This Is Me, Not Holding It Together
I’m not holding it together. I’m holding the wreckage. This isn’t about grace—it’s about survival. If you’ve ever been left to burn while someone else gets the clean escape, step into the ash with me.
When I Say I’m Not Okay, I Mean I’m Working Through It.
This isn’t a breakdown. It’s creation. This post is about what it means to grieve loudly, to create while healing, and to stay standing when everything inside you wants to fall. I’m not spiraling—I’m processing. And if you’ve ever felt like that, this one’s for you.
The Campfire Confession
What do you do when your buddy confesses—dead serious, stoned out of his mind—that his #1 bucket list item is to sleep with a little person? If you’re a real friend, you say, “Fuck it. I’ll help you.” This is the story of that night.
Ode to the Fallen: A Funeral for the Right Beat
One earbud survived the spin cycle. The other didn’t. In the aftermath of a chaotic ManTrip and a mind that wouldn’t slow down, even my gear gave up. This is the eulogy for my Beats—and a small, strange step toward starting over.
The Freeze: When Rage Goes Quiet
People talk about heartbreak like it’s loud—screaming, smashing, chaos. But sometimes, it’s a silence so deep it paralyzes you. That’s the freeze. The soul’s lockdown. This piece is for anyone stuck in that stillness, trying to survive one breath at a time.
Sandpaper to the Soul
Some days don’t cut. They grind. This is about one of those days—the kind that doesn’t explode, but wears you down slowly. Quiet grief, raw moments, and the slow process of being reshaped, not broken.
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