It’s been five months since I’ve written anything, and finally it feels like the space is coming back.
I don’t have to fill every waking moment with podcasts or videos, leaving no air for my thoughts. Like if I could suffocate them they’d go away, and I’d be okay.
Like if I gave them any air time they’d take over and destroy me from the inside of my brain out. Like I wouldn’t be able to stop the downward spiral and maybe that would be it for me.
Well, the worst thing I could ever imagine happening, happened.
My best friend doesn’t want me.
My business has dried up.
I live with my parents.
I don’t have custody of my dog.
I am totally broke, in every sense of the word. Cracked open, I have no where to hide from the thoughts or the feelings, and they have the whole sky to swim in.
Talk about airing dirty laundry: I have years of grief to air.
And now the only thing left to do is put the pieces back together. Or, if not back together, then into something new and different and better. Terrazzo maybe, or mosaic.
Fierce, flaming, flawed and still fearless.
There’s a wildcat that lives on my torso to remind me of this fact, but she’s nothing compared to the one ruling my heart.