strength is what we gain / from the madness we survive :or: having a very public nervous breakdown

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Oh look! I failed Self Care 101!! I wrote this blog post back in August about self care and listening to my body because it knows.
I was watching myself spiral.
I thought I was catching myself.
I was wrong.
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bluetooth connections from the grave

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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.

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i stand alone

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i stand alone in a room
empty doorway in
empty doorway out
blue carpet
gray walls
no chairs
white flowers in black ceramic pots
a skirted table
i can’t remember the color of the skirted cloth
polished mahogany box
free of adornment
set on the skirted table
whose skirted cloth color I can’t remember
i’m alone
yet I’m not the only body in the room
two bodies
skin head arms legs face hands feet hair nose fingers eyes lips
two faces that look so much alike
mirrors of each other
one younger
one older
the same high cheekbones
the same full lips
the same almond shaped eyes
the same blood embodied in veins
one flowing and warm
one still and cold
a heart that no longer beats
a heart that is broken, yet still beats
my heart
broken
i stand alone in a room
with tears streaming
i caress her soft cheek
and say one final goodbye

connection, authenticity, vulnerability…oh my!

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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.

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how i do grief, and my serious mad girl crush on Jeanette LeBlanc

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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.

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