I stand still looking at the floor.
My eyes glued to the tiny shards of glass;
pieces that used to make up my cup;
fragments now splayed across the room.



Conversation I Will Never Have

“I’m sorry.”

These two words tumble out of her mouth, no preamble, no explanation, no flourish, no nothing.

He stares at her, anger behind his eyes.

“What the fuck happened? You just disappeared without a word. And that’s all you have to say?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I deserved better than that,” he says slowly.

“I know. I’m really sorry.”

“Well,” he says aggressively. “Are you going to explain yourself?”

“I don’t think you’d understand,” she says quietly.

“Try me.”


Fear of Sharing “Too Much”

I’ve always thought I was a direct person who wasn’t afraid of communicating, but I’m starting to realize that I suck at communicating.

When it comes to professional conversations, I am extremely great at communicating, especially via email. At my last job, my supervisors as well as my co-workers complimented me on my ability to write diplomatic, polite, and friendly emails. I love responding to emails and answering the phone. I think I am really good at building rapport with people on a professional level. There is an unspoken barrier that is accepted by both parties. It is not intimate to talk to these people, and I never feel vulnerable, and because of that, I’m great at communicating professionally.

But when it comes to personal conversations, I find myself shrinking away, avoiding confrontation. This isn’t how I used to be. I know that. I used to bring up tough conversations; in fact, I think I used to thrive on them. I loved the deep life conversations, divulging raw bits of my heart.

I’m not sure when I began to avoid conversations such as those. I don’t know when I became so deathly afraid of being vulnerable.


Singing in the Shower

For the first time in weeks, today I walked down the street with a spring in my step, sparkle in my eyes.

I feel so much better than I have in the last month. I feel a little like myself again. I still feel dark & twisty inside, but I can manage a smile on my face without too much contortion on my part.

Today I sang in the shower. Well I almost always hum and sing, but today I bellowed. I was rockin’ out, which I haven’t done in ages. As I got ready for the day this morning, I danced naked in my room. I also haven’t done this in a while.

I think today is like the first Spring-ish like day in my brain. The first day when you can smell the Springness in the air. There’s still a nip in the air, but it’s not quite like the tundra in the dead of the winter.


I don’t feel like me

It hits me on the T.

I’m irritated when someone bumps into me. I want to start chanting, “Move bitch, get out the way. Get out the way, bitch, get out the way.” I want to start shoving people. I hop out of the T in annoyance and start power walking home.

It hits me.

This isn’t me.

I hate the word “bitch.” I always say “Excuse me.” I always say “Thank you” to the T driver. I’m not this angry person. I’m not this horrible city person.

I don’t feel like me, and I haven’t felt like me in a while. I feel like I’m living life half-asleep. The world is in a fog, and I can’t seem to see past my fingers.


Apologies and Explanations

Dear 99% of the World,

I wish I could stop having to apologize for needing space.

I wish I could stop having to apologize for hating March and April.

I wish I could stop having to apologize for wanting to stay in and veg out by myself.

I’m tired of apologies I do not mean. I’m tired of apologies that seem to add transparency to my skin. I’m tired of having to hide myself away. I’m tired of feeling shame for how I feel.

I know it’s frustrating to not know why I’m feeling this way, but you aren’t my family, you aren’t my best friend. I don’t owe you any apologies or explanations.

Please know it’s not personal.


That Moment – 2

Moment Number 2.

She walks up the stairs of her building, opens the door to her floor, and begins down the long hallway to her door.

With step number 5, the world turns darker, the hallway seems longer – almost endless, and her heart dissipates within her body. The weight of the world crashes on her head, the feeling of emptiness drop kicks her in the stomach, and the sense of worthlessness trips her in her 6th step.

In that moment her head spins, and she can feel with every particle of her body that her life is pointless. All she hears inside her head is, What’s the point?


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