The Pleasure Principle.

Nostalgia is a funny little thing. It creeps up, and the lighting in a room, or a particular rhythm, or the sound of a voice.. it lives dormant in your blood, until it isn’t.

The meaning of life? What makes you feel like you’re entitled to meaning.

I deeply miss our life. The consistency, the security, the dependability. I miss reaching out after yet another bad dream and finding arms that always wanted to envelop me. I miss the consistency of your breathing. I miss calming my nerves to the rhythm of your heartbeat. I miss the goals and the dreams and the idea of you taking our babies to sports practice. I miss the stability of a home and the features that made it ours. I miss having someone who would always, always show up. I miss you. I love you. I wish I wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s true, maybe I am meant for so much fucking more than I ever gave myself credit for.

This one just feels more tangible and legitimate than the rest. It’s not about my fantasy of who I want him to be, or lust, or idealism. He really is the most extraordinary man I’ve ever loved. He brings so much to the table. He is patient and thoughtful and compassionate. He is consistent and genuine and honest. He loved me so much, and cared deeply about my needs. Why am I walking away?

2022: the year of grief and loss

“Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.”

never in a million years did i believe my life would be this beautiful. i believe in my value. i am building something i am so proud of. some days still dissolve. i’m still breaking destructive cycles. i’m still acquainting myself with my authentic self and learning not to resent her. some days i am acutely aware of the fragility of this peace. every day i am aware that it’s not me who’s responsible for it. every day i question whether i deserve this man. i’m happy so long as he’s here. so i intend to absorb every second of it while it’s mine. life is messy. it’s so hard. it’s so fucking hard. 

This is the first time my emotions can’t be articulated by someone else’s art. I have my own voice and it’s coming together marvellously