The sadness inside is slowly consuming her.

The people who are close to her do not see the sorrow behind her eyes anymore. She has become a master at hiding her pain.

The thing about hiding is, you are almost expected to keep up that deceptive part of reality.  It is a continuom of lies really. When the cracks begin to show again, often times people will say, “but you have been doing so well…”, no – I have not been “well” in a long time.

This sadness is all consuming and takes it’s hosts as prisoners. 

Still, somehow, she keeps up this masquerade. 

She always thought the people close to her would see through to the real her, but in actuality these people do not want to know the details of why or what or how or when things fell apart. 

Instead continue to go along with the shell of fakeness engrossing the person they once knew.

They do not want to know. And maybe that is okay. She will fight her demons in this unconscionable sadness alone – like all her battles.


Her Anchor.

She had him. He had her. No matter what chaos came their way, they would always have each other.

She took care of him in a way that no one else but him would know. She was his caretaker after his accident. His nurse, his confidant, his assistant, his cook, his partner, his love, and everything in between.

But to her, God, to her – he was everything. 

He was her birthing coach, her laughter, the most amazing father to their daughter. He was the one who wiped her tears and didn’t have to ask questions. He was the one who showed her what recovery looks like. That you must go through the pain and it is a long, hard process. (One that he is still physically fighting through.)

He was her best friend before anything else. I think that is how all relationships thrive. He knew her inside and out; but he never saw her as being broken.

She feels broken, in ways she can not even begin to describe, he can help numb that feeling, temporarily. He is her anchor.

She knows that they can conquer anything that comes their way together. Their daughter is a prime example – a miracle that came into their lives at the perfect time to save him. 

And save him she did. He was motivated by every kick and movement before she was born. By that time, he was able to be in the birthing room and had grown stronger and stood unwavering. Waiting, coaching, and loving.

Our lives were complete that day. 

Until her mind started to process all that had happened to him in the accident. Thankfully she had their beautiful daughter to focus on. They were (and are) both so grateful to have this beautiful gift to care for and watch grow. Filling their lives with more love and laughter than they ever thought possible.

She was fighting the PTSD behind the scenes for a long time until finally admitting it to those close to her. But now, she keeps it to herself and to him. 

He is her anchor and she will survive this as he reminds her. This is what love is.


She Writes.


She writes.  She writes about the new realization she is having about this new world she is making for herself. She writes of her struggles, rarely her strengths for fear they may not actually be real. She writes of pain and suffering, not often excitement and joy.  She writes what she knows most. 

Of course she knows joy and excitement – she sees and experiences it everyday with her daughter. The littlest person with the biggest heart and the ability to make even the darkest days shine some light in.

She writes for other people to help them understand how words have so much power, and so much meaning.  It can be so raw and real.  Not everyone has the ability to share their own story so maybe her words will strike something within them.

She writes for herself, above all, because after all these years of writing, she has just become able to put her words out there for others to read, instead of keeping the journals buried out of embarrassment and shame. 

There are still pieces of her that she will keep; those parts of her is not for anyone else.

But, at the end of the day, usually in the later hours of the night, she writes.


She creates a world that is neither fully real or fully unreal, but somewhere in between.

Trying to make the most out of what life has thrown at her is how she is getting through these days. However, these moments she lives in the in-between bits – the make believe. 

She has gotten so lost in-between she no longer remembers what or who she really is.

The only thing she knows for sure is that she is lost. The true her is lost. And that breaks her fucking heart.



She is chained like a prisoner. 

Neither moving forward nor backward, but staying in the same place. Stuck in this never-ending moment.

The days she feels like her shoulders were lifting were a lie. The weight was just merely shifting from one shoulder to the other; readjusting.

The days she feels weighed down is paralyzing. She has to talk herself into lifting her own weight to move around. 

Those days were bad – but she almost rathered knowing it was going to be a bad day than thinking the days were finally starting to look up only to come crashing down again.

Her mind lies. She is a prisoner in this Hell that no one can see or experience but herself. No one can imagine the images that haunt her mind and she doesn’t want anyone to.

She is just chained to this moment. The moment that happened 2 years ago.

She feels more alone now than ever.

Her mind is her prison, solitary confinement, and her sentence is unknown. 


When I leave you out.

She will write a book, a memoir, or perhaps a short biography on her life.

There will be bits and pieces taken from each moment that has changed her. She is not the same anymore. 

She is not a pretty face with a dainty smile. No. She is the raw version and best person she could make with the life she was given. She has accepted that.

Times in her life were not always that great, some were Hell. She doesn’t regret anything that has happened to her because it made her who she is. 

Maybe she wishes things would be processed differently in her distorted mind but that is what makes a good story, isn’t it?

All these people who think they actually meant more to her than they did will see.

She won’t include your name for recognition in the book of herself. She won’t give you the audience nor the spot in the light.

So don’t be surprised when she decides to leave you out – the same way you left her.


Not Quite Normal.

She is not the way most people are. She is deeper than that. She has so much concealed within her heart it aches at times.

She is the one who is there for you when you need her. No matter what. 

She’s the type of friend that is there when life gets tough and needs a solution – not when things are going smoothly. You don’t need her then.

Her mind is tormenting with images and thoughts burned into it. The type of things she wouldn’t get into because the details would scar you. Believe me, she’s tried to scratch the surface for support and you brush her off every single time.

She is a mess but you don’t see that. She’s not like everyone else. She’s bleeding on the inside and it feels like no one can see the pain inside her eyes. 

Her eyes glimmer with tears but you see it as a sparkle. 

What can I say, she is not quite normal.