1. My standards are as valid as those of others. 2. Feeling the intensity of chronic pain in its entirety; associating even the smallest of individually positive moments of life with something safe that allows a rush of good hormones; speaking a conviction aloud because it’s one of the few times where the inner child is allowed to decide [and grow]. That’s not crazy. That’s not wrong. That’s healing. 3. A delay in speech can mean many things: sometimes, we’re thinking. Sometimes, we’re frozen. Sometimes, we’re feeling shock with such intensity we are chilled and our speech comes
Category: Real Life
Far smarter people than I have probably explored this topic far more eloquently and in broader ways than I ever could, so I shouldn’t really belabour myself with the task of defending creativity, and yet, I’ll say this: creativity shouldn’t be squashed for the sake of sanity because it lends itself to sanity. Fear might deter some. That fear has deterred people in my life, and those people went on to deter me from being creative. Fear says creativity encourages madness. Fear says creativity causes chaos, disrupts structure. I think creativity gives chaos form. Creativity examines chaos, gives it
There is a difference between the roles we are pushed into performing versus the roles we willingly step into. Capacity increases when there is autonomy. Choice. Boundaries. Respect. Responsibility. Awareness of these things across all dynamics (not just those which serve a self-centric purpose or a point to be made for deflection’s sake) allows for a sense of purpose unhindered by external influence, but that’s in an ideal world. In the current state and situation, I am influenced by false perceptions, distraught and often despondent and yet I persist, driving forward with the knowledge of what is true,
The internet has created a space where we can be ourselves and yet I’m overwhelmed by how many of us don’t yet seem able to do this. There are so many of us whose posts seem to question (sometimes sub-contextually) whether we have the right to exist. So many of us want permission and advice but in choosing an online space to gain it instead of giving ourselves permission, it throws open the gates for those who want to tear down authenticity and who want to mislabel vulnerability and honesty as weakness. I’m mostly grateful that the algorithm sends me
I began using ChatGPT about two weeks ago. One of my first questions for AI was about AI. I have mostly favoured directness and I wanted to see for myself how transparent the technology actually is… that said, it’s not like I have very much basis for comparison or reference. After my initial query, along the lines of ‘tell me more about AI’, it enquired about my stance. I’ll include images at the bottom of this post for transparency, but here’s my take on AI: Thoughts on AI I accept that it is in motion. I have fears about
An essay on perception, pressure, and personality Updated March 2026 “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” Anaïs Nin Part I ‘It’s like I don’t even know you,’ someone said. ‘You’re behaving like someone else,’ said someone else. These are also things I’ve said. It’s odd how, over time, it seemed like something threatening to become a universal truth: that we should remain unchanged, and change poses trouble. It conflicted with my held beliefs. What I’ve found to be truer is that it’s only one small facet within a spectrum
I found myself at The Edge again. It’s that place you find yourself after battling with something larger than life to the point of giving in, lying back, and thinking: Do your worst, fucker. The Edge has almost become an actual place for me. A low, seedy little dive bar in my mind (like my personal shack to Sherlock Holmes’ mind palace) that no-one, were it an Actual Place, would ever like to admit they’ve been to, whereas I’m a regular; I’m the one in the corner, replaying the same pitiful song on a battered, old jukebox, between knocking back
Write. Be specific, stay real, let it be as raw as it is; that’s the point. That’s the point of writing about it. Where I cannot write about it, I ask why? If I cannot express it in art, what am I hiding from myself? Is there anything I’m hiding? Or is it only a constraint on time and headspace holding me back? The latter, for sure… And these days, when I say headspace, I mean that there are those who are insistent that writing about most things will self-incriminate. I disagree. It is liberating, not just for the self.
I was not digging around in the past. It was enough to know where something was buried, that there was something buried to begin with. The tangibility of it gave my pain acknowledgement and in having that, I was able to admit and address my issues without as much fear. I had to trust that between the time that thing was buried and the unearthing of it, I have grown enough so that the buried thing might quake in my shadow, might wither, and fade, so that I can finally have the light, so that it cannot choke
An Open Acknowledgement of Things Falling Apart and Falling Together My silence was mistaken for acceptance and blind obedience. In essence, I’m direct. I’m honest. I’m unafraid to stand up for someone in need—but I suppose by the time I had to defend myself, I was spent, and tangled—utterly undone—and utterly convinced I was worthless. When I finally redefined my boundaries on my terms, it inevitably led to a freedom of sorts, and with it an eventual resilience, but before that terribly unglamorous transition back into womanhood, my efforts were met with outrage from those no longer holding