“What’s wrong mom?” I asked. She ignored my question and continued to look ahead. Eventually we came upon a large building..

“Oh my god. I have bulimia face. Again,” I muttered, poking myself in front of my mirror. “Bulimia face” meant my face looked puffy

In that moment, my body was no longer mine; I couldn’t move or speak. He didn’t speak either. The only sound was his heavy breathing...

I released my hands as I realized I had been squeezing them tight around the barber’s chair. The best I could do to occupy my mind...

As I begin to tell you my story, please know that it is painful. Even so, I wish to do so for all the victims out there so that...

Isn’t it funny how we always stick a label on ourselves? From where we were born to what we do, somehow we always manage to tie a label...

Growing up in a very strict Christian family, I was expected to settle down and start a family. As I waited for Mr. Right...

I’ve often wondered what drove me to have those wicked thoughts of wanting to commit suicide. Did I, in fact, have a mental illness?...

To me, my father, my so-called “hero,” single-handedly ruined my life and my family, all over a personal dispute...

15 miles over in the town of Chilhowie. This is the place I consider my childhood home and where my story truly began...

They say that an angel’s wings are made up of the troubles of the souls they protect...

...Lagos, Nigeria, a sparsely over-populated city with a mix of lifestyles and cultures. It was like the America of Nigeria...

I guess it all started when my father got his big break. During his rookie years, the law firm he was working for had been given...

You see, I was born to be a free bird. Starting from a very young age, I was fond of traveling, socializing with others, and exploring...

...That person that put her own self through that suffering—but I can so easily flashback to how it felt, in those days, to be bulimic...

Growing up, I’ve noticed that many people, especially men, think they are entitled to a lot from a woman. They think they have the right...

But no matter where we lived, I was a smart high achiever. No kidding. We were a family of hard-workers and I loved going to school...

I was a very reclusive child and a runaway kid. There was already so much going on inside my head and I couldn’t handle the overload...

I remember one time my brothers and I had to avoid drops of blood splattered on the pavement that followed our path to school...

As one of my favorite poems says, “Thursday’s child has far to go.” I was destined to go afar...