I’m tired of existing, of staying awake, of watching everything else fall apart while work remains the one thing I can still do.
Tag: #healing
Him
I’ve realised,not through research,but through my own experience,that the mind, indeed,can be trained. I used to cry.To wonder.To begyouto talk to me. You always said the same thing.How busy you were.How you don’t like being on your phone.How you don’t even like calls. For months,I … Continue reading Him
“Charmaine”
Twenty-two years ago, I left without saying goodbye. I don’t remember her face anymore, only the possibility that her name was Charmaine and the circle we drew in the dirt to play diketo. This is the story of a childhood friendship that never got an ending, and the first room I unknowingly left unfinished.
Returning to the Blueprint
I thought growth meant leaving the house behind. Instead, it asked me to return to it. In 2026, I learned that some foundations cannot be rebuilt until you are willing to study the blueprint that created them.
The House Was Never Finished
I grew up in a house that was never finished; rooms half-built, things installed before they could be fully used. It took me years to realise that the way we lived in that house mirrors the way my mind works. This is what ADHD feels like for me: not broken, not lazy, just built differently.
The Deleted Folder
Sometimes I imagine my trauma like an iPhone.You know how when you delete something, it doesn’t go away? It simply moves to the “Recently Deleted” folder for 30 days, waiting to be permanently erased.But in my case, the folder never empties.The memories don’t expire.They sit … Continue reading The Deleted Folder
Heavy Closeness
This piece is an exploration of what it means to grow up without room to breathe; in a house full of bodies, objects, noise, and unspoken rules. It’s a story about learning closeness before I ever learned space. About how love can feel like suffocation when your childhood taught you to shrink instead of exist. I return to the fragments of myself I once abandoned; the little girl who didn’t have a corner of the bed, the teenager who walked until the panic left her chest, the woman who craves intimacy but fears being swallowed by it. This is my attempt to press play again. To rebuild the home inside me. To stay this time. To breathe.
Still Living In That House
Writer’s Note This piece is part memory, part feeling, and part search. It is not a linear story. It moves like memory does; fragmented, circular, sometimes clear and sometimes smudged. I wrote this not because I have answers but because I needed space for the … Continue reading Still Living In That House
You, after All
Stages of Grief ~ Acceptance Two years have passed since our paths diverged, Yet your presence still lingers in the quiet corners of my mind a steady beacon amid the ebb and flow of time. Your image, though softened by the passing seasons, remains etched … Continue reading You, after All
Yearn
Childhood I remember playing outside alone with a Bratz doll, occasionally looking in the distance, hoping to see my dad walking to the house holding a big teddy bear. I loved those, even at 25. Their fur kitten-soft smile is like an offered cup of … Continue reading Yearn
