If you’re here because you’re fighting your own battle, pull up a chair.
You don’t have to clean yourself up to belong here.
This is a place for the messy, the tired, the wired, and the warriors who keep going anyway.
About Me
Welcome below the surface — where mental illness meets brutal honesty, dark humor, and the occasional endorphin-fueled epiphany.
I’m Sarah — Los Angeles native, artist/designer, and unwilling host to a handful of comorbid diagnoses: Bipolar II, ADHD, and chronic insomnia. For nearly four decades, my mind has been both my greatest asset and my personal hell loop. Days spent performing “normal.” Nights spent staring at the ceiling, wired with a brain that refuses to clock out.
On paper, my childhood looked good. In reality, I was drowning in guilt for suffering when I felt I had no right to.
It took me 27 years to learn that what I was battling wasn’t weakness — it was wiring. Chemistry. Neurology. A brain built like a fireworks factory with a broken off-switch. Neurodivergent is the new label, I guess — because “mentally ill” needed rebranding to make everyone else feel safer.
This blog is my rebellion against silence. My attempt to turn sleepless nights into sentences. My offering to anyone who feels too broken, too loud, too exhausted, too much.
Here’s the truth: some days I rise with resilience. Other days I drag myself forward powered solely by sarcasm and grit. If you’re here because you're fighting your own battle: welcome. You’re not alone, you’re not weak, and you’re definitely not hopeless.
As the quote tattooed on my spirit says:
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” — Plato
*Disclaimer: Everything written here is simply my truth—my lived experience trying to survive a brain that doesn’t play by the rules and a system that often makes things harder. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or medical professional, and nothing in this blog should be taken as medical, psychiatric, or professional advice of any kind. What works—or doesn’t work—for me may be completely different for someone else. I do not recommend or discourage any treatments, medications, or decisions about care. I share my story so others might feel seen, understood, or a little less alone.*