Wednesday, May 10, 2023

today is a weird day and there are a hundred reasons for it

5/10/23 6:55pm Weds. At home.

i've been in a funk. i recently purposely looked through old boxes and collected old notebooks. i knew they were around, i knew (hoped?) they were safe, and i knew they contained deep pain. i didn't want to read them.

but i've been in this garbage (not garbage actually, very helpful, but allow me the shit talking of therapy) of recovering memories from my past for about ...i could count. 8? 6? 3? months? 

i've been shoving these memories away for decades. more than half my life.

but now. i walk toward the walled forest that holds so many memories. i'm a princess meeting and fighting her own beasts. i carry a sword, my knight's heartstring, a journal and pen.

the forest gate is weather worn and you can see through parts of it. i peek through the cracks before opening it every time.

i hear the monsters rustle as they hear the gate drag against the forest floor. i should get that fixed. but fuck it. let them hear me coming.

some monsters have been more sleepy than others. a few have been waiting for me.

what a fucking FEAT to stop running and stare down these beasts. i knew some would be running fast enough at me to overtake me when i stopped. i knew others would hide and watch me.

some monsters have been small and easily tamed. others i sense deep in the forest; their eyes glow at me. taunting. 

"tomorrow," i whisper to them, to me.

more monsters, still, lurk. no glowing eyes, no thundering footsteps. it's these monsters that i walk toward, expecting their fire. my faithful knight warms coffee for me, whispers strength into my bones. i leave camp early before the sun rises. we know these are my monsters to meet. the promise of my knight's arms and shoulders when i return sometimes (most times) the only thing that keeps me walking deeper and deeper into these woods.

i am safe. i am safe. i am safe. i whisper to myself as i explore notebooks and news articles. i whisper to myself as i sleep away from my knight.

my childhood home was sold recently. i have clicked through the hall and stood in the backyard of so many memories. i can still see the footprint of the literal stage that was built to hold the pulpit of a beast who would lurk and prey on our lives forever.

i uncovered notebooks from my junior year of high school. i drive google maps passed our favorite park and save landmarks that used to be.  i've pinpointed timestamps in my life that put my memories into focus. 

some memories confuse me still.

i am safe. i am safe. i am safe.



  1. Ooof. This feels sticky and heavy. It's so hard to convince yourself you're safe...for so long my body couldn't feel what my brain knew (logically) to be true. I hope you're able to make that connection too. And trust that you're doing a good job taking care of yourself. Much love, ~ C

  2. Gah. You've written from inside the PTSD experience -- that mantra of "I am safe" being the only defense against invisible enemies. This breaks my heart for you; at the same time, you should be so damn proud for the work you're doing, as you can, as you will. Big love, doll.

  3. oh, joc. thank you. i don't know why blogger didn't tell me you posted a comment. thank you for your words. some days i'm proud and other days i'm like, but i thought i did all this work jfc.

    thank you. love love love.

    also, why is blogger showing anonymous as the author of my comments/posts!! serious stuff here ;)