Things I want to say..

I lost my soul person yesterday. && the hardest part is knowing it was by my own hand. I keep replaying it, like if I look at it long enough I’ll find the exact moment I should’ve chosen differently… softer… quieter… better. But I didn’t. && now I have to sit with that. I get it now, sister. I really do. I used to wonder how someone could have people who love them, people reaching, calling, trying… && still feel so far gone. I used to think love would be loud enough to save you. Strong enough to pull you back. But it’s not like that, is it? Because when your heart is this tired… when your mind has convinced you that nothing will ease it… it doesn’t matter who’s standing in front of you with open arms. It doesn’t matter how much they care. They can’t touch the kind of hurt that lives this deep. && that’s the part no one understands. Everyone keeps trying to make this smaller than it is. Calling it “nothing.” Saying it’s something I’ll get over. But this… ...

Sister, I know you’re watching… I just never know if you can feel what I feel, or hear the things I whisper only in my mind. So tonight, I’m writing it down for you.. loud, bold, && honest.. the way we used to be with each other. Life has been… a lot. Beautiful in moments. Cruel in others. && somehow still stitched together with you in the seams. && I need to give you some instructions.. because you’re in charge of my boy now. Take care of Brody for me, okay?? Give him baths, even if he acts like the world is ending at first. You remember how he’d huff && glare… then suddenly melt into the water like, “Oh yeah… I actually love this.” Scratch that spot at the opening of his ear.. you know the one. && behind his ear too. If you want to make him kick his leg like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, scratch his butt or that one perfect place on his chest. There’s a hidden spot on his belly that makes him lose his mind too.. you’ll find it. ...

Trigger Warning: Description of a Loved One After Death by Suicide ​ The Unforgettable White Sheet ​Today, the memories came back in high-definition. They weren't a trigger when I spoke the words aloud to a friend, sharing the truth.. that I lost my sister to suicide. But driving away, the silent miles brought back the small, piercing details, the ones the mind tries to protect you from, but the heart never lets go of. ​It was a small room. Rachel, Mom, Dad, && me. We stood. We all said no when they asked us to sit. ​&& then they pulled it back. That white sheet. ​I will never forget it. The off-white color, the small, almost imperceptible stain near the bottom corner. It was a barrier, && then it was gone. ​&& there she was. My little sister. ​The sight of her is etched into my soul: ​Ice bags on her eyes. ​Her lips blackened. ​The faint, awful burn mark around her neck. ​Her home-done tattoos.. horrible in their execution, yet somehow, ...

I will never fully understand why they decided to leave. && yet, deep down, I know exactly why.. * *Life* *… life can be just too much. Too loud. Too heavy. Too relentless . && sometimes, the sad, bitter truth is that it feels so much easier to just quit. I feel the weight of it in my chest, in my bones, in every thought that refuses to stop. I feel the ache of love && loss , of longing && regret, of guilt && grief.. all tangled together like an impossible knot. I think of the ones I miss.. my sister , my dad .. && I see their arms, their presence, their quiet understanding. They would let me cry. They would hold me when everything is too much. They would not ask me to fix myself. They would just be with me. && I ache for that now , because the world feels unbearably loud, && I am so tired . && yet… I am still here. Even in this sorrow, even in this grief, I am still breathing . I am still trying. Even when it fe...

You were small, once— all elbows and laughter, a voice that cracked like sunlight through the trees. I still hear it sometimes, in places where silence should live. They say grief softens. But some sorrows stay sharp— like your name on my lips, or the empty chair at the table, or the birthdays that come like storms. I wonder if the world ever felt gentle to you. If your smile was armor, if the weight you carried was just too heavy for your hands. God, you were just a girl. And I—I didn’t know how to reach you. Didn’t see how far you'd wandered behind that bright, brave face. I would’ve gone with you into that dark if it meant you'd stay. Now I carry the questions like relics, and your memory like a lullaby with no end. You were here. You were loved. And you are still— in every quiet moment, in every beam of morning light— my sister. My always. 

  Anticipatory Grief,  Complicated Grief,  Chronic and Delayed Grief, Distorted Grief, Cumulative Grief,  Disenfranchised Grief (Ambiguous)*, Traumatic Grief, and Inhibited Grief. These are all the forms of grief that I was diagnosed with after the loss of Taylor and dad. So here is a collective of things I've wrote since then. Healing Losing my sister and father in the same year was like the sky breaking in two—half of it gone to twilight, the other half to night. They were my compass and my constant, and when they left, it felt as though the world tilted, leaving me to find my balance in unfamiliar terrain. But grief, as heavy as it is, holds a strange kind of beauty. It teaches you the depth of love by showing you the shape of its absence. It forces you to remember not just the loss but the life—every laugh shared, every story told, every quiet moment of knowing you belonged to them, and they to you. I carry them now in the small things: the songs they loved, the ...

Suicide awareness is a gentle but powerful call to notice each other, to look deeper, and to break down the walls of silence around mental health. It’s about understanding that behind a smile or a silent nod, there may be a story of pain, isolation, or despair that someone is carrying alone. Through awareness, we acknowledge that suffering exists, but we also affirm that no one should bear it in silence or shame. Raising awareness is an invitation for empathy—a reminder that words and small gestures can have incredible weight and meaning. It’s a movement that teaches us that conversations matter, that listening with an open heart can provide someone with a lifeline, and that even the simple act of being present can make all the difference. Suicide awareness transforms a difficult topic into a message of hope, connection, and resilience. It’s about telling those struggling that we see them, that they are not invisible, and that they matter. By shedding light on these struggles, we creat...

Our group seems to get smaller && smaller every year sister. It's kind of heartbreaking. Whether it be because we cut off toxicity, or because the people that came before are now gone ((that person being padre)), our family is dwindling.  Regardless, this was a good run sister. We didn't run with the sombrero this year, or a picture, but we wore your shirt again. We do it every year. But this year was a little different, this year I decided it's my day off so why not do something a little more permanent?  So let's start this blog off with;  It started with an idea.  That idea, turned into an appointment, and that appointment, turned into a booked appointment. It's almost been four years sister, four long years that you've been gone. It seemed the appropriate time to get your memorial. So I did it, my own style, with my own ideas of pictures, && combined it into one.  The ribcage because you're gone via your...

I remember the mornings I couldn't move sister, like the grief was so physically heavy, that I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I just couldn't. But yet almost four years later, I'm doing the exact opposite. I know you know sister, but writing to you makes me feel better. I know you're by my side, I know you're watching EVERYTHING I do, but writing to you, whether it be physically or thru this, helps.  I know the raw feelings of it all sometimes helps people too, so there's always that. I've gotten into the routine every morning of going to the gym. No matter how I feel emotionally, or physically. I push myself to go, so much so, that I almost have a routine of things to do every week. Because ya know, consistency is key or whatever.  I've lost the weight, ((I only have four more pounds to lose)), I'm fighting ((&& mostly winning)) against my body dysmorphia, I've done the therapy for grief, I'm taking the steps, working on ...

Oh man. This is an emotional one, but let's start with why. For so long, I've held this resentment towards people who didn't help you stay clean. For so long, I held this resentment towards people who used with you, or hooked you on the shit period. I have my good days, && I have my bad. What I mean by that is on my good days. I can forgive those who used with you, gave you anything, who sold to you, who started the problem, and those who antagonized it. On my bad days I can't sit here and lie, sometimes. I wished the worst on them. && I know. I know. But I was angry. I regret it now, but at the time, I didn't.  I've had this voice, your voice in the back of my head now asking me to let all of your past vices go. But why? Because God knows you weren't the forgiving type ((always)). You were one to hold a grudge.  Maybe things have changed. Maybe it's the adult in me, or maybe it truly is you pushing me in the right direction.  Today thoug...

I remember this day so clearly. We went paddle boating at the park you used to work for. The one in Dickson. I had my beer with lime, you had your beer && on we went with the boys. Later after getting a marvelous tan, we swam with the boys. That was the good. The bad came so much later, but we'll skip that part for today.  You would be twenty-seven this year. && that is a big year sister. I wonder what your plans would have been this time for this event. You would had celebrated all week none-the-less but I truly wonder what you would had done. Would it had been a subtle little party in-between close friends, or even a big party with anyone you could invite? Would it had been family oriented .. I guess it's something we'll never know. It's something I'm always going to wonder what if on. You are always going to be a what if in my life now sister. I've been struggling lately, so much that you truly understand.  A trip to the Psych ward...