HERE’S WHAT MY FIRST YEAR WITHOUT ALCOHOL WAS ACTUALLY LIKE

Grey’s Anatomy. Being a hermit. Crying. Being horizontal and listen to sad playlists. Therapy. It’s all part of the sober glow up.

Today I celebrate one year living alcohol-free.

You won’t find a single mention of AA in this blog post because I never went (not knocking the program, just didn’t apply to someone like me). I also won’t throw around the word ‘willpower,’ or even try to sell you on the idea that you should explore your relationship with alcohol. You’ll know, in your gut, if you need to. Trust me.

However, you will find a whole lot of honesty about what it took to get to where I am now. Please keep in mind that everyone experiences sobriety and recovery differently, and this is just my account. If you are unsure of the difference between sobriety and recovery, I like how this article on PsychologyToday.com explains it.

With sobriety being a popular ‘trend’ right now, I always clarify that there’s a big difference between choosing sobriety and needing sobriety. I decided to stop drinking when things were going well for me and I know that is a privilege. Addiction exists on a spectrum – it’s not as black and white as we’d like to think it is (hence terms like grey area drinking).

I say all of this with the magic of hindsight.

MONTHS ONE TO THREE

I felt like I was on top of the fucking world. This wasn’t my first rodeo though, I’d been sober for two months straight before in 2018. Funny enough, at the start I thought I was only going to do 30 days dry, then as the first month went on, I read Sober Curious, and decided to *see* if I could stop altogether. Guess I proved myself right!

I was in a phase where I was feeling empowered to shape my life and make it look the way I wanted it to, so I figured “why not now?”

Even though my drinking had been a lot more mindful before I decided to halt things, it felt totally different this time compared to when I knew I’d only be boozeless for a set period of time. It felt like I had closed the book on a significant phase in my life and everything felt new and full of potential.

Cue montage of me reading all the self-help books, listening to motivational podcasts, decluttering my apartment, cooking, starting to watch Grey’s Anatomy, getting up early on the weekends and working out A TON. My on-again-off-again insomnia disappeared and I had orgasmic sleeps. I tried going on my first date since I quit drinking and it was nice, but I was awkward (it was way too early). I didn’t know how much to talk about it.

I kept myself really really really occupied. Grey’s Anatomy has 15 seasons guys.

I wondered a lot why everyone didn’t just stop drinking.

The hope and excitement of this new phase helped me navigate the cravings when they did hit me.

This was all likely possible thanks to my own little pink cloud.

MONTHS FOUR TO SEVEN

This was where my quest to stay sober changed into long-term sustainable change for me.

When the pink cloud drifted away I realized why people don’t quit drinking: because if you really want to glow up you’re forced to confront your own bullshit and address the reasons why you drank in the first place. Guess what? It’s a goddam shit storm.

It felt like I had been hit by a train, but the train was my own emotions. I knew I would never let myself back down from this challenge, but my performance during this time was definitely white-knuckling at its finest.

My insomnia also came back with an evil vengeance and I started masturbating a lot. I literally was on a quest for any serotonin I could….muster? Yeah that’s a good word choice.

I was depressed and wallowing in a lot of self-pity, but also wouldn’t admit I was struggling with my new lifestyle. I felt like the people in my life didn’t understand what I was going through because none of them had done what I was doing. I obsessed over alcohol and drinking when I did go out, and often felt overly self-conscious for no good reason. I started to feel like a burden to the people in my life.

I isolated myself, and when I did see my friends I was generally a bummer to be around. Cue montage of me crying two or three times a week, eating anything that came near me with sugar in it, bingeing Grey’s Anatomy, making a playlist full of sad songs (see below), spending a lot of time horizontal staring at things listening to aforementioned playlist and spending a lot of Saturday nights with my parents.

I had a lot of undirected rage inside me about the fact that I had to go through this while other people bopped along numbing problematically without thinking about it much at all. I was struggling, and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight or a quick and easy solution, so I just held on and plowed forward.

I told some acquaintances – not just the ones in my circle but also people I would grab coffee with and coworkers – with mixed reactions. I tried to date and it didn’t work out because I didn’t know how to make it work (gee, I wonder why).

I finally admitted I wasn’t going to get over this blockade on my own so I broke down, spent the money and went to counselling.

MONTHS EIGHT TO 11

I didn’t vibe with my first counsellor but I didn’t give up. I got another one. I saw her as much as I could. I did the homework she gave me. I realized a lot of the stuff I had to deal with I couldn’t blame on alcohol or other people, and instead had to stop acting like a victim all the time – a classic codependent trait as I learned. I focused a lot of time, practically all of my free time and energy, on healing.

I avoided dating and men as much as humanly possible because I didn’t feel like I could trust myself dating just yet.

I read books written by women about sobriety. I added people to my Twitter and Instagram timelines who don’t drink. I met more and more people like me and realized I wasn’t alone and this journey comes with its own set of unique challenges. I put myself to the test and started applying some of the healthy coping strategies I’d learned. Sometimes I failed, but when I succeeded it felt so so good.

I generally leaned into the idea that it was about time to lighten up. I also finished Grey’s Anatomy.

MONTH 12

I always knew I’d get here, but I was never sure what it would look or feel like. Are the urges gone completely? Nope. They still blindside me sometimes. But I can feel my way through them and understand them a lot better now.

For me, it looks like setting realistic goals for 2020. It looks like getting excited again about writing, giving back and practicing what I preach on Instagram. It looks like knowing what I’m worth in relationships and getting better at setting boundaries.

I feel like I have so much more growing to do, but I’m actually in the part where I feel like I can actually chill the f out and enjoy the journey.

I will tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this decision has changed my life trajectory completely.

Unsure if you are a social drinker, problem drinker or on a path to alcoholism? Read this.

Screen Shot 2018-04-01 at 12.44.18 PM

AMY WINEHOUSE WAS MY VULNERABILITY ROLE MODEL

I looked up to Amy in ways I shouldn’t have. Some people might believe that’s sort of fucked because of all her issues, but I truly know I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.

 

Amy Winehouse said, “I wouldn’t write anything unless it was directly personal to me just cause I wouldn’t be able to tell the story right.”

I still remember when one of my high school boyfriends broke things off with me. I think I was in grade 11. I spent all weekend watching her concert DVD and watching the 30-minute doc they made about recording Back to Black with Mark Ronson. She talked about falling in love with Blake and admitted to fucking it all up. She talked about lies and things being less than ideal by her own doing. It made me feel less alone every time I was in pain or did something stupid while drunk. It wasn’t the first or last weekend I shut myself in my house and did nothing but listen to her voice and words.

She was my role model. I looked up to her in ways I probably shouldn’t have. Some people might believe that’s sort of fucked because of all her issues, but I truly know I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.

To say I was a fan would be an understatement. I think I wanted to be her.

I owned Back to Black on vinyl and I never even had a record player. I watched every interview she had ever done well before she died about a million times each. I owned the only concert DVD she ever released. I bought a black Adidas sweater because I saw her wearing the same sweater in an interview (this was before athleisure came back in fashion). I read her biography a dozen times.

I can point to pieces of my past and personality and see her reflected right back at me.

The way I’ve ALWAYS done my eyeliner since the moment I started wearing makeup.

The way I say “yeah.”

The way I love playing pool like she did (I’m half decent actually).

The way I dealt with breakups with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

The cheeky way of talking.

The way I can’t help but be inappropriate sometimes.

The way I love jazz.

The way I used to dress (till I stopped wearing push up bras).

The way I never brushed my hair and wore it big. I still don’t brush it if I’m being totally honest.

The way I talked about myself.

The way I wished my eyes were just a little darker so they’d match perfectly.

The way I wear my heart on my sleeve.

The brutal blunt honesty in my writing.

She taught me authenticity because it just oozed out of her. Despite being someone who acted like she didn’t think very highly of herself, she couldn’t help but be anyone but herself. Before I ever opened a Brené Brown book, I listened to her music and learned what vulnerability looked like. I saw her using art to tell the stories of her life and make peace with them in her own way.

She’s also goddam ruthless, which you’ll know if you watch enough of her interviews.

Even then, there was something about what she created and how she embraced her messy, aggressive nature. She was never quoted saying anything good about herself, but she was always honest even when it maybe made other people uncomfortable.

She just…wasn’t guarded. You can tell she literally didn’t know how to be. If you watch any interview with her you can see her emotions all over her face, in her expression and through her eye contact and body language. If she didn’t want to be there you could tell. If she was upset you could tell. If she didn’t like the questions she was being asked you could tell.

There were a total lack of walls, which you could argue hurt her in some ways, but made her utterly unforgettable in others.

She’s a beautiful singer and songwriter, yes. She was volatile, yes. But what she really taught me was about putting it all out there. Ugly stuff and all. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a great role model for kindness or dealing with your problems and pain the healthy way, but that’s ok. Nobody is perfect, and she never tried to pretend she was.

I remember where I was when I found out she died. I was sitting in class and my friend texted me and asked me if I had heard. I didn’t think it was true. I had been following her in the news because I had heard she was going to put out a new album soon. When I saw my friend later that day and she confirmed it I started crying right then and there. I don’t even think I could fully appreciate the impact she had on my life until I became an adult.

I grew up believing struggle was part of being a creative. Believing alcohol was part of being a strong saucy woman. Believing being raw, direct, uncensored and borderline offensive or difficult was charming. Believing relationships had to be difficult, rocky and messy. Believing destroying your own life was part of living your life.

Then she died. Way too young. And I realized then, and even more now, that she taught me so many amazing things, but also so many destructive things. You never get the sense that she’s overly happy about being famous.

View this post on Instagram

Amy Winehouse at the Union Chapel in London, UK. November 24, 2006 📸 Photo by: Jill Furmanovsky __ Photographer Jill Furmanovsky recalls, — "I took live photos of Amy Winehouse for MOJO Magazine at Union Chapel in 2006. She seemed particularly happy that night and made references to a loved one (Blake) who was in the audience. I asked Amy if she cared if I took a quick picture. The road crew was loading and a cold wind blew through the open stage door Amy did not care, she forced herself to stand against the wall in the hallway, raising her head to catch the light while the autumn leaves blow." — Jill __ #AmyWinehouse #AmyNeverDies #JillFurmanovsky #Uk #RockPhotography #RockArchive #UnionChapel #2006 #Photo #BlackAndWhite #Amy #Icon #Legenday #AmyWinehouseNeverDies

A post shared by Amy Winehouse Ⓜ (@amywinehouseuk) on

Like I’ve said before, when you don’t like yourself very much it’s easy to spot in others. I could never shake the feeling that she was incredibly insecure, despite being so bright and amazing. I used to read it as being humble, but I don’t believe that’s what it was. I believe it was self-loathing.

She may have had a shaky personal life, but you could always tell writing and performing was the one thing she truly loved. We all need a thing, but sometimes it’s not enough.

It’s not a coincidence that I believe the most powerful, deep, soul touching writing comes from a very personal place. Just like the way she felt about music. She didn’t give a shit about being famous, or being well-liked, she just wanted to tell her stories and make her vision come to life.

You can judge her. You can pity her. You can love her the way I do. You can listen to her music. And you can learn from her. But truthfully, the world will never forget her and her music because she’s unforgettable.

She made me feel seen. She made me feel less alone. She made art and music that made me realize that you can put your everything out there, but you have to be strong enough to handle the criticism that goes with it. Resilient enough to handle the hatred for being different. Love yourself enough to know that you have to live with your fear and love it to death instead of trying to silence it because that’s courage.

I related to her. Her aura. Her dark nature. Her sadness. Her regret. Her flirty self-concious energy. Her way of brightening up other people’s lives but seemingly not being able to turn the light on for herself because she couldn’t locate it.

The way she so obviously went against the grain, almost sometimes seemingly just to piss people off but really because pain speaks volumes. She’s why I feel compelled to write about my own fuckups. But there’s one thing I really think she missed in some of her art, which was the gratitude and light parts of life. I would have loved to hear more from her about the good. That’s one thing we didn’t have in common, but I do believe if she had stuck around a little longer she would have found a way eventually to make art that didn’t come from a place of low self-worth.

She wasn’t the hero I was ever supposed to have, but we can’t help who we fall in love with. Being proud that her art and life (from afar) was part of my journey, and writing about that journey, is something that only Amy could have taught me how to do.

Please do me a favour today, and everyday, and remember that addiction doesn’t discriminate and sometimes there are factors in people’s lives that add kerosene to the fire. Not everyone has the tools and what it takes to extinguish that flame.

Screen Shot 2018-04-01 at 12.44.18 PM

ON REALIZING THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY: FORWARD

I’ve finally figured out how to describe what it feels like to go from who you were before to the vivid, sparkling present. It kinda feels like a form of…grieving?

I couldn’t find a photo I liked for the header so please enjoy this photo of me from Grade 7 when I still had a unibrow but didn’t really know *how* to pluck it and only wore black t-shirts because I always had sweat stains. Simpler times.

I’ve always had a habit of talking about who I used to be. Especially when I would go on  dates, which, as my counsellor has pointed out to me, isn’t really relevant to who I am now.

It’s no secret. I have a lot of regrets and pain in my past which is why it’s such a *subject* for me. I mean, I’m writing a book about some of the stories FFS.

I’ve spent WAY too long ruminating it and letting things that happened years ago dictate how I would feel about myself on a day to day basis. I’ve allowed regret to make me feel like a Bad Person. I don’t know when, but at a certain point I have accepted and fundamentally acknowledged that my past is a part of me, but it isn’t *me* anymore.

So I asked myself the other day, at what point does the past intersect with the present?

When does the ‘before’ become the ‘who I am now’?

And how do you know when you’re internally shifting from one to the other? How do you know when it’s over?

View this post on Instagram

I only have a handful of photos from when I was a teenager because I didn’t have Facebook until I graduated high school. I almost completely erased them all or lost them over the years. This one is from 2008. In most of the pictures of myself from this time I am drunk, and if I recall correctly, this photo is no exception. I couldn’t bear for many years to look back and reflect on this time I spent struggling, feeling misunderstood and trying to fit in. It would always bring back a flood of memories about eating disorder recovery, depression, therapy, pain, binge eating, drinking till I blacked out, heartbreak and academics. Even typing this I still remember sitting in a bathroom stall scratching the skin off my knuckles till they bled. I remember shutting my parents out. I remember having my first panic attack. I remember believing that I was only in university classes in high school because I knew how to work hard, not because I was smart. But I also remember wearing a hoodie with a tall collar to cover up hickies, winning an award for having the highest grades, setting the carpet on fire in the drama room, making out with boys in forests and under bridges, fighting with my one of my best friend’s and making up in a food court (thank god @jocelynhummelt ), getting an underage drinking ticket, writing a 30-page screenplay, giving people who tried to cheat off me the wrong answers and being an unpaid production assistant on sets 😂 I haven’t always been able to look at photos like this one and remember both sides of the same period of my life. The parts that make me laugh and the parts that hurt my heart. I know it’s the magic of hindsight, but also I’ve learned that you can’t have one without the other. I still have both sides in me and that’s ok. I was messy, deep, loud, raunchy, creative, all over the map and over the top then, and I still am now. I wouldn’t change any of it.✨☺️✌️#10yearchallenge #throwbackthursday #tbt #teenagerposts

A post shared by Raegan (@raegjules) on

Grief is associated with death. Which totally makes sense. But I think it also can be a way to describe the natural response loss or perceived loss, not just of someone or something you loved, but of anything. I’ll give credit where credit is due – I started thinking about grief differently when I read chapter seven of Rising Strong by Brené Brown.

I think this is the best way I’ve found so far to describe the internal shift between the before to the vivid, sparkling present. It kinda feels like a form of grieving.

Now, I won’t say that what I’ve felt is anything like losing a loved one who was close to me. I wouldn’t ever make that comparison. But I do find it interesting that the emotional process of moving through grief has been similar.

By the way, if you aren’t familiar with the stages of grief and loss below is a briefing:

  1. Denial and isolation;
  2. Anger;
  3. Bargaining;
  4. Depression;
  5. Acceptance.

People who are grieving do not necessarily go through the stages in the same order or experience all of them.

I think it clicked when Brené explained in Rising Strong that change that is perceived as loss can spark grief.

I guess 2019 has been sort of a weird grieving process for me. A confusing, emotional, slow, weird sobering process letting my past go. A movement between the ‘before’ to the ‘who I am now.’ I’ve written about on my blog while I was in the early stages of it, but I’ve always struggled on how to express what this whole thing has felt like now that I can get my head around it.

View this post on Instagram

Sometimes our past has the ability to confront and/or overwhelm us. When triggered we tend to lose perspective and begin to act from a place of insecurity, fear, and hurt (rather than awareness and authenticity). When being faced with our past, it’s important to remain aware, engage in a dialogue with ourselves, identify our needs, and seek perspective or support (if needed). •• • • • #selfawareness #awareness #reflection #relationships #boundaries #triggers #mentalhealthtips #selfesteem #mentalhealth #psychology #psychotherapy #counseling #therapist #selfdiscovery #selfcare #selflove #lifetransitions #identity #authenticity #emotion #privatepractice #onlinetherapy #onlinecounseling #millennialtherapist #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthmatters #past

A post shared by Sara Kuburić, MA, CCC (@millennial.therapist) on

It’s a confusing process to release your past self and way of life. It’s that moment where you deeply realize everything is different and there’s absolutely no way to go backward. It’s only forward from here on out.

For some people this might feel more like one chapter ending and another beginning, or a subtle slow shift until one day you realize you deal with things so differently you barely recognize yourself.

But once I read Rising Strong, I realized it’s felt a lot like grief. Which is kind of upsetting in itself, because who am I to compare losing someone to leaving behind a part of myself? But it’s a loss. I held onto it so goddam tight. But now that I’ve forgiven myself and come to terms with almost every part of it, it’s feeling like getting out of bed in the morning and not knowing what to do with yourself. It’s having nostalgia about the past, while knowing you can never go back. 

It’s saying goodbye to the story I’ve always believed to be true about myself.

View this post on Instagram

My past self still haunts me. Not always, but sometimes. Slipping in when she finds an opening. She is a spectre. Not quite a memory — a way of being. Coming back to remind me that at one time I was a different person who set fire to everything just to watch it burn. I can’t see her when she visits me but I know she’s there. I can feel her replaying old memories on a projector onto the back of my mind. The full body sensation of shame that puts you right back there in that moment when your world revolved around whatever was happening. I feel my spine tingle, and I know I’m not safe here. I plant my feet and observe that everything keeps moving even if I stop. I can’t go back to that place and time where she was thriving and making me believe that destruction was the only option. I remind myself she’s a spectre. Gone but never forgotten. Her lessons and scorched earth are part of who I am today. She left me with almost nothing so as an act of survival, and mercy, I left her behind so I could start over. I was built from a new blueprint on the rubble she left behind. #realtalk #poemsofinstagram Photo by @mskanishaszekely

A post shared by Raegan (@raegjules) on

I can say “I’m different,” all I want, but it really appears in the smallest of moments.

Walking home through downtown late at night totally sober and passing groups of people on the street searching for where to go next. Hearing slurred voices cheering and yelling and conversing while I’m on my balcony. Feeling the twinge of desire to participate but knowing that’s not my path anymore. Finding my way in this new way of life. Smiling to myself and sleeping soundly. 

Being so fully present that I can’t ignore things anymore. Learning how to tell people when I’m hurt and tackling conflict head on. Accepting that my “cut and run” mentality has kept me emotionally protected but not connected for far too long, and knowing it isn’t brave. Coming face to face with my people pleasing tendencies. Looking around and realizing the people I love most are imperfect and worthy of love, and so am I.

Having those dates where you return home and walk in the door and either a) smile to yourself as you hang your keys up and brush your teeth because it felt GREAT b) come home and yell WHAT THE FUCK MAN to yourself in your apartment and go straight for the carbs because you are seriously questioning your own judgement or c) come home, let out a big sigh and text your friends asking “why do I do this shit again?” Trying very hard to not overthink shit, but also not ignoring the obvious. Yenno?

Laughing. Laughing so much. For me, laughing at when shit goes wrong and knowing it’s not the end of the world and it doesn’t mean I’m a Bad Person. It just means shit happens. Being able (for the first time in my life maybe) to not take everything so seriously!!!!!

Sitting with the moments where it occurs to me I’m not living my values and feeling the bodily sensations come over me. Feeling the shame story cloud my brain. Sensing the alarm bells go off in my head to drown the feelings – peanut butter, Netflix, anything – because they are seriously uncomfortable. Resisting the screaming urge to turn away from myself in that moment. Sometimes I’m successful, sometimes I’m not. Finding the courage to get curious. Exploring ways forward that are within my integrity.

Realizing my tendency to worry endlessly. Realizing my tendency to overload myself even though time and time again it sucks the life out of me. Realizing my codependent tendencies. Owning my tendencies and accepting it all. In some cases, admitting that if I can’t find a solution on my own, maybe a therapist can help. 

Being truly, truly happy in a way that I don’t think I could really feel before.

Catching myself hustling for the approval of people who will never understand me, love me or respect me. Finding out that connection really has to begin with how you feel about yourself. Knowing, deeply, that you cannot plant a flower in concrete and expect it to grow. 

Letting go of the sense of certainty about my future I clung to so tightly. Deciding to uproot myself for a while (fall 2019) because it feels right. No clue what I’ll come home to or how I’ll feel on the other end of the extended trip I’m planning. Dealing with the fear related to that.

Crying so fucking much. Because there have been many times where I can’t keep it together during these confusing times where my past tendencies push up against who I want to be now. Releasing because my body can’t keep things packed down anymore after years of doing that.

Forgiving myself for what I cannot change and allowing it to make me better. Because as I’ve figured out the hard way, there are no other options or shortcuts past this part.

“…When I talk of forgiveness, I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person. A better person than the one being consumed by anger and hatred.”

The Book of Forgiving

View this post on Instagram

As I write this, I’m sitting on my balcony listening to Beyoncé’s Homecoming album drinking a non-alcoholic beer thinking about every summer before this one. I’ve never felt this different. Maybe it’s because for the first time ever, summer doesn’t really represent what it once did for me. It doesn’t hold the same kind of reckless promise, but I’m realizing that’s for the best. Summer doesn’t mean I start worrying about wearing shorts or preoccupying myself with the grand question if this is the summer I will *finally* grow a thigh gap. The answer is no. It will always be no, and that’s a-fucking-ok with me. Hotter weather just means I continue to wear what’s comfortable and makes me feel like…me. The idea of an open afternoon conjures bigger plans then sitting outside getting sunburnt while drinking pitcher of sangria followed by a nap to sleep it off (only to wake up in the evening hungover). It might mean I get up early to go for a hike or read a chapter of a book on some good grass somewhere. It definitely means no hangovers. Summer doesn’t mean I feel heightened expectations or weird irresponsible urges to have a fling. Be impulsive because of the heat and beer. Avoid tough conversations because they aren’t “good vibes only.” Summer just means I’m gonna keep doing me, loving the absolutely shit out of the people in my life and being honest with myself and others about what’s working and what isn’t. I don’t need to go wild to feel alive anymore. The start of this summer feels wayyyy different than every single previous one, and I’m just gonna tip my head back, feel the sun on my face and take it all in 🌞 P.s. The day after a breakup I was trying to distract myself so I ended up spending like $200 on decor in Marshall’s and bought this stone squirrel. Her name is Spinelli 🐿 #sobercurious #summer #livingoutloud #wholehearted

A post shared by Raegan (@raegjules) on

It’s quite simple: I was always worthy of love and belonging but I never believed it, so I never acted in ways that aligned with those beliefs. Even now I struggle to believe it half the time but half the time is better than no time. I am still in it, this process. Progress over perfection and what not.

I suppose I am grieving the part of my life where I did not love myself. Where everything was a sign I was a Bad Person. Where there was very little questioning and a whole lot of self-destruction. Where I only directed criticism at myself and not kindness. Where I so badly and deeply wanted connection but was too scared to show up authentically in order to really let it happen.

It’s weird…because I thought at many points in my life I did this work already.

I thought I had done it. But I know better now. Even as I write this I’m still not done, but I know there’s a difference between this process and maturing.

Maybe there were some token moments of accepting that I couldn’t change the past, but they weren’t coupled with a healthy dose of compassion and forgiveness. There was an attempt to own my story and who it has made me into, but no execution. I wasn’t ready to accept my story.

I know it’s different now because there’s only one way forward.

Which is what my favourite movie scene is all about and I will endlessly repeat this quote because it’s too perfect:

I was a slut. There will always be a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like all the other parts of myself. I can forgive. Can you say the same for yourself, fucker? Can you forgive? Are you any good at that?

Silver Linings Playbook

Screen Shot 2018-04-01 at 12.44.18 PM