Hello, world and welcome to my diary.

I know, I know. Why bother with Word Press when I can more easily and economically pour my feelings into a paperback notebook? (I hear Staples is having a sale). But, I have come to believe, perhaps presumptuously, that my thoughts, troubles, and secrets might resonate with some of you, and perhaps provide you with some company or comfort.

So, I have made the executive decision to upgrade from chicken scratch to Times New Roman and go public. Scary stuff, folks.

You will get to know me well through these blog posts, probably more intimately than you would like. But allow me to give you the Spark Notes.

From the outside, my life looks pretty fucking perfect, as I am often reminded. I am a 20-year-old New Yorker with a loving family, favorable genetic makeup, fat bank account (thanks dad), and abundance of opportunity. Just last week, a friend looked on longingly and mumbled, “you have everything”.

Yet, I have seen no fewer than six different therapists over the course of the last three years. I lack anything resembling self-esteem or self-confidence. And, brace yourselves, I am still a virgin (GASP).

How could this be? The answer to that question is a loaded one, and probably has more to do with brain chemistry and neurotransmitters than anything else. But I’d like your help trying to figure it out.

In return, I promise full disclosure and honesty. I promise raw content. And I hope that I say something that resonates with you–something that makes you realize that you are not alone, that there is hope (cheesy, I know).

Well, so long for now, friends. I’ll be back soon.