Portrait of a painful memory

She painted her skin
with the brush of a knife
the fibres so sharp
it could end her life

She looked at her masterpiece
And sighed in a whim
The oozing crimson
Trickled down, past her shin

Then she glared at the lines
that the paintbrush had traced
She’s ashamed of her work
She’s ashamed she resisted
It’s a terrible mess
I told her, it won’t last forever
You’ll be free someday
I promised
She wept
Then she painted one last picture
And away
She swept

A dedication to my inspiration

Every idea starts with an influence.

My main influence for this blog, is my best friend.
For weeks I told her she is more than welcome to live with me and my dysfunctional parents, but it takes a little more than persuasion when you have to leave a three year relationship, and a cat. So, after a very reluctant struggle, I finally managed to convince her to move away from her abusive boyfriend.

But, picking up the pieces that her boyfriend left behind, was not an easy task, especially when I was broken myself. Can you fix something that is already broken? Of course, all you need is super glue or some gaffe tape. Or in my case, a best friend.

And as her best friend, I told her honestly that I was suffering with depression and anxiety, so I needed her support as well. Then I said, “it’ll be like a project, l’ll help you become yourself again and you can help me become myself again”.

We all lose ourselves at some point, but we can become ourselves again if we try.

-Me and my best friend.
jess

Get up and go

I don’t think I’ll categorize this one into a step, merely because I’m typing this in a rush and and my thoughts are completely flurried.
I’ve got butterflies in my stomach because it’s my second shift at work (subway, ergh) and I still feel like a little girl getting butterflies over not wanting to go to swimming lessons. When will these nerves ever stop; its small, its meager, it’s a minuscule obstacle of my general anxiety that I face.