I haven’t been able to write much about you. It’s taken 3 weeks to not cry hysterically at some point in the day, and 3 weeks to be able to look at your photo without keeling over in two. You taught me more than I ever imagined needing to learn. You were not Abby, especially …
I remember that day. I remember falling to the floor. I remember who I called, and in what order. I remember the slowing of time, and the acute numbness that overtook my psyche. I remember not being able to think, and Jessi telling me to just breathe. I remember Dad telling me to go to …
Matt, I fucking miss you today. Right now. Like I had forgotten and now I can’t bare to forget. A song you’d dig came on and I can’t stop crying, and my tears don’t tell the story my heart is so desperate to share. But I’ll try. I want to talk to you. I want …
I woke up blah. Rather, I never really felt like I went to bed or slept. That’s not necessarily new for me, but it’s becoming more frustrating as I age because I feel inept at finding the “right” (aka perfect and scripted) solution for me and my much-needed quality night of sleep and rest. I …
I don’t need a new blog (which I had written out and have since deleted) detailing Mike’s business. Or my business. Our former business. He deserves privacy, and so do I. Just because I can write about something, doesn’t mean I need to write about something. Not everything needs a public eye. This publicity extends …
I hear you disease. Scanning last nights radiance with scrutinizing eyes, laser focused on the underwear line from the underwear I never wear. The “chest fat”. The lack of definition in my traps. The flatness of my hair. I hear you disease. Not wanting to swipe and not wanting to start a conversation. Then wondering …
I want to write about this, but I don’t want to violate anyone’s privacy or disrespect what’s happened. As you know, I am very honest and being cryptic isn’t my style. I also live spiritually, and in alignment with that belief system, so I am going to do my best to write about how I …
I can’t control some of the things that I once thought I could control. The overarching idea is that sure, I can. I can control my weight. I can control my heart rate. I can control the variables that make these things move up and down or stay the same. But what I’m learning so …
It turns out that I had to get over my petty bullshit first. I had to stop checking boxes. I had to stop looking out and comparing myself to somebody else, and compare me to me. I had to evaluate whether I was fundamentally happy, secure, and unconditionally accepting; not whether he was. I had …
It is different, for me. I was told nothing would change, but it had already has. I have. The wedge that was blocking me from getting closer has been removed, because that wedge was that voice that kept whispering, “You’re not enough. You’re not worthy. You’re not enough to be committed to. You’re not …