Tiny heart beating Loud.”

it seems to hit a lot of people interestingly these days.

It definitely resonated when it came up.

It also felt whole.

I felt love with it.

It’s a very top layer of who I really am.

Who I am is…
When I was younger,

I would observe all the adult humans around me, looking for happiness, and could not find it.
It hurt.

I didn’t understand.

I believed everyone deserved happiness. Why didn’t they?

Even when I tried to share I felt so far from reaching them with it.

Also I didn’t know how or what would make sense to making that happen.

I loved them and didn’t know why

I do know that I was desperate to love anything that was given to me in this life

Preferably things that needed it or could echo it

ANd I always saw so much light inside these humans

But couldn’t wake them up to it for some reason.

It was weird because that was all I saw in them so it was weird that they couldn’t see it in themselves.

So I watched them not love themselves

Hoping I could understand

And justify some reason why they should be unhappy

But I never found it back then. 

So it stuck with me

their sadness.

I hoped that if I carried it I could understand it and rid them of it or at least spiritually soak it up from them.

I hate seeing people in pain.

I hate feeling less than what this life is supposed to make someone feel

So I fly from it and try to find all the light I can and gather it into a sun

And just maybe I will help direct everyone to find their own light

Maybe they ended my love to rain a little on them

Rain, is so contradicting

It’s inconvenient but beautiful but intimidating

Unpredictable, unforgiving,

But necessary.


And if it breaks me it only makes me more ‘me’


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_MG_2159-X3“If you want to love me, then you have to accept my sadness as a part of who I am. You have to acknowledge my pain is beneath everything I show or present. You have to understand that all my efforts in positivity is really just to survive but what makes me is my pain and to pretend its not there is to neglect the largest part of me as well as what has made my heart as open as it is.”

**Photography by Lance Miller

**Fashion Designer (dress) by Atousa Ghanizadeh 


Every other time I write I am strongly self conscious of the things I am about to post public. Basically I am judging myself while reading through briefly before posting. Sometimes I cringe. Those time I am so critical of myself I am usually writing with some sort of discomfort. As if it were unexposed territory to even myself and I quickly react in disgust.

I used to think I valued my intelligence until one day I realized I shriveled away my soft parts into sharp, cold logic and I wasn’t even happy. Unhappy because it was to impress people and by their reaction I was therefor impressed with myself. I know, it’s extremely ass backwards but that is what it was and I at least now do not judge that in myself to be able to identify my lost self then. Now, I try not to care to be more than needed. I’m trying to balance between just enough reason and how I feel and what things actually mean to me.

 Beginning with faith in myself


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I feel like my life is finally returning to me. I seemed to have gone off the deep end for a long while and looking back has made me realize a few things. One of them is in regards to depth of someone. What makes someone “deep”? The darkness? And what popped in my head was a voice softly sliding in, “how deep do you want to go before you risk making your back up for air?”  

Well I definitely went off the deepest end I could find for myself and did actually risk not making it back up to the top. It was an adventure at the very least. A dive into self exploration only to find out I knew it all before I thought I knew. But I was missing the meatiness of experiencing it. And now it seems I have lived it yet wonder if I lost parts of myself by doing it. It’s like I threw away my home, connections and what I knew of life to be wreck less in having fun and trying to see things that just weren’t there. No matter how you look at it, things will still remain the essence of how they were made. Somehow I fooled myself into thinking there was more to my own personal life than I had put the work in for. Somehow I had reversed my fantasies of life into actual life and clearly, I can’t live like that. I have to work with what I’ve got. And here I am back at square one and I am so happy to be back. The voice in my head jokes and says for me, “sometimes I like to pretend life is a lot harder than it actually is.” I realize that happens to be a statement we all can share from time and time. I also realize looking at my life that I have spent most of it running away from myself, from being and loving me. I don’t know what exactly occurred that made me live with that but I am ready to face myself more now. Without that jump off the deep end I probably would never had come to such a facing. I don’t regret it and appreciate myself more for having gone through it. There’s always worse, but my worse had me really hanging on strings of life. There were one too many accounts the past year I tried and wailed about harming myself to wanting to end my life. Sometimes the simplest of reason being that I just didn’t want to do it; live, I mean. So now I am here with eyes more willing than ever to see myself and life for what it is. I am accepting that I have no other option but to accept it if I want to move forward. When I said I spent a large chunk of my time living running away from myself, I mean that I wanted to be anyone else, look like so many others instead, have the life of people more fortunate seeming and even have personality traits other than my own. Always more or less of something I had or didn’t have. The things I loved in others and the traits I thought I lost when I lost certain people were really just things in myself I have had all along. I was just missing the self belief to let it all be.  It was me missing from seeing me, me neglecting my power and love for life. Now it’s just time for faith that all the people or things I thought I lost in life to be reconstructed through lens more direct, from a heart of my own, and through support of those still with me however light or consistent. I have me now and this time I know it.

Ramble of things I won’t promise


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I’ve always been sort of a bad communicator. Bad, because I don’t see the need or any reason to tell people anything. Of course, unless I wanted feedback or direction of some sort. Actually, I take that back; a lot of times I will want to tell people about things just to tell them about it, so therefor, preferably a positive response back. Once again this more than likely reflects on my childhood of many sorts. One such being that no one really paid much attention to me, another that when I did talk, they had no true response. Those were my early lessons of communication. Not the best, huh? Well, I will have to make due to it as it is all I know.

When I write, I can avoid anticipating judgment or gossip from what was said. I suppose I have a huge trust issue with in-person situations. Whereas, even if I knew those same people were to read my blog, I don’t suspect as much unwanted responses. Perhaps because to read my blog means they are already pre-warned that it is private and personal to me on some level. As opposed to if spoken, everyone speaks and not everyone considers spoken words to contain as much value on a daily basis. I don’t know. It’s just hard to be open and ok with myself sharing myself. I’d rather reserve my personal things shared to those who take it in and instead while in-person just be spontaneous and silly. It’s the only way I’ve known though and If I want to spruce things up maybe I should try a different perspective.

Today’s write is kind of a ramble of things I won’t promise. As all that I think and say can only be promised at most the moment it is thought or said. Then new information comes along and may invalidate or change just a tid bit and then it is all thereafter misleading information. Which is also why I find that sharing things is of the least importance. Rather, lets love and have fun instead or at least talk about external things and people because then we share being not selfish of wanting to talk too much of ourselves. Yet of course I don’t mean gossip. I mean simple observation. I always prefer creative and silly. For example, one time I was riding down the freeway and on the side of the road were one of those huge fields with cows and naturally, I said, “I wonder if the brown cow gets jealous of the yellow cow, like ‘hey why can’t I be like you?'” But that’s just me. We laughed and it was amazing. I wish there were more moments like that to have with everyone. But for that to occur I would have had to felt myself at wholesome of natural honesty. Really, I don’t know what I am talking about and I feel a little vulnerable writing all this as its all just free flow of thought, or rather no thought in between my head and the keyboard. It probably seems like I enjoy disagreeing with myself by now as almost everything I state I immediately after contradict or take back. It sort of explains how bad I am at conversations, too.

Today I woke up and decided I cared about my life again. Maybe that is what this is about. It’s me trying to shove myself out the door mentally to be a little more open. Me being more open means me being more creative, me sharing about myself, me being assertive about being me. And I’ve always known that writing usually leaves me feeling more comfortable in my mind and even in my heart somehow. It helps ground me and helps remind me that I have the freedom to be myself mostly because I don’t have the option to be someone else. So when I write my thoughts and emotions out, it reveals even to myself that that is me which feels and thinks all these enlightened to damned thoughts. And that’s ok. And so hopefully I will find myself on here somewhat more frequently and doing other things more frequently so that I may be living out here in the world instead of in my dark cave of thoughts and bitter hopeless feelings.

I know I said I woke up and decided but really I’ve been working on being able to wake up and decide such a thing for several many months now. I wish it was magic but it’s not partly due to my hard to motivate personality followed by stubbornness. And now I will go off and figure out my next thing to do today to show me to myself, and I.


Again, forgive me for misspellings or bad grammar, etc. for I am rather rusty having not written or even read much lately~

the seat of self love


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It’s like my feet have never seemed to touch the ground. Perhaps they have grazed, or tiptoed, but not fully felt the weight of my soul in the movement of steps, leaps, or even laying. It’s a strange place here. Humans, people I mean, are so peculiar and particular about themselves and things around them. Somehow I have gotten so used to the world inside my head that I think sometimes I mistaken it as the only world in existence. But now and then I will get glimpses of what my human eyes see, human skin feels and so on. 

I am a very easily cold person, temperature-wise that is. And sometimes now and then even emotionally. Or a more honest description would be I feel nothing at all but a dull emptiness — coldness. The closer you are to the equator, the center of the earth, the earth at all rather than the sky, the warmer it all is. The moments I do remember my feet feeling like they touched the ground, everything made more sense to my human mind. My human soul was never from here, yet I don’t believe it was ever meant to be alone either. The soul, I think, is meant to merge with the human and dare neither be without. But how does a disconnect even begin to occur? Somehow a thread came loose and I was never told it was not meant to be concerned for, and there it began to unweave. 

Just as the feet of my soul never merged with the feet of my human, it seems I have never quite touched the ground. So as I sit and wonder, when and where have I felt at home in this body in some amount of space I preoccupy? And I remember: the first time I got my own room when I was eleven. Before that, I had lived in a crowded house where I was never to be left alone. (Except in the bathroom which still had high stress level since I didn’t know who would be coming to knock asking if I was done.) Not only that but that child me felt it to be loud and busy seeming. Most of whom I lived with didn’t speak English and needless to say didn’t speak to me anyway. I was, if anything, left feeling very much in the way; a nuisance which they were obliged to take care of. 

Anyway, I remember that very first moment I had with my room once I finished arranging everything the way I wanted it. Everything seemed so pristine as I layed in my own bed, looking around my lightly decorated room humbly dazzled thinking, “this is all me, and only me.” And really, I didn’t have a lot of stuff at eleven not even a full closet or full drawers. But nonetheless, I had a say in how I wanted to express me. I don’t believe I had a moment before that to have my own space or any room for myself to exist as I was. It was almost unbelievable and I was filled with gratitude and warmth. As I draw upon that moment, I also recognize that in those times I felt grounded, I was also alone. Not lonely, but alone of others. I didn’t have to be cautious of someone commenting on what I felt like doing or need to listen for someone to come around the corner of my small square bedroom. I had the chance to have a door between me and the world rather than feeling completely watched. In those quiet moments of my bedroom, I could sit in funny positions and no body could stop me. I could think whatever I wanted and not have to worry if my thoughts were showing on my face or movements. And I could cry and pray and say whatever without being judged or told to stop. Before that, I didn’t feel such a freedom. And I am aware that this all sounds so extravagent for simply having my own room, but it was my moment of feeling at home, safe, and relaxed yet excited to start feeling and being me. 

With having connected to that, I then begin to recognize that I begin to feel moments similar when I am alone in my recent life as well. I feel it the most when I am alone in my entire house. I couldn’t feel at home in another’s house even if I were assured I was alone because truthfully I would be paranoid of being walked in on by surprise. With my own house I can at least hear or sense in some way if someone is about to enter. And by now I probably sound crazy with all this and paranoia but most people don’t come from such a home life or maybe just aren’t as sensitive as I am or, both.

So now, I have come to my next step forward after reviewing my progress of what little grounding I have found for myself over the years: I need to make my own space and fill it with me energetically, thoughtfully, and then make it all visible. I will make a home inside of myself so I can carry it with me as I travel out of the door, on the street and in a crowd whether I know them or not. I know that is a very far reach but I just can’t live without any grounding anymore. All in all, spirit sent me a message in my dreams saying that foundations should be built on love or else all else falls apart. And in those moments I had my own room at eleven, I adored the space filled with me and love for me. It felt like my first breathe of life and I breathed love into my being, both my human and soul. It has been proven necessary to reconnect with that home within myself, as that seat of self love.


Thank you for reading this as this was a very personal writing as all of my writings are but this is a very large step forward in terms of revealing beyond my broken parts but honoring who I am under the rubble. My writing skills may be very rusty so please be easy on me. My wiriting is more than a means of opening up it is also my art so this comes directly from my heart I hope you know. Peace and love, for I am coming undone

Balancing upon a foundation


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Isn’t it odd how I go throughout my day thinking of all the interesting or important things I need to write about and then the grand moment comes where I finally drag myself to my keyboard and tablet, and I am absolutely blank. Actually, it’s really annoying. I expect more of myself you know, to have something worth writing about instead of scattered thoughts that make no overall statement at the end. Yet, since I started and reached this point of opening a “new post” page, I may as well push myself to finish. 

I suppose I can start by stating that my main focus as of lately is finding balance and really understanding  it. All the times I have taken to reflect on my life in various moments has really helped; it’s a good thing I did my homework before I knew it would be important. But that’s not to say it is a chore, it is more that it did/does take effort to reflect and feel why or what on myself. It simply gives more awareness and I’m realizing the more awareness I have, the more I know I don’t have. And awareness is nonetheless what people mistakenly confuse as intelligence. And intelligence is awareness of what is as well as being able to identify patterns, connections, similarities, cause and effects, etc.. I believe education is what is confused for this reference of intelligence often times such as knowing facts alone, structures alone, why’s alone rather than seeing as is without adding personal opinion or perception. Those are separate, in my opinion. All in all, this is all just my opinion I am very well aware of but are you as the reader aware of that or does anything I say or believe frustrate you? Well, I can’t say that I am responsible. Motivate you? Well, that’s good to hear. Confuse you? Maybe you’re not ready to understand or partake in a response. Any or all ways unlisted or listed are great. Partially because I most likely won’t hear of most of them and if I do it is not my job to have an opinion back but merely to listen. 

Sometimes I wonder why I write with such attitude, with such defense. I am not consciously speaking to any particular person or audience or at least not outside of myself. And maybe that is just it – I am speaking in defense of myself to myself. I have realized lately quite how much of an enemy I truly am to myself. Now, I can go back and blame my past experiences for causing me to become wounded and hurt and clearly deeply damaged and I am entirely correct. But regardless of that correct analysis, the situation is no longer current and it is now me having to deal with that damaged me. In a sense, I have become who hurt me but toward myself. What an epiphany this truly is and I will shyly admit that by writing this out I have come to that conclusion. I do think that this conclusion has been floating around in my head and this has just condensed the process and simplified it. I am one step closer digging towards whoever “me” is and bringing them back to life if I can manage to stay alive during the process. In the time that I have found better balance in myself inside and out (getting back into exercise, went pescaterian, reconnecting with family, started doing yoga/mediation, starting even going back to a church but more for a sense of acceptance), I have been flipping more often and more strongly to suicidal states. Not to be confused with depression – although both can occur simultaneously I am aware. It’s more of a state as simple as I just don’t want to do this, this life and living as I drop into moments of feeling nothing and no pleasure whatsoever and seeing no point in anything. I’ve gotten these moments my whole life but they come and go and they haven’t been this consistent in such a short period of time since I was around thirteen. And I don’t know if I have mentioned this in any previous blogs but my first time attempting suicide was at around six years old and nobody would have even known it was suicide. But anyway, sorry for the extreme leap I just had to get that out of myself and onto something. Aside from my flips to suicide, I get bursts of life inside myself. It’s like I’m in limbo of life and death or something as if spiritually.

Going back to balance, I believe the hardest challenge that I am aware of at the moment is finding a healthy ego. And really caring about myself enough to even have that come up as a concern is a big step so yay. I say that, because I didn’t care about myself to such a degree before that I was okay with my self worth being so low. Why? It was my truth that I was worthless and meaningless and now I am seeing it as not okay, plus it makes life really hard as if that wasn’t obvious but the difference is that I care to continue in life just enough to reach out, or even write about it. Many times I still find myself reverting to feeling worthless but somehow I’ll find a way to prove myself to myself in a healthy manner. And when I say reach out, I don’t mean reach out like talk to someone . Why? Because I have too much social anxiety to talk about myself or problems; two, I have been lagging on seeing another counselor; and three, because I feel weird and self absorbed and like I am throwing myself at someone by doing so. 
I believe the most important thing I have done to help myself thus far was very recently reconnecting with my brother. I always have wanted to tell the whole world about him. He is my home and reason to love and live. Whomever he chooses to be, whatever he may do, I could never not love him. When I had the squal with my mom, we had the strongest and longest disconnection we’ve ever had. I am ever thankful that when I reached out he accepted me with open arms. Regardless of who disconnected who, who did what, whatever was misunderstood or done, none of it matters because the result of having him back in my life at all is all that is needed. I always have felt like I can do anything with him. He is my sense of root. It also made me realize that if love is not your foundation, then you may have not even sprouted.

**apologies for spelling errors as this keyboard is Bluetooth connect and very slow and I don’t know how to use spelling check on my IPad app so oh wells

loving me.

Lately, I have been questioning my existence quite a bit. Maybe because for the first time in my life I actually have some desire to exist for myself. Any other reason before has been for others but over time I have learned that I can’t put that much pressure and responsibility on someone because it’s ridiculous. For some reason, writing all this is seemingly difficult like my mind doesn’t want to go there. In fact, my heart tugs  a little downward to come across how I am presently thinking and feeling and fear is making me prefer to not know why. But I know that there are many parts of my mind, feelngs, and past that I completely skim over and later it ends up haunting me. Some say to simply not feed the demons and it all will pass but that doesn’t seem to be my history. So here I am confrontng it and not really knowing where to go from here except that every time I reach this point I feel a mixture of things such as lonely, heartbroken, desperate yet determined and very, very lost. I cannot help but wonder if it’s just a group of unfortunate people like me who experience this all in secrecy or if it’s just mostly abnormal. As better as I believe I have been getting in terms of connecting more closely to myself I still long for something unknown, I still feel some sort of emptiness, a “hole inside” is what I’ve most closely related it to and its been there my whole life. Maybe I missed that part of life that was supposed to fill that part up I really don’t know. And its frustrating to feel like I can’t know what I don’t know what is making me feel what I feel. It sort of sucks to just feel without reason therefor without any possible soluton. Yet, someone would hope that by living like that forever someone could get used to it or find a way to forget… unfortunately, that didn’t work for my life. I know my thoughts are ever so pessimistic but for me to pretend they don’t exist makes them pile up in a corner more and more until  I can’t take it any longer. 

This is the hardest I’ve ever tried to love myself the past 2 months and it is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. I’m hoping only the beginnng process is this painful and will hopfully balance out soon. If you are reading this I  hope that you send me good luck or prayers beause this time of my life I am truly trying to put my entire self out there.

Breaking off “family”


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So it’s been awhile since I’ve been on here as usual. I’m sitting in the starbucks in Mountain View typing this off my Ipad and bluetooth keyboard. It’s haunt season and I am missing out on in for the first time in 5 years. I’m actually not as sad as I thought I’d be about that. I told myself that if I am to miss the best part of the year with my most favorite people of the year (who I referred to as my haunt family) then I better make the best of it. Although there seems to be rumors about my likeability and whatnot, I am not so upset about it — anymore at least. I feel like the ones who have chosen to not like me due to rumors or judgments upon lack of personal experience are well worth discarding. As somewhere I once read said: “a friend that suddenly turns on you has been hating since day one.” I appreciate whoever came up with that one because it has saved me the anxious trip I would have taken just to come to that simple conclusion. My friends that still have respect and love for me will continue to resonate in my heart. And to those who are mislead, well, I hope their lives come together because I know that their impersonal hate for me is due to insecurity, jealousy and to feeling lost. Well, if they ever come out of it I’ll be around, kind of. However, I have a lot to attend to otherwise. I must say that this is very cathartic to have written out. Especially since I largely struggle verbally communicating myself to people due to overhwelmingly anxious thoughts. For some reason writing on here feels a lot safer even though it doesn’t necessarily stop those who will judge or assume anyway. Perhaps subconsiously I know that those who would only look for reasons to look down on me would not come on my page and read all this stuff — at least not admittingly.

I wrote on a caption on my Instagram that the last two months have been the hardest months of my life. Partially because I have had a lot crammed in all at once. An overwhelming factor being that I felt discarded from my immediate family and therefor am in a long process of moving out, and not only that but leaving on bad terms with almost everyone in that house. That alone, as always, is a long and complicated – kind of grueling – story. I feel drained just thinking about it. So I won’t go too much into it, just the interesting parts. The past two months have also been the most suicidal all at once. And the next couple of days immediately after the incident that got me to be kicked out of the house I believe I actually would have gone through with suicide had I been left alone. Thank goodness, I was not left alone for any of that time. I had never felt so hopeless, so lost for words and broken before. At least not so much all at once that is. I was waking up crying, going to sleep crying, breaking down every hour or couple of hours that whole week. When I was finally left alone for about half a day after that week, I was able to survive but I broke down the whole time. Honestly, it still hurts but I am also still recovering. I’ve had such a manifestation of anxiety and panic attacks also since then. And I think my anxiety has always been this bad really but it just so happened to surface the most and I felt more freedom to express it than I had in the past however long. Learning to live without the abusive, opressive environment is like weaning off a drug that’s kiling me. I learned that the first two weeks of dealing with the situation in all reality. All the voices kept yelling in my head reminding me of my invalidations. I know I sound crazy saying I hear voices in my head but I do and have my whole life. It’s just that now I have finally decided to disagree with them. I am learning that it is so hard to do that because to undue all that I have had beaten into me is to completely turn my world inside out and all around. It’s more than scary, it’s defeating; hence my rush to suicide. There is so much more going on than just what it seems like on the surface. On the surface it seems like I just got in an intense, kind of violent fight with my mom and decided to move out due to it as as such reasons like well, it’s time, I’m 23, I had a place offered to me and it’s time for change. So simple right? But to leave the environment that bascially ate me alive is so much more than just the average household situation. 

**apologies to any mispelt words as this is the first time I have used wordpress on my Ipad in which I am not accostomed to using yet and first time using this keyboard which lags greatly and therefor frustrating me to go back and check spelling.

“I couldn’t control myself”


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There’s something in me that snaps, changes, and almost separates from the rest of me in a moments time. I believe there to be a certain thing that evokes it and yet even with warnings it still occurs. The result ends up with me going blind into rage – literally. Sometimes I black out whether it be for a couple of seconds or an hour. In those black outs I become violent and today it happened and I stopped myself before any actual harm. I restrained myself but in my eyes I know I sought way more than what little I actually did. For someone to think that I want to feel this way makes no sense. I can’t control it and I’m just realizing how little control I do have after all this time and its scaring me. I’m starting to believe I’m sick because this has happened many times in the past and each time has been with full force and if I had something on me to literally cause damage I likely would have used it. But luckily not only was this occurrence lacking anything I could use, it also was in a very public setting. Just writing about this is gets me boiling to remember the moment. I didn’t cause any real physical damage today but I sure did mentally to them. In fact, it took me all day to understand how scary not only my actions were but what I turned into the moments after that in regards to things I said. All of it left me shook up the remaining of my day and even still now.

Without the slightest understanding of why or how this could happen, the person fled from my life bidding me farewell. Possibly forever or as much as they have control over not having me around. I didn’t fight it, in fact I encouraged it in a very evil, cruel way. I’m not bragging in the slightest, I am entirely summing it up from the point of view of being shaken afterwards. I think some of the scarier things I said I actually appeared to have meant at the time, and the calmer things I may have just thrown on top due to lack of control. It’s like I’m analyzing a different person right now. It’s like a completely different person that I never met in myself. As if, my demon.

I cannot blame the person for fleeing. However, I can see it from both sides. For one, that is not a normal action of mine and it appears that that part of me is in desperate need of help. It was quite out of my control and I can entirely admit that I lost it and stopped it by quite a leap. I probably would have full on fought them if I let myself. Regardless of reason, I am not justifying myself in the slightest.

The person’s immediate reaction was the get away from me forever it seemed. As if they never knew me otherwise. As if whatever connection we had as two civil people was never formed. I felt dirty by disgust of the situation. And I have an irrational fear of rejection and only in a particular matter (in which I won’t mention here). That’s another trigger for me to snap (or maybe its the key one). I don’t know. I’ve only now recognized this as a serious problem and it has been going on for almost a decade of my life sporadically.

It’s not their fault that they didn’t know I’ve been dealing with a lot emotionally lately as well as doing it alone because I’ve pushed everyone away. I’ve been crying every other night to myself or just throughout the day due to I’m not always sure what of. Sometimes I just hurt deeply about some moment and sometimes I’m deeply moved by some memory. I’ve been more sensitive than usual and more vulnerable than usual. But it would be unfair for me to expect anyone to know such a thing especially when I shun anyone away from inquiring about myself. I’ve been extra secretive this past month but I just want to hide the more I reveal about myself to myself. It’s new, scary and I’m just uncertain about myself. I’m not used to being this revealed anymore and I need time to adjust it seems. I need time to understand and allow myself to be in the presence of someone who may judge me or use these things against me. Even if those possibilities remain only in my head, the fear is still real and vicious.

Recently, I’ve been trying to get myself to be more open. Open to myself and open to others. But I have found that being more open means uncovering that dark side of me as well. Every time I have had that side come out, I feel the most vulnerable, the most sensitive, the most in pain and yet the most attached and very, very impulsive and desperate. Everything in the few moments before, during, and several hours to days after feel very surreal and it’s like I feel e v e r y t h i n g . It’s like I’m hurting for a thousand people and I’m feeling the pain of another thousand deaths all internally, all at once. I get nauseous, light-headed, blurry vision, shallow breaths, and shakes. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me and it scares even me.  But back to having recently opened up; I can say that it has worked. I have become slowly much more wholesome. But becoming wholesome means equaling the bad with the good. And god, I have been so much happier lately and although it only began maybe two or so days ago, it’s still so gratifying. So much more lively and energetic although it comes in bursts but then there’s this side which is very dark and hard to stop once started. Perhaps I needed space because I was afraid of giving myself out and being judged. And I mean the good and bad judged since I wasn’t used to revealing the good because I, myself judged it. And yet space was not given nor understood. Recently I’ve been feeling like all the time I’ve had alone is still not enough. I don’t count “time alone” if I’m writing emails, using the internet at all, responding to texts or around too much chaos even. So if I count what time I do have left when I take away those moments, it is not enough for my introverted self. And I get overwhelmed and I don’t have enough time to understand myself and I start to build up feelings.  And sometimes the feelings burst into situations like these which I never took the time to deal with properly. Or maybe situations like these are inevitable and certain instances will have a cause and effect property. I don’t know. After writing this I feel that a lot of it is washed out now. And that was the point of this post. Now I can sleep hopefully without nightmares as it is 2am.