I once knew a girl who didn’t know how to cope with the life that she was given. She couldn’t afford therapy, so she tried to type away the pain. A heavy hand stroked a keyboard, sometimes covered in tears.
Once upon a time this girl clawed at every possible edge, hoping that solutions to her problems hung just out of reach. She was frantic, internally unable to shut down the fear that drove her so quickly to bad decisions, and with every mistake she spun further into a cycle she wasn’t quite sure how to stop.
She wrote here: dreams, fears, and secrets in every post.
But then there came a moment when this girl started showing herself a little kindness, and forced herself to stop trying too hard. To stop loving too much. To avoid talking too soon. To stop clawing. To stand still and breathe.
And now she’s back, with a different life to talk about, because she allowed herself to live.
But in order to understand where she is now, you have to see where she’s been. So please excuse her for a few posts, as she rehashes the last several months.
Bring some wine and tissues along. It’s been one hell of a ride.