Posts Tagged: therapy

Voices on Addiction: A Conversation with Amber van de Bunt

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Amber van de Bunt discusses her debut memoir, OVERCOME.

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Intersecting and Diverging Narratives: Talking with Michele Filgate

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Michele Filgate discusses her forthcoming anthology, WHAT MY MOTHER AND I DON’T TALK ABOUT.

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ENOUGH: The Face of Zero

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A Rumpus series of work by women and non-binary people that engages with rape culture, sexual assault, and domestic violence.

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The Rumpus Book Club Chat with T Kira Madden

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T Kira Madden discusses her debut memoir, LONG LIVE THE TRIBE OF FATHERLESS GIRLS.

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The Rumpus Mini-Interview Project #161: Andrea Baker

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“I had to save my own life. I had the right to save my own life.”

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On Suicidal Ideation

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It’s not that easy. It’s never that easy.

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Smoke Screen

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I am an oracle who, while dispensing answers to all those who seek them, cannot predict my own future.

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A Lumpy, Misshapen Book: Talking with Elissa Washuta

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Elissa Washuta discusses her chapbook, STARVATION MODE.

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We’re All Unreliable Narrators: Talking with R.O. Kwon

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R.O. Kwon discusses her debut novel, THE INCENDIARIES.

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Hannibal Lecter, My Therapist

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In the dark, I felt at home in the underground bunker where the hospital stored its violent men.

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Splintered Doors

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This journey is ongoing. But I know this: my daughter will never have to break down a door.

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It’s All about Positionality: Talking with Kayleb Rae Candrilli

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Kayleb Rae Candrilli discusses their debut collection, What Runs Over, reclaiming memory through poetry, and the political act of being happy.

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Guns or No Guns: Mental Health Crisis in Schools

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I do the best I can to reach out to those I see isolated or disturbed, but I have to also be careful I don’t make myself a target.

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This Is What I Get for Wanting

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When I cried over the phone, asking him if he was dumping me, he said in his gentle voice, “Sweetheart, we weren’t really a thing yet.”

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Becoming Bodies

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[W]e wanted something different from each other’s bodies than what was actually there, which might be why our bodies sometimes came together.

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Unbound

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It’s always been ground glass, scraping against my insides. I imagine a light held to the place where I open would illuminate a mess of torn flesh, throbbing red-wet.

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