Matt Joseph Diaz

I’m about to be in the midst of a depressive episode. At times like these, I’ve learned to take a step back from social media. While I do ultimately believe social media is a force for good, a means through which we can connect to, learn more about, and inform one another, there’s a real problem with how mental illness is portrayed there.

"There is always someone who loves you. There is always someone who cares."

Impostor syndrome is a disconnect in your mind between how everyone sees you and how you see yourself. It can be more dangerous than it seems.

Instead of being allowed to exist as fully complex and sexual human beings, they’re relegated to being a tag in pornography. They’re seen as a guilty pleasure among those with “abnormal” sexual appetites, something to be viewed sexually in spite of their comparison to what we consider "the norm."

The “you” who opens their eyes in the morning isn’t the same “you” lays down their head in that bed that night. In those few hours of consciousness you have more exposure to life, you experience a world of compassion and cruelty that has the potential to change the trajectory of your entire life.

Not sure how to stay mindful about the motivations behind how you fuel and move your super rad bod? Allow Matt to explain:

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There’s almost definitely a better way to begin this, but I can’t think of one more appropriate. Growing up is really fucking weird. One day you’re having a great time arguing if Doctor Doom would beat Darth Vader in a fight (he would,) and next thing you know you’re worrying about taxes and whatever a “mortgage” is.

[CN: alcohol] Once we were in her apartment she grabbed me by the necktie, kissed me softly on the lips, told me to take my clothes off, and walked into her bedroom. Her clothing dropped to the ground piece by piece from where I stood to the bedroom — like some sort of Hansel and Gretel breadcrumb situation (if it were less creepy and filmed for Cinemax).

First of all, befriending someone and becoming their confidant while secretly yearning to get in their pants isn’t just fucking creepy, it’s manipulative. The girls I “befriended” opened up to and trusted me because I was patient, sensitive, and seemed to have their best interests in mind.