beauty
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In therapy on Monday, I said to my therapist, “I’m done! I’m done.” And that was immediately followed by the expression, “I don’t even know what that means, because I am not going to kill myself, so I don’t know what I am done with, per se, or what I am quitting, exactly.” I’m relatively
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Yesterday I received a rude message. It made accusations against me, because I had posted on Facebook both an update to my fundraiser, requesting donations to pay bills in May, and a request for pictures of items my mother had painted, to utilize at my tattoo consultation. In the mind of the one offering the
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I can’t write this week. I’ve tried several times. Two or three paragraphs in, it falls apart and the message I meant to speak becomes a ball of words with no real significance. I’m too tangled up inside, I think, to be able to present something linear and coherent on the outside. I’m a mess.
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It is one of those days. It is one of those times. It is one of those periods where I go through this stagnant water sort of existence. The time goes by and the life moves on around me, but I am just standing still, staying the same, and slipping away from my own life
Learning To Be Whole 