When I got married my life changed forever. I was a drug addict and an alcoholic and my sweet Prince Charming was taking me on for life anyways. Even when I tried to give the ring back shortly before the wedding. He refused. His exact words were, “I want to create an environment where you can become the woman of God he created you to be.”

I know, ladies. Swoon.

And so I did it. I took the dive. Hurled myself down that aisle. Stood in front of somewhat bewildered friends and family (on both sides). Said all the vows. All of them. In front of God. You know, the Great I Am. Creator of Life. And I swore my allegiance to this smooth talking, tall drink of water...

Happy Holidays everyone. As this year comes to a close I sit here and realize that my neck feels broken. Whiplash from looking back on the last 12 months. All the things I had hoped for just one year ago. All the things that right now feel, for lack of a better way of putting it, wilted.

And who do I blame? Cause there’s a lot of that going on right now. Too much. In fact, it’s all I see. Everyone seems to be busying themselves with the work of pointing fingers. Laying blame.

The consensus? 1. The world is on fire and we are all going down. 2. If you don’t take a side, on whatever the issue may be, you are the problem. 3. All the people on the opposing side are sheep (Well, baaaaa, because by this formula I guess we are all gonna get eaten by the big bad Wolf), 4. Compassion and empathy has left the building, 5. We are now absolutely defined by our skin color, our sex, our religion, our sexual orientation, our voting record. Ad nauseam. Everything BUT our hearts.

Get a grip America...

First of all, I want to make something abundantly clear. I have mostly given up on the Presidential election at this point. I am in a full state of mourning. I am literally in the grave. That is where you can find me. RIP. Here lies Sarah Kallies. She once believed in Democracy...

I have no plans to vote for either candidate at this point. And it’s not because I don’t care. If anything, I care too much. And believe me, I have heard all the reasoning as to why this is idiotic.

Guess what? Bye Felicia. It’s my vote. I don’t care. Save your manipulation for someone else...

A child is a child is a child is a child a child. 

Sweet Omran, you are the face of war today. And I see you. Being pulled from the rubble. Sitting in shock and confusion. Your empty stare. And I want you to know that I am fully present in this moment. Instead of hopelessness, there is a fire in my belly that was started a year ago and it continues to grow. 

I was going to wait to post this until September 2nd. In honor of Alan. But now I see you, Omran. It’s almost been a year since I first saw his lifeless body laying on a Turkish shoreline. A baby, really, like my own. Since he grabbed a piece of my heart that I will never get back. Nor do I want to. Because he has taught me so much. 

That we are the same...

It’s been a little over 365 days since I first published those words. Since I decided to make my private life an open book. To start a blog with a story about wanting to commit suicide for the umpteenth time. You know, really bland stuff. Super low key. 

Welcome to the freak show, everybody.

The minute I chose to share my ugly little secret of being one of the wackadoodle folk with the world, was the day I became the victor. The boss. I finally had control. And suddenly, all those words were just that; Words. Tiny. Little. Invisible. Weak words.  

Instead I’ve become a wrecking ball in the fight against the stigma towards mental illness. I’ve had my meds changed twice this year and even my diagnosis altered. I still struggle daily, but for the first time in my life, I am ahead of this disease ...