​It seems loneliness follows me everywhere.  It’s an extra layer of skin or pieces of my cells or part of the oxygen I inhale.  I don’t know, but it’s always there.  It’s made friends with my depression and I’ve become so used to it, I don’t know what my world would look like without it.  I’m not sure what I expected, moving to a new city by myself.  I know friends don’t magically appear in your life and it takes time to develop relationships, 

​Dear Los Angeles,

I love you.  I love you not for what you are, because at this point I find you quite intolerable, but for everything I learned because I lived within you.  I came to you three years ago, thirty-five pounds heavier and with dreams of one day utilizing the Oscar speech I’d rehearsed to the audience of my reflection wearing a bath towel gown.  I also wanted to fall in love, though that’s something I’ve wanted in every place I’ve lived.