Commence the shitshow.

Normally the beginning, the intro is always the hardest part.

But now that I’ve started it off on a goodbye note – the avoidant in me screams with whimsy and hopes for future entries. Almost like my self-saboteur sabbaticals become inherently noticeable once I let my walls down.

They do.

Speaking of walls ….. that feels like the right place to start.

Good riddance to them.
Well, at least here.

This is what I believe has been the first time I allowed myself a place to let my hair down – well actually my hair coils – (so much for the anonymity -right?).

A place where maybe someone can relate to the most vulnerable parts of me.

the things that never get spoken out loud,

the physician visits,

the insecurities,

the masking,

the one-night stands

or even the nights i forget my self-worth and made decisions out of pure desperation,

my shit choices

faith- or sometimes the lack of

therapy visits and self-therapy visits (is that a thing? I think we call it overthinking and masturbation).

I feel like this is important, I’ve been ashamed of that part of myself for so long. That girl. the one everyone hides for some reason. But she’s so real, you know? Her stories mean something. Every bad decision laced with a lack of self-confidence and marbled with the curses of trauma her childhood left her, stories laced with naiveness and brokenness that can truly never be replicated. Stories you’ll only find in springs of a mattress, behind the heavy coats in your closet and in the one cabinet no one opens in their apartment. Those that should probably die with you. I’d like to be strong enough to tell the story for the people living with it, and this – well this is barely strength. Well, all walls down, right? — all except one.

This pink one.

Maybe I saved the thinnest veil for you.

Just don’t mistake any of this for bravery.

yep.

All walls down.

Except one.

signing off,

Poundcake.