WARNING: This post is real. It talks about real things and real struggles and real pain. If you know that it’ll be too much for you, skip this post for now.
I first noticed it in high school. That empty nothing that made my chest feel hollowed out and my brain like a cavernous echo chamber. I remember thinking, “Huh. That’s weird. I don’t feel anything.”
There wasn’t sadness or loneliness or pain. Just nothing. Vast, empty, nothing. Continue reading “Self Harm, Depression, and Monsters Under the Bed”
Sometimes I don’t know how to deal or how to function. It usually hits me out of the blue and I don’t really have it calculated down to an exact science. I wish I knew what could trigger it. I wish I could know why lines are so important or why I crave them. Isn’t that weird? I guess it only needs to matter to … Continue reading Lines
I started off as a reader. Mom used to read Nancy Drew books to me before bed, and somehow I collected over 30 of the hard yellow backed mystery books. I guess you would say that was step one. I don’t remember when I first started writing. I think it just gradually shifted when I realized I could make up my own stories instead of … Continue reading Why I Write