depression
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“There is not some exquisite beauty, without some strangeness on the proportion.” – Edgar Allan Poe I always found it odd, call it poetic justice if you will, when a literary quote you’ve carried with you for so long finally clicks into place in your life. I could spin you a tale of my life
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The words stick in my throat. Heavy. Feeling foreign even though I utter them so freely, so frequently, so loosely daily to many of those who pass by in my life. Fear lingers around every syllable. Fear that saying it makes it real. Fear that they’ll be the next weapon of choice in the never
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Fear It’s funny, I’ve had this one word sitting on a page for days now. Thinking about it. Considering it. Looking at it. I had every intention of making this post and expounding upon how I’ve faced so many of my fears and how very few fears I truly have left in this life. Driving
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It’s quite an epidemic it seems, among poets and writers alike, that those who speak of mental illness the most find the universe to an inexhaustible source of inspiration. I myself find it a fascinating and never tiring source of hope and quiet peace in a lot of ways. I found myself wondering what about
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I was not a girl made of subtlety. I was built of grand gestures and strong will. I cross lines and speak my mind entirely too much for my own good. When I am angry the Lord himself can feel my rage and I make no apology for the way I bleed when I’ve been
I Would Rather Be In Bed 