This is in case you stumble here and it's not immediately known what you find yourself reading; I wanted to warn you, in case you're in a place right now that makes it unhealthy for you to read it.

The Very Witching Time of Night

This entry is part 3 of 5 in the series No One Is An Island

I felt trapped because I felt if I said something, even hinted at it, the rest of me would be negated. The things I did manage to succeed at would just be as if they were never accomplished and by the time I was catching on to how bad a state I was in, I had yet to grasp that hardly anything positive or uplifting had been getting through the filter that broke me. The thought still makes me angry. The inevitable diminishing that those years weren't real, that their scars aren't real, angers me. Because they are very real.


This entry is part 2 of 5 in the series No One Is An Island

I started this writing a little over ten months ago, using as it another tool to understand what happened. To understand where I am now, to wrap my Brain Things around why I think and respond in the ways that I do. I am thankful I don't feel like I'm listing in an ocean of nothing.