Hovering eyes made me believe that I was really something to be looked down upon. They made me believe that I deserved to be mistreated...

I caught him lying about money, women—you name it—and we argued about almost everything. One day, I asked him a simple question only to be

| This is the 564th story of Our Life Logs® | I was born and raised in Las Vegas in the 1960s as an only child. I had a wonderful...

I woke up choking on smoke. My eyes burned from the heat. My room was filled with thick black clouds. I tried to search for my walker...

Originally, my parents planned on filing for citizenship when they had the money. But, that’s the problem with raising four kids...

| This is the 558th story of Our Life Logs® | My name is Felicia, but people call me Foxy because my high cheekbones and dark chocolate...

As I watched my son get dirt on his clothes and static from the slide in his hair, I realized...

| This is the 552nd story of Our Life Logs® | As people, we like to believe that there’s something called “normalcy,” normalcy referring...

| This is the 551st story of Our Life Logs® | The year was 1981. I was fresh out of high school in Las Vegas, Nevada, and I had just...

It was a tough reality to come to terms with: now I had an opioid addiction ​and ​a global pandemic on top of that to worry about. I was

Everyone began viewing everyone else as suspicious—what if you have it? Are you the one that will get me sick? Are you like Typhoid Mary?

I even felt my dad betrayed me. Why did he even bother to sit and draw with me if this is what would happen in the end?

To understand my story, you must know a bit of my mom’s. Sherry, my mom, was only 16 when she had me, and while my father continued

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...

She named me Bradley Currie Jenkins, giving me her last name because her boyfriend, my dad, wasn’t interested with me...

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...

“But why?” This became the epitome of my childhood and the main source of migraines for my parents...

My mother had what some would call a “dirty” pregnancy, meaning my parents weren’t together and my father wasn’t in the picture...

I’m an athlete through and through, model year 1983...I was someone always in motion... But what happens when that motion is tested...

I worked hard to stop the well of tears about to gush out of me. I bit my lip to choke down the sob threatening to escape from my throat...