How I Found My Broken Hallelujah pt. 1 of 4

On the eve of the lunar new year, three days before my birthday, I finally threw out the jagged glass pieces of a mug that I had broken six months ago.I never thought it would take me six months to throw out a reminder of one of the worst nights of my life, but here I was.I held it in my hands one last time.I took a few pictures (even though I already had plenty.)I outlined the pink handle and some of the remaining pieces that were still intact with a charcoal pencil on my tracing pad, in case I wanted to create an art project later. (I’ve been super into Oil Pastels lately.)I carefully put the broken pieces in a plastic bag.I broke the mug even further — deliberately this time, for catharsis.And then I let every last piece go.I can tell you why that broken mug was one of my favorites in one sentence —Because it’s perfect.It’s the definition of “pretty girl avenue”: a gorgeous glass mug with a bronze/gold Barbie dream house on the front, and a perfect pink handle. I drank out of it nearly every day from my waterfront patio in San Diego.It also came in a set of two. I still have the other, identical, unbroken mug.So why keep the broken one for six months?Because of how it broke.Here are a few things that happened in the 24 - 48 hours before the broken mug incident.Taylor Swift got engaged, and my corner of the internet exploded.I somehow managed to not to scream at the reception desk I was temping at, when my best friend’s sister texted me the news. It was the biggest explosion of girlhood. My fifteen-year-old self was bursting at the seams.I wrote a spontaneous Substack piece about Taylor’s engagement, which went kind of viral thanks to threads.It was easily my most successful post in over a year. (You can read it here.) I landed on the Substack rising bestseller list. I welcomed many new followers on Threads and Substack. My phone was buzzing nonstop with comments from people resonating with what I wrote + general excitement.I was offered a new temp job that had serious potential to lead to something long-term.It ended up not working out, which is fine because I didn’t really want the actual job— I wanted the consistent income. But the possibility of it at the time was very exciting. (Want to hear something even more exciting? I ended up getting multiple gigs that I liked more, that paid even MORE than the temp gig.)My middle school bestie’s wedding was days away.I was excited, and perhaps a little anxious. I was staying with an incredibly generous friend of hers, whom I had never met before. I knew that I likely wouldn’t know a lot of people there. I also hadn’t been out of New York since last December, after a year of whirlwind travel to and from California.I had a bit of breathing room, financially, after being strapped for almost a year. Most of that money came from selling Hollywood Bowl tickets to see Jesus Christ Superstar. I was absolutely heartbroken, and I knew it was the right call. The tickets sold at the last minute, at a profit. I made my money back and then some. It was the biggest win I’d had in a pretty long time.So, that’s what was happening on the surface. Under the surface, though?The hardest summer of my life was finally coming to an end.The summer I accepted money from a friend to afford my antidepressant medications.The summer I paid for my groceries with $6 worth of quarters, from the AMC Elphaba Popcorn bucket where I stored tips from a toxic service job that I quit in the Spring.The summer I had some of the worst depression I hope I’ll ever have to endure.And after all that, here I was jumping up and down over Taylor Swift’s engagement, with money in my bank account, and tangible success to point to in my writing career when people asked the inevitable “so what do you do?” at the wedding.With all of these good things circling me, I think my nervous system got the memo that I could finally breathe.Enter: Panic Attack. Center Stage.Like always — everything was fine until it wasn’t.I spent the day manning the receptionist desk of a very cool, creative ad agency in Brooklyn, where I had been working for the last two-ish weeks. It was the kind of place where I might have an insanely busy hour or two, but most of the day was pretty chill. It was August in New York City, after all; the entire office