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 have a secret. And it fills me with shame. 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.
Today I am a failure
I’m failing at being a wife
I’m failing at being a mother
I’m failing at being a friend and a lover
I’m failing at saying what I want
I’m failing at asking for what I need
I’m failing at grieving
I’m failing at mourning
I have a little grief gremlin in my head, he moved in at 3am PST on March 25, 2014….he took up residence while my mama was taking her last breath here on this earth and my heart cracked wide open and a huge gaping hole knocked my world off it’s axis.
At 41, you’d think I’d know how to breathe, right? I mean, it’s a basic (and necessary!) bodily function. And theoretically, I should have been doing it for the last, well, 41 years. Because if you’re not breathing, you’re not living. And if you’re not living, than what’s the fucking point?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Live. Continue reading