Growing up, my mother had always suffered from crippling depression and anxiety. The perfectly symmetrical scars on her arms were a constant reminder of her fragility. She said she fell in a rose bush, an utterly romantic story that I didn’t believe for one second. By the time I reached the ripe old age of 7, we stopped leaving our house, except for the occasional pilgrimage to the Church of Latter-day Saints or the Hardee’s drive-thru.
It had been her and me always: two life-weary women against the world, and every waking moment was dedicated to two screens — her eyes fixed to our old desktop computer, and mine to the television where I would view anything my spongy brain could absorb. Technology was our escape, and unbeknownst to me, our eventual salvation. While I was developing a slightly unhealthy obsession with Party of Five and Demi Moore films, my mom had found love in an AOL chat room for lesbians. Continue Reading….Source