CHAPTER V: ZEN AS FUCK

My hometown Huntington Beach was not too far from Hollywood, but it felt like a different world. It was nice to be back by the ocean where I belong. If smoking blunts on the beach is wrong I don’t want to be right. 

I got a job working at a waterfront hot yoga studio. My intention was to let go of the past and save money for the future. I spent most of my time taking pictures of plants, swimming in the ocean, stretching, and smoking weed. Moving to Hawaii became my next big goal, dream, and plan.

It’s crazy how much pain we store in our bodies. Most of the people in my yoga classes had a sad dark past that led them to their practice. Everyone was busy working through something on their mats. Yoga postures help release all sorts of built up tension. People would cry, fart, throw up, and faint in class. It was better to leave the pain on our mats than in our bodies. 

My constant self deprecating jokes landed great in Hollywood, but concerned my friends at the yoga studio. They didn’t appreciate my explicit vocabulary, but cursing was my favorite form of self expression.  

One of the yoga students kept talking about her spiritual awakening and third eye opening. She hoped I’d get to experience that too. At the time I thought she sounded bat shit crazy.

When I first started working at the yoga studio it felt like all of my chakras were blocked. Of course I tried to stay present, but my mind kept wandering towards people and places I wanted to forget. There were lots of crazy toxic patterns in my life that I needed to address and work through. 

Movement helped me move forward. Our minds and bodies are extremely powerful. It’s crazy to see how resilient and adaptable us humans can be. 

Yoga has helped me manage my stress, anxiety, and depression issues. It improved my flexibility, strength, endurance, immunity, and mental health. Meditation has helped me manage my thoughts, goals, and ideas. It has helped me develop a growth mindset, new perspectives, patience, and self awareness. Those practices improved my durability and ability to overcome failures or obstacles. They also helped boost my imagination and creativity.

It’s important for us to listen to our bodies and intuitions. Sure yoga and dance are my favorite forms of exercise and release, but that doesn’t mean those are the best workouts for everyone. When in doubt, just take a walk. 

All of our bodies, lifestyles, and goals are different. We can do whatever we want instead of what others tell us to do. Sometimes it feels really good to switch things up. Trying out different options is a great way to figure out what really works and what doesn’t work. 

I had such a fat crush on one of the yoga teachers, I took his class everyday. Slayter reminded me to breathe and let shit go. For some reason I really wanted to have sex with him. I think all the stretching, deep breathing, and sweaty little outfits really got to me. I was eager to get my creative mojo back, so I asked him to model for me. I took pictures of him surfing and stretching. In return he got me “flowers” aka weed. I asked Slayter how he knew my favorite type of flower. He said he could tell just by looking at me. 

Our friendship was ridiculously flirty. He would often touch my waist or hips while walking by me. For some reason I told him that I had a crush on him. Turns out he was dating someone else. Once again I felt like a total fucking moron for liking someone who was unavailable. It sucked that I fucked up my new favorite yoga class and weed connection so quickly. Guess it was probably for the best, because his kid was a three hundred pound varsity football player. I couldn’t imagine hanging out at his house with a gigantic child and his teammates. When I told my friends about Slayter they asked me if I planned on fucking the dad or his kid. 

The studio promoted me to manager, which made me his new boss. There was a major power shift in our dynamic. He loved being a yoga guru and was used to instructing me, so he kept mansplaining how I should do my job. It was so fucking annoying.  

One day all the other teachers bailed on their classes because mercury was in retrograde. Slayter was getting ready to teach while I sulked around in a bad mood. The yoga studio was calm unlike my stressful negative energy. 

When he told me how to handle the situation I barked back “STOP TELLING ME HOW TO DO MY FUCKING JOB!” Everyone stopped and stared. It felt like a scene out of a Seth Rogan movie. Most of the students were shocked and horrified. Slayter saged the room while I went to my car to smoke, cry, and calm down. We never spoke again after that. 

Marijuana is a magical plant. I’ve been on the verge of suicide, so I smoked, and it completely shifted my mood for the better. There’s so much stigma around weed, but I credit it for saving my life. Cannabis products make me a better, happier, calmer, nicer person. Judge all you want haters!

One night I went to In-N-Out in LA with a group of friends and a car came tearing down the street towards Andi. It did not stop. It should have killed him, but some sort of invisible force pulled him out of the way at the very last second. It was supernatural! It made me believe in the spiritual world. We wondered what saved his life. God? Angels? Ancestors? The Universe? I don’t know what the fuck it was. All I know is that there’s much more going on than what I can visually see. Was my third eye starting to open?

I was stoked when I got a photography job based in Hawaii! Unfortunately the pandemic hit around the same time, which totally fucked up my plans. There were strict travel bans, so the company revoked their offer, which forced me to put my dreams back on hold. Around that same time the yoga studio I worked at closed down which left me jobless again. 

Living back home with my mom during the pandemic was gnarly. I had no sense of freedom, space, or privacy. I had to sneak out of the house like a fucking teenager, even though I was in my thirties. 

COVID didn’t scare me, I was already numb. As a kid I would fantasize about getting sick or hurt. Maybe people would notice or care about me more if I was in the hospital. I had no lust for life. 

I loved the pandemic at first. COVID forced us to stop, rest, and reset. There were no overwhelming crowds and everyone respected each other's personal space. People were nicer, probably because they didn’t have to work. Oh and the sweatpants! I loved being cozy at home in sweatpants. Of course getting sick and losing my loved ones fucking sucked, but back then we had no idea just how crazy things were going to get.  

So many civilizations rose and fell over the years and it seemed like that time was coming again. Our political and societal systems were outdated. 

One of my yoga friends offered to give me a reiki massage. It was my first time, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was just eager to release the stored up pain and tension from my body. Somehow he convinced me to undress and relax. My naked body went limp when he rubbed me down with hot oils. I didn’t expect him to lick or enter me. I wanted him to stop, but it felt like I was under a hypnotic spell. Eventually I summoned enough strength to end things just before he could finish. I’m not sure why I didn’t stop him sooner. The sexual oils and traumas gave me a painful infection that left me feeling out of balance and control. Not all happy endings are happy endings. Did I get fucking reiki raped!?! 

Maybe it was empty consent? I didn’t want to be touched like that, but I also didn’t immediately stop him. I was in shock, drugged, or some sort of trance just going through the motions while feeling dead inside. I was frozen.

I spent weeks obsessing over what had happened. I paced back and forth while chain smoking tons of joints and cigarettes. I couldn’t stop replaying every traumatic sexual event in my mind. I knew that I would get blamed for dressing like a slut and posting nude pics on Only Fans. People would accuse me of “asking for it.” If someone dresses or dances like a stripper that doesn’t mean they’re a whore. Dressing sexy is not asking for sex. 

Even though I felt violated I blamed myself for some reason. I wanted to protect the person who assaulted me. I should’ve stood up for myself and said something! I should’ve stopped him sooner! I guess that fucking reiki didn’t unblock my throat chakra. 

I couldn’t even process what happened. There’s no way I could’ve talked to anybody, especially the police about it. They would’ve blamed me. I didn’t want to have to see his face anywhere ever again. Not even court.

That man was not a stranger. We had mutual friends and I didn’t want any of them to know about it. He had a healing yogi reputation and I was known for being a drunken gossipy party whore. Would anyone even believe me?

Male validation doesn’t mean that much. Most men would fuck a hole in a wall. I’ve heard that funeral homes avoid hiring men, because they’ll fuck the dead corpses. They creep on everyone including children, animals, and dead bodies. 

Masturbation and celibacy were better options than most of my past sexual experiences. I could give myself better orgasms with no pregnancy risks or regrets. Societal sexpectations made me feel the need to engage in activities that disturbed my body and spirit. I wondered if I was naturally a lesbian or just traumatized by men. 

It’s important to create boundaries and stand up for yourself. If you are nice all the time people will take advantage of you. Women have to be mean just to avoid getting raped or murdered. Being a bitch is a form of self defense. 

My doctor told me that I was physically the healthiest person she had ever seen… mentally, not so much. Probably because I came into her office with a long list of potential self diagnosed issues. 

I assumed that I was a manic, bipolar, autistic bitch with ptsd, borderline personality disorder, adhd, schizophrenia, eating disorders, and substance abuse issues. My doctor saw me as a depressed alcoholic hypochondriac. 

She gave me numbers for psychiatrists and rehab facilities. I ripped up her recommendations, threw them in the trash, and picked up an ounce of weed instead. Bitch you think I’m depressed? I’ll show you fucking depressed! 

It was the perfect excuse for an emo goth rebrand. I decided to only wear black or denim cruelty free outfits. 

Simplifying my vegan lifestyle gave me better health while helping animals and the environment. I became more minimalistic with my diet, thoughts, purchases, and possessions. That gave me more freedom, time, money, and peace. Minimalism helped me cut out lots of bad habits and people from my life. 

Anxiety is a natural impulse that warns us when something is wrong. My life was a fucking mess. It made sense for me to be anxious and depressed.

In Hollywood I wore lots of bright sparkly loud patterns, probably as an attempt to be seen. Most of my belongings were gifts or hand me downs from other people. There was no need to carry around literal baggage from people who were no longer in my life. I didn’t need visual reminders of the past all over my home and body. I got rid of everything. My old belongings no longer fit my lifestyle, so it felt refreshing to give them all away. People and animals in need would appreciate my old stuff more than I would. 

Who doesn’t love a manic makeover? 

Of course some scammers fucking robbed me around that same time. They told me that dad died and left inheritance for me. Since I never knew my biological father and was desperate for money I fell for their fucking scam. I fell for so many fake jobs and fake apartments during the pandemic. How the fuck was I still so gullible and trusting after so many toxic years in LA?

Anxiety can show up in so many different forms. I kept losing my temper, binge eating, deep cleaning, nervously laughing, burping, hyperventilating, throwing up, overdosing, fidgeting, interrupting people, yelling, obsessively organizing, deleting everything, bailing on plans, throwing things away, and repeating the same words. 

Getting raped and scammed led me into a full on breakdown. I couldn’t seem to get out of bed, work, or maintain any relationships. Smoking weed and sleeping were the only things I could bother doing. My health was BAD. 

Dying sounded better than doing most things. I just needed to rest and get better. Once again I reached burnout and assumed I was neurodivergent. Was I mentally ill or fucking traumatized? 

Most of my actions were pretty impulsive. I committed social suicide several times by deleting everyone on my phone and social media accounts. People probably assumed I hated them, but I just hated myself. Hopefully nobody took my mental health issues personally. 

My symptoms were a total wake up call. Time to evaluate. What did I do to cause those problems? What could I do differently to create better results? 

I asked my doctor if she could test my shit. My blunt requests shocked her. She couldn’t believe that I was back in her office self diagnosing again. I was struggling with severe anxiety, depression, nausea, vomiting, mood swings, sleeping, staying awake, and suicidal thoughts. My body told me it was time to change my life. 

Her eyes rolled back into her skull whenever she heard my medical theories. I thought that I had a crazy cat lady parasite that causes schizophrenia and cat obsessions. My doctor obviously thought that I was completely unhinged, but she tried her best to maintain her polite Canadian manners. 

Even though I had been through a lot I knew there had to be even more to the story. Something was causing all my symptoms. I didn’t really want to die. I wanted to start living!

When the lab results came back she told me that I had a parasite. I was embarrassed and disgusted when I found out, but at least it explained the root of all my health problems. Of course I wanted to have an I told you so moment for outsmarting the doctor, but I managed to act somewhat mature. I killed the parasites with antibiotics, papaya seeds, and pomegranate seeds. It's better to fix problems instead of just covering them up.

Parasites and infections feed off their host without providing anything in return. My health problems mirrored my life problems.  

I was mentally and physically ill. Being locked up at home during the plague didn’t help. Wallowing in my sadness didn’t make anything better. My manic crisis was a desperate cry for health and growth. Maybe I needed to get sick in order to get better. 

Whatever we think about most is what we become. When I obsessively researched mental health issues I developed worse mental health issues. 

It was time for me to shake things up and try something new. Life was way too stressful, stale, and stagnant. I needed to work on fixing my body, mind, and soul. 

I felt the need to reach out to my estranged biological father. It’s natural for people to want to know where they came from. Some people raved about him while others shit on his name. He got intense reactions out of people, which was a quality I recognized within myself. 

I heard so many mixed reviews about him over the years. I was ready to make my own opinions. There were too many unanswered questions. Was he dead or alive? Were we similar or different? Was he good or evil? Either way he helped create me! 

Are people really good or bad? Maybe everyone’s a mix of both. Most people have reasons to justify their actions, even if they don't really make sense to other people.

Talking to my stranger dad on the phone was kinda like speaking to a clone of myself. We had a similar cadence and sense of humor. He showered me with compliments. I could totally see why most people found him charming. 

My dad told me that I could swim before I could walk. He acknowledged that I’m an Aquarius who has always been drawn to water. It sounded like he had a healthy balance of fun and wellness in his life. He raved about all of my tv appearances and modeling work. Part of me wondered if he was just blowing smoke up my ass. I wanted to hate him, because he completely abandoned me, but part of me loved him! 

Even though it was just a quick little chat it helped me see things from a new perspective. I realized there are many sides to every story. Everyone had conflicting perspectives, so I’d never know the truth. My parents divorce was too long ago for me to fully remember, which is probably for the best. 

Searching for answers to explain the past was pointless. What happened happened. It was time to make peace with whatever the fuck and move on.

Starting over sounded sexy. My natural intuition told me to move away and swan dive into nature and creativity. 

If you don’t like something, you should change it. If you don’t have the resources to do so, you can make it a goal for the future.

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 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.