This is where you write. This is where you bury the demons. Or let them escape. Or slay them. I don’t want to cry, I’m tougher than that. Right? But I cry. Then I can’t stop crying which allows my friend Panic to stomp on my chest. It really is me. I fuck up people. … More Bleed On the Page
I have that air of confidence, that special stature of composure. A brilliant smile, assortment of cute shoes, a decent (albeit aging) rack. This is what it takes to get through the day. Someone is talking to me – say something witty, say something Tara-esque, say SOMETHING. Or don’t. Listen. It’s what I do best. … More Heels & Blades
Just when I think the demons have retreated from the light I’ve been basking in, they slither back through the murky corridors, their menacing whispers echo. Not thin enough. Not pretty enough. Not good enough. They grab tendrils of my hair as I try to run from them, they tug to halt my shaky steps. They … More Mercurial Rumination
Last year I started dialogue with a guy after MPA. He became my friend. He was the best friend of a dear
**Trigger Warning** I miss being numb. Ironic since I used to feel like a zombie. Zombies can’t love. Zombies only survive. When nasty feelings did get to my heart, I let them bleed out. Or drink to quiet the loud in my head. Or a lovely concoction of the two, depending on the depth of … More Being Numb and Other Post-Zombie Thoughts
I’m the crazy one. I’m the one who punched him in his face then jumped out of a moving vehicle to get away from him screaming at me. I’m the crazy one who kneed him in the balls because he put his hands around my throat and pinned me against the bathroom door. I’m the … More I’m the Crazy One
Hello Friends, In the spirit of full disclosure I have added a link to a short memoir I wrote, Still Breathing. Read it to catch a glimpse of my crazy. Read it so you know you can say anything to me. Well…don’t be mean. Mean people steal your shine and that is just not cool. … More Good Morning!
The sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate
Battling the heartache and uncertainty of going no contact with a narcissistic mother.
Because we’re all recovering from something.
When my ass talks, people listen.
three steps forward, two steps back- but you're still ahead.
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Real life stories...
Things Women Don't Usually Talk About
Stories, poems, photos and bumbles for the soul
salve regina
Writer - Mental Health Survivor - Advocate
...where the ladies are headstrong and the man is outnumbered.
Clean Cup! Move Down!
I'm just here to ruin a good thing
Words That Can’t
Even at Your Darkest 