Once upon a time ago...there was this girl. She was never okay. She held together by her own fears. Pieced together by the surface scars of others. She pushed herself to be the most imperfect perfect she could construct. She stood up to face an unknown so dark she contemplated leaving it all. Hiding beneath the surface inside of her soul she clung to hope. She wished her self well knowing an illness crept inside her bones. Always overthinking when she laid in the dark hearing whispers from afar. Hoping desperately for a sign to condemn the blind. Let them see where the darkness stood there is light! Leaping moonbeams to find the way to ease this pain. Seeing dark images in the windows on the stormy nights...Always trying to find a way to make it make sense. This world she lost herself so selfless. She couldn't keep it together forever. Eventually, those nightmares like hounds in the night caught her. They tore her down and shredded her soul. They stole flakes of her slowly. Tearing away at her memory. Reminding her she was a faded hopeless lost so easily. She couldn't keep it together right. Losing herself within this abyssal darkness where the chains were never ending. The pain was never easing. The fears were always waiting by the door. Her eyes strained in the sunlight and her once gentle heartbeat, thumping like the thunder rolling thru the hills in a hale storm right before the clouds part. Wishing some way she could hide. Escape. Lose herself within the stars. Paint her in the sky amongst the farthest moons. Let her create the walkway for the next girl to leap on moonbeams. Incase her story is like mine. She's gonna need a light to shine her thru the darkest of times. Where flowers just die. They never live long enough to make somebody smile. Time just dredges away when you can't find a way to spend it. I've been so lost so lost and full of pain. So afraid of changes, but change happened regardless. I have to face the way my life has dealt its last few cards. I have to make sense of the senseless. Directionless against the storms that come. They take our breath away sometimes. We keep secrets when we shouldn't. We fall apart in ways I never thought I could. Stripped down to nothingness. I wear these scars across my heart like mines in the field. They keep me fierce from the battles where I've been. I wouldn't wish the hell I've been thru upon any other soul. Watching your soulmate fall apart isn't for the faint of heart. But I've survived this much I know. I've walked the road and fallen so many times. The bruises that some of this trauma has left me with. The scars that I hide deep within. I'm finding that daily is a daily reminder. I sure do wish that I was stronger. Maybe my mind would have lasted a little longer. All that armor didn't help me in the end. To wear your heart on the sleeve is the understatement of my being. My soul is always feeling always searching always wishing for the better. I used to believe that our bodies are built with all we'd ever need. So in theory, I didn't believe we should share organs. Then my daughter was born. The God's and I have talked so many times. I was so wrong before. I was so closed minded before. Now there isn't one organ I wouldn't give, one breath I wouldn't share. I'd give her my soul. We don't grow up to be broken, but sometimes we are broken. It doesn't mean we cannot make ourselves into pretty collages overtime. Easing the pain of those scars. Making them look more normal again. But My God does it hurt. It is how I Imagine it feels for the butterfly to first burst out of the cocoon in the sunlight rays. Just wow. I have to learn how to be okay again with all of these changes in my life. I have to find me somehow. I need to find that smile I never had. I want to find that laugh when I snort.

So...lockdown's a thing now, and dare I say it's super fun, fresh, flirty and good for me! By that I mean, no, not at all, I am genuinely confused as to what day it is, how to process information, and just a general state of unease. It has led to more and more alone time, as I thankfully managed to spend 4 months away from my claustrophobic and highly tense household. A tiny glimmer of peace and quiet, however after, perhaps....3 days of on- my- own- gratefulness complete with "good evening moonchild vibes", I was struggling to keep things together. Keeping things together, maintaining a certain level of sanity differs from person to person, my version of this was making a conscious effort not to just, well to put it frankly, open my mouth and scream for a solid 28 minutes. (A personal all time record- not proud of it, well sort of, as a raspy, husky voice came out of my mouth for the next 5 hours.) The next stage of lockdown is well, what do I do now? The answer is- if you are already on the cusp of a low level identity crisis, to buy as many wigs as you can from a suspiciously cheap website, plaster your face in make up, and just go the whole hock. Not just the hock, I'm talking tail, snout, trotters, the whole shebang! Then you look in the mirror, giving yourself that pep talk, the 1 we all have, the 1 that makes us convince ourselves we can and will do anything, but ultimately leads to you crying, foetal position, on the nearest bed and or floor. The best ones end up with you on the kitchen floor, there is just something so gratifyingly pathetic, stupid, and disgustingly privileged of a "grown" white woman doing so. It's as if you think the cold hard tiles are a way of paying penance for being so ridiculous, but actually ends up feeding into the melodrama of the whole conflama of it all. After about 30 minutes of that hell-scape, what's the next step, what's the next stage? Well, you get up wipe off the make up, regretting it the entire time as you are perilously low on micellar water, oh the horror, and you realise you WILL be left with that black smudge underneath your waterline, for another day- minimum. Now that's done you check your fridge, freezer, cupboard and search for the serotonin lift that accompanies a sugar high; much to your despair, but unsurprisingly you can't find anything and it's too late to go to the shops. You curse yourself for having the audacity to refuse to buy junk food as you pledged to yourself not 2 days ago, to turn your li9fe around, get healthier eating habits, and for sure, workout feverishly, just so you can pretend you have some sense of control and discipline in your life. Fearing that even though they 're your friends they would somehow judge you for not losing that cumber band of fat, or not being able to solve world hunger and eradicate the patriarchy through the power of self love. The self love screamed at you anytime a petite influencer needs to sell the newest "fit tea", or indestructible toothbrush, not quite understanding the irony in the whole fuckery. Anyway, you have no junk food, you have no drugs or alcohol, so you sit in it, you sit in your feelings, your boo-hoo poor me feelings. It would almost be comical if it wasn't so inherently selfish and privileged. You need to combat those feelings and fast, quickly get yourself on change.org, sign a bunch of petitions, the more racially diverse the better, you find it eases the white guilt a bit and also you get brownie points, as you can brag to your friends, lord it over them, showing them proving to them that, yeah, perhaps I haven't lost weight, but at least I have proof that I'm a good person. I deserve to be seen. Please recognise me. Don't let me fade into the background. I'm clawing my way up the ladder of a superiority complex. Please just tell me I'm a good person, I don't want to be thrown into the fires below. Then you sleep, you've worn yourself on the emotional rollercoaster, you wake up the next day, and what do you know, you repeat the 3 day process again.