Photo: April Yohe
Throughout her life, Renee Yohe has always believed in the value of telling her story. The platforms have changed, from social media to books to public speaking engagements, but her latest endeavor in music is one that has always been a constant form of support and guidance.
Renee first entered the public spotlight with To Write Love On Her Arms, a non-profit organization that aims to present hope for people struggling with addiction, depression, self-injury and thoughts of suicide. By sharing her own personal struggles, Renee and the organization have helped millions.
Through everything, music has always played a crucial and stabilizing role in Renee's life. Her favorite bands helped her through some of her darkest times. Later on, TWLOHA would find its biggest initial support and exposure from bands that would wear the organization's T-shirts. When the opportunity came to form her own band, the transition just felt natural. Renee recently signed on with Working Group Artist Management, and her music project "Bearcat" will have an EP out in Spring 2012.
Renee Yohe is portrayed by Kat Dennings in the film.
“To Write Love On Her Arms” producer David McKenna and Renee Yohe became friends some years ago in Orlando. They bonded over their similarities since he, too, is in recovery from addiction stemming from alcohol and cocaine abuse. It was McKenna's concern for Renee's recovery that set the ball rolling on the true story that serves as the basis for the film.
McKenna remembers, “Renee showed up at a restaurant clearly drunk. I told her that there had come a point for me where it was wearing on my recovery and my soul that she kept abusing herself. I gave her two options: either I separated myself from her or she could go back into treatment and I’d pay for it.”
Renee agreed to the latter, but there was a glitch.
McKenna explains, “We ended up taking her to the treatment center a few days later, but they would not let her in because there were too many drugs still in her system…”
He adds, “And she had carved ‘F**k Up’ into her arms.”
McKenna continues, “Since there were other people who struggled with self-harm at the treatment center, the admitting doctor didn’t want them to be exposed to Renee’s fresh wounds. We decided she could come to my townhouse to detox until the treatment center could accept her, which was a unique situation.”
Renee Yohe admits, “David’s role in my life served as a catalyst when I really needed to change, needed that extra kick. He is the unsung hero by what he did for me at that time in my life.”
McKenna is the founder and CEO of Bonded Entertainment, an Orlando-based music and social media management company and the parent company of Bonded Records.
McKenna is portrayed by Rupert Friend in the film.
FROM STORY TO SCREEN
“We wanted to make this real-life story show that relapse is part of recovery, even though you have this community of people who are important to helping you get clean and stay clean. From addicts to self-injurers, anyone who struggles with anything knows there’s no magical pill that just makes it go away. Life’s hard.”
– David Blair McKenna, Producer
“This movie touches on just so many core things that are important in life. There’s such a beautiful human quality to this story, an incredible learning experience to meet people who have been through something like this and then meet them on the other side of it.”
– Chad Michael Murray
“This movie reminds that if you know somebody who’s struggling with something—whether it’s addiction or depression or any other problem, maybe you should look outside yourself and reach out. I know it’s easier said than done, but these friends did just that for this girl.”
– Rupert Friend
“Another reason why I wanted to do this movie is that it shows that you don’t just go get detoxed, and then go to rehab and you’re all better; it’s not like that. It’s something you’re going to have to do one day at a time for the rest of your life. I think it’s important for people to know that it’s okay to feel like you’re not better as long as you keep trying.”
– Kat Dennings
“Rescue’s not possible if you don’t want it for yourself. I think one of the misconceptions about me was that this group of people just found me and came in and saved me. That would have never worked in a million years! Once you want it for yourself, you have to fight for it. You have to make that decision and be willing to do whatever it takes. Then, you can have a community come around and support that decision. But it really starts with you making a firm decision that you want help. I hope that those seeing this movie don’t see that it’s perfect or ties neatly into a little bow at the end. We don’t walk away with any specific ending. I’m still alive; my story’s still going.”
– Renee Yohe
“This has been a pretty hard story to tell because it deals with some serious issues. If anyone is dealing with these issues, they might not necessarily find the answers, but they can find the community of other people going through this. I think this movie appeals to a wide range—people who struggle with the same thing will see this movie, as will the people who enjoy good drama, good music and good movies. That’s who I want to see it.”
– Nathan Frankowski, Director/Editor
TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS
The original story as written by Jamie Tworkowski
Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars."
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.
Renee is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and to let us pray. We ask Renee to come with us, to leave this broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave without her.
She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor, takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom. She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her left forearm.
The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.
She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've known, like a Johnny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.
I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes.
Thursday night she is in the balcony for Band Marino, Orlando's finest. They are indie-folk-fabulous, a movement disguised as a circus. She loves them and she smiles when I point out the A&R man from Atlantic Europe, in town from London just to catch this show.
She is in good seats when the Magic beat the Sonics the next night, screaming like a lifelong fan with every Dwight Howard dunk. On the way home, we stop for more coffee and books, Blue Like Jazz and (Anne Lamott's) Traveling Mercies.
On Saturday, the Taste of Chaos tour is in town and I'm not even sure we can get in, but doors do open and minutes after parking, we are on stage for Thrice, one of her favorite bands. She stands ten feet from the drummer, smiling constantly. It is a bright moment there in the music, as light and rain collide above the stage. It feels like healing. It is certainly hope.
Sunday night is church and many gather after the service to pray for Renee, this her last night before entering rehab. Some are strangers but all are friends tonight. The prayers move from broken to bold, all encouraging. We're talking to God but I think as much, we're talking to her, telling her she's loved, saying she does not go alone. One among us knows her best. Ryan sits in the corner strumming an acoustic guitar, singing songs she's inspired.
After church our house fills with friends, there for a few more moments before goodbye. Everyone has some gift for her, some note or hug or piece of encouragement. She pulls me aside and tells me she would like to give me something. I smile surprised, wondering what it could be. We walk through the crowded living room, to the garage and her stuff.
She hands me her last razor blade, tells me it is the one she used to cut her arm and her last lines of cocaine five nights before. She's had it with her ever since, shares that tonight will be the hardest night and she shouldn't have it. I hold it carefully, thank her and know instantly that this moment, this gift, will stay with me. It hits me to wonder if this great feeling is what Christ knows when we surrender our broken hearts, when we trade death for life.
As we arrive at the treatment center, she finishes: "The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
I have watched life come back to her, and it has been a privilege. When our time with her began, someone suggested shifts but that is the language of business. Love is something better. I have been challenged and changed, reminded that love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions. Don Miller says we're called to hold our hands against the wounds of a broken world, to stop the bleeding. I agree so greatly.
We often ask God to show up. We pray prayers of rescue. Perhaps God would ask us to be that rescue, to be His body, to move for things that matter. He is not invisible when we come alive. I might be simple but more and more, I believe God works in love, speaks in love, is revealed in our love. I have seen that this week and honestly, it has been simple: Take a broken girl, treat her like a famous princess, give her the best seats in the house. Buy her coffee and cigarettes for the coming down, books and bathroom things for the days ahead. Tell her something true when all she's known are lies. Tell her God loves her. Tell her about forgiveness, the possibility of freedom, tell her she was made to dance in white dresses. All these things are true.
We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home.
I have learned so much in one week with one brave girl. She is alive now, in the patience and safety of rehab, covered in marks of madness but choosing to believe that God makes things new, that He meant hope and healing in the stars. She would ask you to remember.