I don't even know how to start this. I've sat here staring at my computer, trying to figure out how to write something that I've barely been able to say out loud without crying.

I don't just love. I over-love. I don't just spend. I overspend. I don't just eat. I overeat. And sometimes, the hardest person to control in my life is myself.

Listen. I am a firm believer that if you can't openly discuss your bowel movements with your boyfriend, your best friend, your mother, and several hundred strangers on the internet, then what the hell kind of relationships are you even maintaining?!

Because apparently, being myself wasn't chaotic enough. Now I want to learn how to professionally edit the chaos.

Ladies, have you ever fallen so ridiculously in love with a man that you accidentally enrolled yourself in approximately 47 extracurricular activities you never signed up for?

What is something you do when you're alone that you would absolutely DIE if another human being witnessed?

The other night, while lying on Jet's chest, I asked him what I thought was a perfectly normal, romantic question. "Babe, what would be your ideal date?"

Can we talk about Costco for a minute? Because I have some questions, concerns, and possibly a developing anger management issue.

This might be one of the most vulnerable things I've ever written. But maybe it's time we talked about the things we spend our entire lives trying to hide. I'm fat.

There is something about growing up in the 80s and 90s that I don't think any generation after us will ever fully understand.

But yesterday, I needed help. And something happened that probably wouldn't seem extraordinary to someone who's always been loved properly.

I have a confession. I am currently in several toxic relationships. No, not with people. With household objects.

Twenty-something-year-old me thought a weekend was wasted if I didn’t put on something mildly inappropriate, drink something neon-colored, flirt with someone I had absolutely no business flirting with, and stay out until an hour when respectable people were waking up to go fishing.

At some point in my life, I apparently looked around at my full-time job, relationship, house, family, dog, cooking, cleaning, laundry, bills, projects, and the approximately 47 tabs permanently open in my brain and thought: You know what I need? A fucking blog.