I’m considering the Depths tonight and what lies beyond the sidewalk’s end. My spirit now lies quiet, more or less. My body purified by pain, from pain. In the heat of battle, my husband once accused me of being delusional. He might be right. …

My cry demands an answer. The Dead answer. They gather. They need answers too. Their calls sound across the ages. Who will answer us? Only the living can answer that heaving mass of hunger and desire, fucking, sucking, seething and gorging on each other. We think we see, but we…

To my family, who won’t believe me. But doubts plague you. These accusations don’t surprise you. You saw them coming. I didn’t. I’d planned on keeping secrets even from myself if that’s what it took. It’s what we do in our family. Loyalty above all else. Loyalty above the children. …

These are hard truths on a dark night. I’m terrified. I told my husband to leave. I can take care of myself, but maybe I can’t. Because the bathrooms need cleaning and there are too many cats, cats I insisted were my children, not his. And I hate vacuuming. …

And even if the things I buy cannot fill my center, I’ve nothing to replace it. Even just the moments of relief and joy it brings, are something. — I’m shopping a lot. Hoarding is progressive. I heard that on an episode of Hoarders. So, I’m also purging, but not quite fast enough. I feel I should tell you that I’m not that bad, that I still have closet space, and besides I got rid of two-thirds of my…

“We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the fullest.” -Marcel Proust I’ve gone underground. I’m buried in my secrecy. I’ve confused it with privacy, as in, I’ve needed my privacy. It’s making me sick. …

After the fights, the tears and recriminations, and the final papers were signed, I realized that I’d been divorcing my husband in slow motion for years. — Change is hard. It never feels organic. And when the person you planned your future with no longer wants one with you, you’re left planning it alone — a thing you never imagined doing at any point in your life. It sucks. I liked being married. I enjoyed my husband…

In high school, I was a passionate follower of Christ. A friend on the yearbook invited me to her house for a photo shoot. She staged a seance around me and said she’d use the photos to show how theater kids mess around. It was a lie. When the yearbook…

In 2020 long-repressed memories of abuse began to emerge. I approached my healing the way I approach everything else, with an unrelenting drive that made me sick. Healing hurts. In my last post, I detailed how repressed memories feel, but recovery from them can feel worse. How do you know…