When I was 18, I painted words on my bedroom walls with black paint and sharpie markers. It was how I came back to myself, how I found a semblance of security during that strange period of life when you’re hovering between girl and woman. It was the summer after I graduated from high school, and I was working dinner shifts at a Texas Roadhouse. While my friends quit their part-time jobs and packed their cars for college, I stayed behind, claiming that I was “choosing” to take a year off to live at home and save money. The reality was that we didn’t have money for college, not after the 2008 recession.
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