These are my six life savers
I take them each night
without fear of judgement
out in the open
not hidden in the bathroom
or the closet
two bring me sleep
two bring me alive
two bring me through
all six allow me to breathe
day in and day out
I supplement these life savers
and essential oils
with nature and toes in dirt
with lungs filled with fresh crisp air
with giggles of my children
and kisses from my love
with words that bleed
from my fingertips to the page
these are my six life savers
#noshame #mytruth #thestruggleisreal #depression #anxiety #grief #insomnia #ptsd #mooddisorder #bipolar #breathe #everydamnday #transparent #authentic #connection
I pull open the car door. Climb in. All the soft blurred in shape lines of my body settle into the soft worn blurred in shape contours of the leather seat. Feel the cold steel metal of the key in my hand as I slide it into the ignition, and turn. The machine stretches and yawns and let’s out a low rumble as it awakens and comes to life.
I sit for a moment in the silent cocoon of the space. Feeling the car stretch and shake out all its limbs. Feeling the vibration of the engine as it pulsates through metal and plastic and leather and skin and muscle and bone.
Silently, and without hesitation, phone and car reach out and search for each other. Mysteriously connecting over the airwaves. Desperate to feel the fingertip touch of current and connection. A heartbeat that allows them to communicate.
I’m sure I haven’t turned on the Bluetooth on my phone.
You’re going to die one day. I know, I know. You don’t want to read this. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to acknowledge that. But it’s pure truth. Not morbid. Just real honest this is how this life shit works. We live. And then we die.
I shared this pic a few days ago on FB. It resonated so much with me. With where I am heading. When I read this, it was like my whole body let out a sigh. I just want to be comfortable in my own skin. Yes. I do. Continue reading
I am a writer who lost my voice. What’s a writer with no voice? A tortured soul. An affliction. Like a swimmer who has lost a lung. A pianist who’s lost his hands. Like a singer whose vocal chords have been severed.
The craft was lost. The lifeline cut. The music silenced.