First, a warning: if you have been experiencing extreme anxiety from over-exposure to coronavirus news, this piece is not for you. Please, first and foremost, take the space you need for yourself, and the care needed to get through these moments. Now. I am writing this to everyone else. Those…

I have been sitting down in the same place for two weeks without being able to write. Here is what I learned. — For the last two weeks, I have sat at this computer. Every day, at this time. In this place. And nothing has come out. Sure, a journal entry here and there. But even those have been almost pathetically short. Like a broken faucet, I turn the handle and nothing happens…

I quickly came to terms with my prejudice toward those who need government assistance — She had finally convinced me. “Elad, why on earth wouldn’t we?” my wife asked. “We need it. Our family. Me. Your daughters. You.” But there was some sort of mental block, something that was stopping me. It was ridiculous, of course. There had been moments when we needed help from…

I saw a lot of eyes last month. The most recent eyes: He looked so sad. Broken, almost. Even as he pushed me violently out of the room, I could see in his eyes that something in him was breaking, was in pain. I wanted to hug him, but I was focused on disrupting…

I finally understood my addictions when I acknowledged my sensitivity — One day, when I was in high school, my mother and I were arguing in the car when she said something I struggled to let go of for years: “You’re so sensitive.” Her words set me off because she had a point. Why did I get angry so much? Why…

One time, my mother and I were in the car. I think I was probably in high school, earlier on. Freshman or sophomore. She was exasperated. We had been arguing about something, as was pretty normal for that time in my life. I don’t remember what it was, but something…

I was sitting in a cafe with one of my best friends. He’s such a good soul. A person who has this light that he just can’t help spreading everywhere he goes. But this time, he was sad. Hurt, at least. As usual, he was masking it. Or, maybe it’s…

I used to write different things. I used to tell people how much they mattered, and I’d want to inspire them. I’d write about my mental health struggles from the past in order to validate their own experiences. I’d tell them about the power of creativity, and how it can…

It was Shabbat, and I was crying. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to talk to my wife about Orange is the New Black, a TV show about the lives of women in prison. I wanted to talk to her about the season I had just finished, season 6…