I was lurking around the Twitterverse a little while back and wasting time, as is my want when work is slow and dull, when I saw a post of epically dumb proportions. Dumb tweets are nothing special: there are probably more of those than there are dust mites in our beds. However, l felt compelled to respond to this one in particular because it was a statement I had heard at several points in the past. Continue reading → Tell Me Where is Depression Bred, in the Heart or in the Head?
I’ve spent most of my life swallowing anger until it fermented into a unique blend of sad, bitter, and isolated – suggested pairings are spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar and wearing pajamas for over 24 hours. Continue reading → Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage
It should come as no surprise to anyone who has read anything I’ve written that I have a regular appointment with a therapist. Well, in one of these recent regularly scheduled appointments I had a bit of a revelation. I am not good at love. I don’t love people the way you should and I don’t let them love me back (don’t make that dirty). I don’t suppose I ever really learned how or tried to learn. Honest, open love requires vulnerability and that is terrifying. So much can go wrong when you open yourself completely to someone. There are so many ways to hurt someone or to get hurt by someone in this world. Continue reading → What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)
Movies and music are pretty powerful in that they can evoke memories. Sometimes it’s a lot like a magic spell. They take you traveling to the past, your past. And sometimes it’s a good past with warm memories and loving thoughts. Sometimes it’s a dark past with unpleasant events. But the good thing is you can control it by either turning off the tv or the radio. Sometimes I like to go to those dark places, either because I feel like being sad (I know sometimes you just need to mope though) or just to have a good cry. Crying can be incredibly cathartic. Continue reading → The Magic of Movies and Memory
There’s a spot on my hand. It’s not a mole, I have plenty of those and I know how they look. I had one on the same hand as the spot. It isn’t a freckle either, it’s too weird looking to be a freckle. It isn’t a pockmark or a scar or a scab. I know exactly what it is. There isn’t enough denial in me to pretend. I could scrub but it would still be there and even if I scrubbed it off my skin I would still know that spot existed on me. And this damned spot is a problem that won’t let me be. Continue reading → Out, Damned Spot!
It’s bad when I decide to get out of the house and head to a coffee shop (any coffee shop), but when I get there I don’t talk to anyone and spend every last second feeling like every set of eyes is on me. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself there’s no way that EVERYONE is looking at me. That it’s self-centered to think that way (I’m not that important, really I’m not). I still can’t stop feeling awkward and unusual and lonely and scared. I pack up my backpack (if I even go into the coffee shop to begin with) and walk to my car and realize that I barely talked to three people all day (all to do with work) and that I haven’t actually touched another human being – actual, physical touch – in a week. The next day, I go out again to try and make some kind of contact but the result is always the same (because I am always the same). And this isn’t the worst. Continue reading → When It’s The Worst
Writing is hard – especially when you aren’t doing it. I should have been writing this whole evening after I got home from work. I had every intention to get some thoughts down, some outlines laid out, some stories started, etcetera, etcetera, Peter etCetera. Continue reading → Edge of Procrastination: Live, Stall, Repeat