The next time you’re drawing an internal blank, stand in front of a bevy of notebooks.

In my office needing to release but holding back tears, I am exposed. My nerves are exposed. My triggers, exposed. And the tears don’t shock her.

I had a lot to own up to while also reversing the turmoil handed to me. Plenty of bags were dropped back where they belonged, and for once I didn’t apologize to them for me being so fuckwitable. Being a people-pleaser, agreeable, kind to a fault, will FUBAR you into oblivion

Have you ever felt a longing for something you’ve never had? Had pieces of your heart slipped so deeply past the surface they somehow hold you together? That’s how I’ve felt this week, only I didn’t realize it until now. I think I'm experiencing symptoms of a broken heart.

Somewhere in the beginnings of my journey, I told myself I deserved this pain and treatment, so i stopped doing anything about it. I let chips fall and cried later.

We have to end the narrative that struggle love is the only way to know love, that unconditional love is a backdoor means to inflict harm, that we must carry everything and everyone on our backs to be deemed worthy of love.

“How can I, a real human person with mental ashiness, possibly help and affect others whilst looking like I beat the final boss flawlessly? Do I have to? Who told me I had to? How can I seek and save the broken while being broken myself? Somebody messed up the guest list. I don’t belong in this space. Someone will find out I’m a fraud soon. Because I can’t be both broken and healing.”

Depression for me moonlights as vivid caution.

Because who hasn’t asked these questions?

My focus lately has turned to intentional writing to navigate around the huge potholes of life. Here are a few pieces I’ve written that may ease some of the jarring and the sick feelings after you thought you missed that massive hole but your shocks say otherwise.