career path, and choices. She attempted to control every single aspect of my life! Thankfully we had some amazing pets to distract us from our shitty relationship when I was younger.


After our trip to Orcas Island I texted my mom and explained why I felt verbally attacked. She didn’t respond to my messages. The next time we spoke I told her why I wouldn’t be going on any more family “vacations” with her. She insisted that the intervention interrogations never happened, because she didn’t remember them. Just because she is a bad listener that doesn’t mean conversations never happened! It was a great trip from her perspective. She accused me of being dramatic and asked me to stop making things up AGAIN. What a fucking gaslighter! 


When I directly asked my mom if she thought I needed help she told me that I was perfectly healthy and that there was nothing wrong with me. She kept bullying and gaslighting me over and over and over again. Whenever I would confront her or stand up for myself she would accuse me of making things up or being too dramatic every single time.   


By the way, I’m not denying mental health problems. I just hate when my mom and her friends judge me without hearing my side of the story. They have no idea what I’ve been through. They also aren’t qualified to diagnose anyone! I think they’re the ones who need to get fucking diagnosed. They’re lead poisoned baby boomer bitches suffering from creepy dementia stares.

I literally can’t with the intense eye contact. It was like they were going to jump down my throat to snatch my fucking soul. 


My baby boomer haters love to judge me and call me psychotic. They never really got me or saw my potential anyway. Dare me to give a fuck. I don’t have to like anyone and nobody has to like me. If you constantly have to explain yourself you’re with the wrong people. I refuse to be manipulated into doing things I don’t want to do. I don’t care about what they think. I care about what I think! Those prude old fucks are going to die out soon anyway. 


Maybe people should focus on bigger global issues instead of worrying about what other people do or think. The state of our beautiful planet concerns me way more than keeping up with the joneses. 


My mom begged me to stop manically posting on social media. She told me that I was embarrassing myself, but I was really embarrassing her. Then she asked me to work on my mental health by getting evaluated. 


Whenever I brought that stuff up to her as a kid she denied me needing help. I asked her if I could get evaluated for ADHD when I was twelve and she said no. Her way of dealing with me was to keep me as busy as possible to get rid of my hyper activity. No time for rest. DANCE MONKEY DANCE!


I also asked her about bisexuality when I was around that age. She told me it wasn’t a real thing, it’s just something sad, confused people do, when they don’t know that they’re gay yet. 


If you were raised by an emotionally immature single parent who didn’t listen to you, I know that your needs were not met. Let’s be real. I raised myself with help from my generous friends and extended family members.


My mom kept comparing me to Maggie. She said I recognized issues with her, but not within myself. Pretty bold of that bitch to think she knows what I’m thinking about. I noticed similarities, but there were also big differences. 


Maggie dreamed of being a rapper, but never released any raps. She refused to get a job or leave LA for the longest time. That’s how she ended up on the streets. She had to figure out other creative ways to make money, which got her back on her feet. If she could recover from her rock bottoms I could too. 


I had big goals that also seemed delusional to people, but I worked towards them and focused on making money. I’ve spent years writing, taking pictures, and creating art! My mom always acted like I had no intelligence, income, or talents. Being around people who put me down was detrimental to my mental health and wellbeing. The people who complained the most about my depression and anxiety issues were the ones who ignited them.     


Comparing me to the woman who used me, by making me work her job, while she collected the paychecks was such a low blow. I know I can be a crazy bitch, but I’ve never taken advantage of people like that. I’ve been working hard my entire fucking life! That’s HOW I reached burnout. She’s the one who’s like Maggie. Both of them pocketed money that should have gone to me! 


It was horrible having my mother smear campaign me to all of our mutual friends and family members. Luckily, my time at TMZ taught me that people spread rumors about people that they are jealous of all the time. My mother can gossip and lie about me all she wants. I’ll stay unbothered like a famous celebrity dealing with tabloid rumors. Most famous people ignore rumors or they address them through creative projects (like tv shows, books, podcasts, blogs, tik toks, or movies).


My biggest hater and my biggest bully has always been my mother. She has isolated me from my friends and family members. She has gaslit and lied to me. She spread smear campaigns against my name and character. She has refused to respect me or my boundaries. She even stole money from me!


Her smear campaign against me was brutal, but it showed me people’s true colors. Friends that I considered family were haters and enemies in disguise. Now I refuse to hang out with those close minded unintelligent old ableists. 


I read through my journals and made a list of all the things my mother has said and done to me over the years. Seeing everything written out on paper made me realize just how horrible our relationship had been. I cut my mom out of my life for good, blocked her on everything, and never looked back. 


Realizing that my mom was the evil villain in my life took a really long time. She had provided me with food, an education, experiences, and a roof over my head. She never hurt me physically, but the emotional damage was real. I had to banish that bitch from my life for good. 


Cutting shitty people and places out of my life was an amazing decision. No more forced holidays, parties, or any of that bullshit. I finally had the true freedom to be myself! Whatever the fuck that means. 


Seattle was not working out but I tried to force it to. Kali was kind enough to let us stay for longer than expected. My friends offered to let me move back to their horse farm in Georgia while I figured things out AGAIN. 


I kept on repeating patterns within patterns within patterns.  


The hardest part of moving around was saying goodbye to all my animal friends. I missed all the bears in Tahoe, all the pigs in Hawaii, and all the crows in Seattle. I was happy to be reunited with all my horse friends back on the farm again. 


It was difficult to find jobs or rentals anywhere. The car I bought wasn’t running well so I sold it back to the company I purchased it from. My entire life was like a dumpster fire that needed to be shoved into the ocean. I was so fucking lost. Such a fish out of water, especially in the south. 


I photographed a few all black weddings while I was in Georgia. The people who hired me obviously expected me to be black. That’s happened so many times throughout my life. When I walked into the first wedding I went up to the bride and was like “Hey, I’m Danica, your photographer.” She drunkenly yelled to her family “THE PHOTOGRAPHERS HERE. HER NAME’S DAN-ICK-UH NOT DUH-NEE-KA!” Her brother immediately ran into the room like “Oh shit, what up snowflake?!” Then he was like “Actually, Imma call you Elsa.” They asked me to take pictures of all the food, except the Bojangles fried chicken bags in the corner. They smoked me out and gave me some watermelon and cognac before their super serious religious southern baptist ceremony. It was so intense. The preacher was like “Thou shall not sleep in a bed without one another for the rest of your lives! Praise Jesus Hallelujah!” After the event I took some family photos and the bride invited her eighteen children and nine baby daddies up on stage. I thought, yeah she’s not going to be in the same bed as that dude for the rest of her life. 


One of the other all black weddings I shot was for a throuple! Only two of the men were able to get married legally, but everyone knew their unicorn, who was very involved with the wedding. Their reception was so much fun! One of the grooms was a Jamaican dancer, who insisted I twerked with him while taking pictures. I had the best food, made some new friends, and got to dance with a bunch of fun queer stoners. 


I love traveling and learning about different cultures. I really enjoyed and appreciated experiencing southern black culture, food, music, and dancing. I fucking love Jamaicans, they know how to have a good time! Even though I was the only white girl in many situations, I felt welcomed. The jokes about my race were playful and silly, even when I got called DAN*GGA instead of DANICA. I witnessed a lot of racism in the south, but experienced the most directed towards me while living in Hawaii. Haole life! 


Overall I enjoyed the south way more than I expected, even though it’s not the right fit for me long term. 


Back in the day I couldn’t wait to leave California, but my travels made me really miss and appreciate it. I had no idea just how privileged I was, until I left all my connections and resources behind. 


Even though I love spending time alone and solo traveling, I learned that having quality friends is so important. In fact, it’s essential to my mental health and wellbeing. Spending too much time in isolation made me really fucking weird. 


I missed being creative with my favorite people! Don’t even get me started on how homesick I got for good quality weed, beaches, and Mexican food. I even missed Hollywood show business! My celebrity gossip media break was much needed at the time, but I wanted my hobbies back. I ended up binge watching so much trash tv it was like opening up a floodgate. Back to being a Bravo Bitch after going full monk mode. Instead of doing a complete 180 I did a full 360 and got back on my bullshit. As if I would miss Scandoval!


My friends that own the horse farm also own apartments all over Orange County. They hooked me up with a place in Huntington Harbor and they gave me a car! It was such a beautiful reminder from the universe that family doesn’t have to be blood. 


When I was leaving their farm in Georgia I saw a bunch of dead deer right by where I hit one with my car years before. Was it just a coincidence or a sign from the universe? I took it as confirmation that I need to help animals and move on to the next chapter.


Adventuring the United States made me grateful to be from Orange County, but returning immediately reminded me why I left it behind. My first night back I balled my eyes out, because I couldn’t see any stars in the sky. 


My new apartment was close to the fancy waterfront house that I grew up in as a kid. When my parents got divorced, we lost everything. My mom and I moved to a trailer park in the Newport Back Bay, which was right by my new beach job at Newport Aquatic Center. We moved into a house in Huntington after some trailer, hotel, and house hopping... but I basically grew up on the beach. Being back there was such a walk down memory lane. Back to being a beach bitch! 


While I was back in the OC I decided to meet my biological father for the first time. My mom smear campaigned and villainized him, which I totally believed for years, until she did the same shit to me. Meeting him tripped me out, because we were so much alike. We had similar faces, eyes, hands, mannerisms, and personalities. He loved talking about planetary alignments, astrology, energies, and other healing modalities. Meeting him felt like some sort of full circle moment and it answered so many questions I didn’t know I had. I didn’t expect him to have such a grounded woo woo astrology vibe. It made sense that my mom was triggered by my spiritual beliefs after meeting him. 


My dad told me a story about when he was a football player. He was face down in the mud and he didn’t want to get up. When he finally summoned the strength to get back up he scored a fucking touchdown. He reminded me not to quit right before things get good! I always want to give up just before my manifestations come to fruition. Trust me it’s best to power through. 


Both of my parents have good and bad qualities like most people. Neither of them are angels or demons, they’re just humans. Good or bad it’s probably smart to decenter your parents from your life. Live your life for yourself, not for other people, even if they’re blood. There’s no need to live under control. 


Working in the boating industry felt like being a half ass lifeguard half ass sailor. When I hoisted up chains and ropes or rinsed things off on the wash deck I heard the scores of Spongebob and Pirates of the Caribbean playing in my head. I curse like a fucking sailor, so I might as well just be one.


It was my job to rent, maintain, launch, clean, and steer a variety of boats like surf skis, kayaks, or canoes. Being around a bunch of outriggers gave me a little taste of aloha. I kept meeting Hawaii loving haoles there, that only lasted six months on the islands too. We strived to live aloha, despite living in overcrowded Orange County.


My coworkers were a bunch of fun, young, hot college aged dudes. Part of me kind of wanted to run a train through the place. I had the fattest crush on one of my coworkers who was way younger than me. It totally reminded me of my cougar days up in the mountains of Lake Tahoe. Once again I was accepted as a homie, even though I was the only elderly female. Most of my coworkers were stoned surfer dudes, but some of the guys were competing to be in the fucking Olympics. 


Being around driven competitive people was so inspiring. They reminded me that most humans are scared of going after their goals, so there isn’t really that much competition out there. Especially if you’re in a niche art or sport. 


I had so much fun cruising around the back bay in launch boats with hot dudes. It was like being in an episode of Outer Banks. I considered leaning into the look by going platinum blonde and getting bigger boobs Baywatch style, but that was out of my budget. I thought about finding a yacht daddy, but quickly remembered how much I hate people. Especially creepy old men. 


Even though I loved hanging out on the beach all day with hot young guys, that job wasn’t the right fit for me. No job is the right fit for me. I can’t hold a fucking job. I’m a nomadic artist that needs to explore and create! Why be in a fucking city when I could immerse myself in nature? Instead of swinging between lifestyles I should learn to find balance. Journaling made me realize how many times I need to relearn something before it fucking clicks. I knew that I wanted to be an artist and stop working dumb ass jobs, I just needed to fucking do it already. As soon as I stop standing in my own way, it’s over for you bitches. 


When I first ditched Orange County I was afraid of leaving my childhood friends and family behind. The new friends that I made there and on the road ended up being way more compatible with who I really am, compared to who my mother raised me to be. Going back to my hometown made me realize just how much I had changed over the years. I completely outgrew most of my past friendships. I didn’t know how different I became until I saw some people from my past react to the new me. “Why are you dressed masculine? Why aren’t you wearing any makeup? Are you okay?” Why don’t you shut the fuck up and mind your own business. People think Californians are assholes and now I understand why! It’s because we are. 


I’ve experienced more homophobic and transphobic comments in my hometown Huntington Beach than anywhere else in the world! And I’m not even trans! I’ve just had to hide my femininity to protect her.


Some of my childhood friends went in different directions, but we landed on similar paths in the end. The Catholic schoolgirl to drunken party slut to new age spirituality pipeline needs to be studied. My friend Emy and I both went through those cliche series of events, which ignited spiritual awakenings, health problems, and creative endeavors. For the longest time Emy didn’t drink alcohol or have sex, but she finally ditched Catholicism for reiki and mushrooms. She still believed in God, but in a more spiritual way. Over time she developed some magical abilities like remembering past life memories, reiki energy healing, psychic visions, manifestations, and numerology. Our friends from the past judged our beliefs and questioned our sanity. Even though we both outgrew many past friendships, we were lucky to have each other. It’s nice to have some friends with like minded beliefs and interests. In our spare time we went to yoga and breathwork classes. We also got to explore some plant medicines, healing modalities, and spiritual conspiracy theories without passing judgment. 


Emy was also raw doggin some undiagnosed ADHD. The western medical industry sketched both of us out, so we started trying out different herbal remedies to help tame our symptoms. 


Mushrooms are magical! Reishi, Lion's Mane, and Psychedelic Mushrooms have helped me control my mood swings, anxiety, and depression issues. Some mushrooms can even break down heavy plastics that are destroying our planet. Even though I was able to cure my health problems with nature, I decided to visit a professional doctor anyway, just to hear them out.


I got a psych evaluation from a psychiatrist who works with people that have  schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. He told me that I was completely normal. I didn’t believe him, there had to be something wrong with me. He assured me that my parents were the real problem, not me. I wondered if I masked too hard in front of him. By the time I got help I was fine, it’s not like I was in the middle of a psychotic breakdown while I was talking to him. I wasn’t completely stable, but I also wasn’t unhinged. I could be crazier!! FOR THE SAKE OF ART!! FOR THE SAKE OF THE PLOT!!


Most of my friends, family members, and co-workers thought that something was wrong with me. My doctors said that there was nothing wrong with me, except for the fact that I sounded like an anxious hypochondriac that was surrounded by the wrong people.  


I decided to learn more about healing plants like Traditional Chinese Herbs, Ayurvedic Medicine, Ayahuasca, Weed, and Magic Mushrooms. Consuming plants deepened my connection to my higher self and the nature of our universe. 


Disorders and mental illnesses are created by humans. People are inventing new ways to diagnose, drug, and take advantage of others. There is no right way to be human. We need to embrace differences and enjoy being original. 


In my typical fashion I poured green hair dye all over my head and manically quit my job soon after starting it. I wondered if my art career would ever take off or if I’d be job hopping for the rest of my life. Tiktok comments reminded me that colorful hair is autism in denial. 


My generous family friends helped raise and support me throughout my life. They fed me, put a roof over my head, bought me a car, and so much more. Unfortunately they remained friends with my abusers, even after I explained what they put me through. Relying on people who entertain my enemies was not good for my mental health or wellbeing. I didn’t realize how fucked that situation was until I had to explain my circumstances to someone else. I felt like I had to get the fuck out of there as fast as possible, even though I had just arrived. Moving back home was a huge mistake, but it was the closure I needed to fully move on. It made me realize who my real friends and family are. Generous and loving people aren’t necessarily the best to be around. Be careful who you accept gifts from, because they might secretly be grooming or manipulating you. Sometimes generosity can come with ulterior motives. 


Once again I packed up my things, grabbed my cat, said some goodbyes, and hit the road. I had barely any money and nothing lined up. Just some faith in myself, my skills, and the universe. Part of me was low key terrified that I made a horrible mistake. I could’ve really fucked myself over. I could have easily ended up homeless on the streets. For some reason I continued to follow my intuition even though she’s messy, impulsive, and reckless. Of course I was also following guidance from the universe. While I was leaving Orange County I called my adoptive dad Clark to say goodbye and tell him about my situation. He gave me a thousand dollars which immensely helped me move on to the next chapter.


Throughout my life I’ve always felt drawn to Big Sur. Whenever I had a bad show or audition back in my Hollywood days I would drive up the coast with some black coffee, weed, and a pack of cigarettes to get away from it all.


Living in Big Sur seemed like an unrealistic fantasy. It’s remote nature, with no cell service, and some lonely billionaire glass mansions. I doubted that I could afford to live there, but I went anyways, because why the fuck not? 


I slowed down to the pace of nature and spent time with her. I played in the river, hugged trees, and touched some fucking grass. Then I prayed to God for a fucking miracle to pull through. 


When I got to Big Sur I stopped at a cute little campground with cabins that was nestled in the redwood forest along the river. I asked the manager if he was hiring when I pulled up to the gate with Lando riding shotgun. I told him I was interested in work that provides pet friendly housing. Long story short he gave me a super chill job and a cute little cabin in the woods. It had epic nature views that were filled with wildlife action. Lando and I loved watching the foxes, skunks, and mountain lions roam the hills behind our back porch. 


My new job was to sell firewood, marshmallows, and hot chocolate at the camp store. It was fun, easy, and had tons of down time. So I got to work on my own personal art projects while I was on the clock! 


Having a job with free rent gave me the opportunity to fully get back on my feet and break out of survival mode. I paid off debts, got insurance, booked doctors appointments, and launched an online art shop business. I was able to completely turn my life around for the better in just a few months. All of my health problems disappeared once I fixed my finances and removed the toxic people from my life. 


I stopped ruminating over the past. I quit self diagnosing and replaying old stories. I refused to hang out with people that make me feel like shit. Then suddenly my health got better. I was genuinely healthy and happy for the first time in a long time. 


Big Sur is a sacred, magical, healing place. I buzzed off all my hair, ate a bunch of magic mushrooms, went skinny dipping in the river, and finally finished writing this shit. Of course I want to tell you all about the local myths, legends, locals, and lore… but I’ll leave those stories for another chapter, because I’m still enjoying experiencing it!


I’m grateful for our magical universe filled with entertaining characters. I’ll continuously keep falling in love with nature all over our beautiful planet. Big Sur is an amazing home, but I’ll continue to go wherever the wind takes me.


CHAPTER XIII: LEAVE HER WILD

My difficult odyssey has been rewarding and informational. It opened up my heart and mind. Each experience helped me grow, progress, and evolve. I’ve learned how to embrace the highs and lows of each chapter and enjoy life as a series of adventures. 


I used to wonder why so many things happened to me, but maybe those things happened for me. Lessons can be blessings in disguise. It’s all about perspective. I see myself as a spiritual being with a divine path and purpose.


Life is messy and unpredictable, that’s just how it is. Not everything makes sense and it doesn’t have to. I’ve epically failed so many times. Holding on in an attempt to force things to work led to depression and anxiety. Luckily I had enough self compassion and confidence to continue to change my life. 


Moving around and trying new things helped me heal and accept that most things don’t go as planned. If something doesn’t work out for me I’ll just find something else. There’s a whole fucking world out there! We can change the planet when we change ourselves. 


Of course my issues followed me wherever I went. It’s like I was looking for something wrong with everything everywhere (myself, people, and places). Traveling and journaling showed me my patterns which helped me fix some toxic habits. Nothing is perfect, everything is flawed, but that’s what makes things interesting. 


I thought my unfulfilled dreams would leave me bitter, but going after them made me realize which goals are really worth it. Putting in solid effort helped me see what is or isn’t meant for me. 


Most dreams are unrealistic fantasies that sparkle brighter in our imaginations than reality. Pursuing goals can be such a reality check. Detaching from outcomes is true enlightenment. It’s a blessing in disguise when things don't work out. If I got everything I wanted right away my life would be so fucking boring. 


I’ll keep writing and editing the story of my life until I love it. Not everyone will understand my path and they don’t need to. Why surrender to being normal? There’s no need to do things by the book when you can write your own fucking book. 


I’ve endured a series of feasts and famines. Everything always makes better sense later on down the road. Losing everything taught me what is really important. It was a complete strip down, but not in a sexy way.


Nothing THAT bad happened to me. Sure there were hard times, but I was able to get out of every difficult situation. If I’m ever in a place that’s wrong I can keep moving on. I will always find beauty in nature everywhere. 


The place you live, the job you have, and the people you surround yourself with have a dramatic impact on your life. My mental health, depression, and anxiety symptoms vanished once I removed myself from bad environments. 


If you ever need to make moves and speed up your manifestations, get rid of whatever's in your way! Sell your car, furniture, and unnecessary items. Release toxic habits, jobs, or friendships. Cut out the old to make way for the new! 


Sometimes I do crazy shit, just for a good story. Everything is art and we are all artists. We are all playing our own roles in society. It’s up to us to decide how we want to portray our own characters. We style our bodies, homes, images, etc. Why not throw in a little plot twist here and there?


Going through a series of spiritual awakenings felt different than I imagined. I’m grateful I continued walking down the path towards self discovery. At first I thought I was losing my mind but the whole process became more understandable with each transition. I needed space and isolation to deal with every new chapter and perspective. Most of my friendships from the past fizzled out. I made room for like minded characters to enter the scenes. When I ate clean organic fruits and vegetables from the earth I felt healthier and more spiritually aligned. I got pretty particular about almost everything, especially how I spend my time and energy. Most people will never have access to my body, mind, or space. I gave up lots of shallow people and materialistic possessions for quality time with nature. Grounding practices connected me with the moon and stars. I learned how to sit in the present, meditate, write, breathe, and simply just be. Most entertainment like shows, concerts, movies, and celebrities lost their appeal. Spirituality woke me up to the realization that our societies are fucked and citizens are brainwashed. 


Humanity desperately needs a makeover. We need to evaluate the state of our planet and make adjustments. As a whole we need to learn lessons, let go of toxic shit, and create something new. We need to get rid of what has been to make room for what will be. We need a global revolution. 


Luckily we are the authors of our realities, so we can switch up the plot and characters whenever we want! There’s a lot of crazy shit going on out there, but we have the power to create positive change. 


I’ll continue to share my fucks ups, even if they make me look bad. They can be entertaining and somewhat educational. Perfect is so fucking boring. I’ve watched enough reality tv to know the juicy parts of my story. 


Obstacles can be transformational lessons. 


If you don’t keep growing you’ll die! 

That's just how nature works.