I’m exhausted. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve been writing a lot lately or if it’s just a combination of being a mother to a toddler with boundless energy. Last night I drank Theraflu and headed to bed early, snuggled up to a good book. Read the rest of this entry »
Our deep need to love and to be loved is romanticized through songs, movies, and books. We take chances, get our hearts broken, sometimes get disappointed, and in the end discover we’re all imperfect. The same goes for love. Read the rest of this entry »
Sometimes depression speaks to me through resounding voices that ask me what the hell am I doing all this for. Then, I find myself consumed with feeling absurd, that perhaps stringing words together is nothing more than a waste of time. The writer inside yearns for continuous approval, and removing denial from the equation exposes my weakness, that I am too delicate and too easily broken. Read the rest of this entry »