Life later, life now

I think people nowadays, are unnecessarily angry, and unnecessarily expressing way too much online. Hopeful, obsessed, anxious, concerned, confused, consumed; melting into their seat with their eyes strained and necks in a kink.

People certainly consume more than they need. Why over share every moment? Every cool thing doesn’t need a photo. Let that moment linger in the real world a bit longer, and then glimmer in your mind as a beautiful vivid memory you can tell over and over in different ways.

I think the over use of social media kills the feeling of what actually we are actually experiencing.

Oh shit, a cool semi truck with some play-on Marlborough logo that isn’t Marlborough.

An old man walking in the parking lot who looks like a deceased loved one.

Damnit. Just marinate in the moment. Your nervous system doesn’t need a jolt to grab your phone every time.

Let alone then sit online after posting and doom scroll waiting for validation?

It feels so unhealthy. I miss the days of Myspace where you had a specially curated digital bedroom, your top 8 mattered and your song choice defined who you were and how you felt.

Bulletins made you think for more than a split second. And by the time your photos uploaded and you answered all the questions, you were ready for a long distance Zoom call from a friend or ran back outside to enjoy the day.

I even remember internet cafe’s were a place where I could check in briefly with friends, see what was going on with their summer break and update them on my European summer break before heading back to the streets of Ukraine.

I subscribed to that type of lifestyle. Not the one where people spend way too long each day in a vegetative state. Drooling over being noticed. Obsessed with with self image.

Keeping a digital ‘life’ profile is fine. A record of things. A digital mood board of sorts. A way to keep up with people.

But simultaneously that doesn’t that mean, lean into the obsession of sharing to feed an algorithm. To feed a like count.

Instagram was made based off of gambling. MySpace was based off community.

If someone you aren’t that close with has already posted every life update online, do you really feel the need to dig any deeper?

The people you genuinely want to keep up with don’t require social media. You call them. You text them. You meet for coffee. You hear the unfiltered version—the stories that never make it into a post.

Maybe we’ve mistaken constant updates for connection.

Not the polished magazine-esque, social media nutter butter crap…

I guess sometimes conforming to social media undermines my own personal need for privacy, solitude and autonomy.

Fitting in is never easy. But it’s not that hard either.

It’s simply how much you want it. Or how much you care.

And I never understood why people wanted to get so much recognition online? For what? Being a pro content creator?

Dj’s, artists, musicians, businesses, brands, yea those make sense…

But a person, with a personality, talking about things?

It’s giving Dr. Phil. It’s giving Oprah.

Podcaster dudes get trashed on, and influencers are worshiped?

Have a talk show then if you really fancy fame for your personality.

And even a talk show LITERALLY hosts other people. Oprah and Phil did’nt make it all about their face entirely. The show lived based on who they invited on.

Funny people sometimes become comedians. But not every social media influencer is actually funny. Yet, they still get followers.

Followers. Not friends dude.

I don’t get it. I never will. I don’t subscribe to this.

Youtubers even feel more authentic than a social media influencer.

You’re influencing consumerism. What else dude?

Influencing being online longer than needed. Buying more things than needed.

You’re not focusing anyone’s attention.

At least a talk show host has people sit down, relax with their neck straight and hands at bay.

An influencer has a micro 30 second video every few days. Multiply that by millions of influencers influencing same, but different, things.

What the actual fuck you guys?

Imagine:

It’s the year 2037

Nobody reads captions or reacts to anything

Humans have become humpback vegetables stripped away of any emotion. But trolling still miraculously exists.

Even if you use it as a moodboard of your favorite things, why does it have to be so incredibly based around the idea of your face?

Seems so conceited. Obsessed…

And I’m not a shy girl, I know my facecard is very pretty, but I feel a sort of guilt, when I look too deeply into the idea of being consumed by my own precsense.

Obsessing over my image and how I come across online.

Make an only fans at that rate? Have people pay you for your face. I guess sure online instagram get’s you brand deals. But with ai now, brands don’t even need people to make deals!! They can make fake people!!

One day it’s going to all be in the past. That’s my prediction. And I’ll be so glad I didn’t waste my time subscribing to post, post, post…

I like my nervous system ebbing and flowing, not forcing a timeline for an algorithm, a trend, whatever.

My friends will always be around. The coolest people I know don’t even post anyway.

It really always was Myspace vs Facebook.

I rolled my eyes when we had to socially switch from MySpace to Facebook, and then again to Instagram. Frowned upon if you didn’t.

Oddly TikTok I was thrilled about.

Snapchat felt VIP. Temporary just how everything actually is.

So I deleted Instagram again. And I think this time for good off my phone. Not just a few months.

Do I miss being able to follow along with events and people I find funny, sure.

But do I love living life without it, hell yea I do.

I’d like to think the corelation of people holding comfortable eye contact is the same as their screen time usage.

The more screen time you have, the less you can focus on the feeling. The more you are afraid of true connection.

Real connections are not brushed over every 30 seconds.

I’ll continue being the weird girl who looks into people’s souls and reads them front to back, faster than they can like, comment and watch through a 10 second reel.

That’s a gift.

And I won’t let the machine ruin my mind.

Long live MySpace.

It’s getting a relaunch, so I’ll be hyped when the doom scrolling format goes away.

Chat’s Take

The central idea: “What if addiction is leaning too hard in one direction?”

That’s a genuinely strong thesis. It gives the piece shape instead of it being just breakup sadness.

The comparison between:
- alcohol, work, validation, chaos, closeness
…all being attempts to regulate pain or emptiness is insightful and relatable without sounding clinical.
This line is excellent: “I have learned the opposite real well: how to continue choosing someone my whole life. But this… is the period of my life lesson where I have to continue choosing to not have someone in my life.” That’s the emotional core of the piece.
“We’ll always have Ventura” is cinematic and grounded at the same time. That’s very you stylistically.

What I think you’re really circling around

I actually don’t think your “addiction” is closeness itself.

I think it’s:

hoping closeness can finally resolve abandonment, inconsistency, or emotional distance permanently.

Which is different.

Because closeness itself is healthy. Humans absolutely need it.

But when closeness becomes:

proof you’re safe
proof someone won’t leave
proof you’re finally fully chosen

…then every rupture feels catastrophic.

And your writing already understands this subconsciously.

You keep returning to:

inconsistency
partial closeness
almost-love
interrupted safety
people who wanted to love fully but couldn’t sustain it

Sometimes I practice KickFlips, Sometimes I practice crying.

That residual post break up sting really creeps up on you in the most random moments.

Over it, then not over it.

I’m sure you’ve been there too.

On one hand, getting over things quickly is good. You don’t get a chance to ruminate. But I sure do enjoy ruminating in my feelings.

I feel them so deeply. Remember that I am alive.

But sometimes I know getting over something too quickly means you never really sat with that feeling for long enough.

This morning I was listening to a TikTok livestream about addiction.

The guy captioned: “Is addiction really a disease or is it low emotional intelligence passed down as generational trauma”

Like a dad consistently over the years saying “hey son, toughen up, no crying around here”

The livestreamer claimed that because addicts are disregulated in their approach to things, over spending, over doing things, drinking too much, abusing substances, rage, depression, leaning too far in one direction right?

I get that idea…. go on…

Leaning too far in one direction. Could that be a facet of emotional intelligence?

Or is it plain and simple, discipline? Emotional discipline.

Because you can actually be very emotionally intelligent. Pick up on sublte ques. Read the room, etc…

But not have the capacity to internally say, “Hey I need to actually stop this pattern”

Because repeating a pattern over and over and expecting a different outcome is quite literally the definition of insanity!

Having the discipline to stop the pattern, even when it’s uncomfortable, is truly breaking the addiction.

So I think, and always have thought this, addiction is the lack of emotional discipline and abundance of excuses.

My father for instance. The most disciplined military man, just like many military men who are PTSD’d out – tend to have drinking or substance abuse problems.

They think, well I’m so hard, and so disciplined everywhere else, that means this area of my life is a pass.

“I can stop when I want to.”

But they never actually want to.

Leaning too hard in that direction again without an end.

Then the livestream started talking about the other addictions.

We pinpoint alchoholics and addicts the most.

What about workoholics?

“yea my dad was such a drunk and never provided for the family, I will never be like him – “

Meanwhile, they are never emotionally or physically there for their family.

“Yea if I work hard enough I will get XYZ and then finally feel better about myself, I will feel good enough, and about where I am at in life. If I work hard enough people will see that I am also good enough….I am capable” (validation, attention, earned love, etc.. a trauma response to healing something: ie guilty for not doing something enough at one point in life?)

Is that any better? They make excuses that they are doing the “right thing”. Grinding, hustling, working hard… but there is no end. Why does anyone lean so hard in one direction?

Chasing that high. To feel good.

Then sure there are shopaholics, gambling addictions, etc… when money starts to dwindle down because of the habit. You get a high for the new thing, and then feel low when you feel guilty for that thing.

You feel high at first with that first drink, first hit, first commission you make, first milestone –

But then you do it again and again and out comes the low.

And why the low? because guilt creeps in.

We lie to ourselves and make excuses that we are not disregulated, especially when people compare themselves to drug addicts and alcoholics.

Some people are even chaos addicts.

Life will be going great for so long. So peaceful. Life and relationships going well…. and boom they gotta find something to go fuck up. Because chaos is what they grew up with and that’s the only version of love they know.

So riddle me this then.

What’s my addiction then?

I do not like chaos in the home and in my relationships.

I do not necessarily have a drug addiction or drinking problem. Always been able to manage that. Weed just sorta was the hardest one to quit. But I always pushed through once I really was ready to. And I stuck with it when I set a goal.

Yes you can have a healthy relationship with all these things, but again we are talking about the disregulated person thinking it’s ok.

Even people who hit the gym and revolve their lives around it.

Some people are addicted to sports, being the best one, landing the trick, winning the game every time. The high, the high!!!! Hitting the gym. Gymaholics! Get more weight on the rack, be stronger, be better, hit more reps, look good, validate yourself, feel good about doing it so intensely.

Some people have an sheer addiction to validation.

I mean I feel pretty validated because I know all that I have accomplished and who I am and the end of the day, so I love and trust myself. I don’t need anyone to validate me or what I do. I also realize bodies change just like seasons.

So I ask myself what do I lean so heavily on like a drug? We all have it.

Love? yea I guess so. But not even just love. I think it’s just closeness.

I never had it in my life. It would always be breif periods of it. On and off.

Nobody ever stuck around or kept their morals in check enough for me to stick around.

So let’s say I am addicted to closeness.

And I don’t have it as much as I would like.

Similar to a drug. You want it all the time.

It’s because something is lacking.

You chase the drug because you’re stressed or feeling feelings or lack of feelings. Your emotions are disregulated so you do the booze thing or the drug thing.

Now, why do you do I chase the closeness? Because I never felt close enough. Even with my mom, we were so close but there always felt like some sort of distance like she wouldn’t fully let me in, although she loved me so much.

It’s like the friend that always gives you the half ass hug.

So the solution is managing the desire of closeness? Not wanting it so much or so often?

Fuck man… but that almost feels similar to fighting tears, no?

The desire to be close seems way more innate than the desire to get fucked up?

But ok, with that theory in mind, don’t chase and don’t be so obsessed with that one thing. That is true regulation. That is truly not being addicted.

Do not chase the closeness Julie.

That sucks.

Instead practice crying. Because you know what? Even someone addicted to crying probably should realize it’s unhealthy to do that all the time.

I yes, don’t cry enough. Never was allowed. Never was the right time.

However, now is the time. I gotta process being wronged twice and realize it was all addiction and mental health fucking things up.

Red wasn’t a bad person. He’s just a disregulated person.

How do you trust someone after all that?

I love him so much. More than I realized in the moment.

I couldn’t let this ship sink and take me down too. I had to do the hard and right thing. Because I cared so much, it was going to kill me too. (Or least take years of my life) So letting him go sucked, and then getting hurt again for letting him go?

That really fucking hurt.

And it all still fucking hurts. It hurts so badly.

I still love him actually. But – I need the love I had poured back into me.

And I can’t hope he’s gonna do it. I’d be so mad at myself for getting played a third time.

So this is where I need to actively keep choosing to let him go.

I have learned the opposite real well: how to continue choosing someone my whole life. Choosing through flaws and potential.

But this, this hard choice, is the period of my life lesson where I have to continue choosing to not have someone in my life.

What a fucking shitty situation when you love somebody.

Knowing someone is not good for you.

Knowing that losing trust is quick, and earning it is forever.

Something that may never end up getting earned back anyway.

So why the fuck hold onto that love?

Why can’t I be like I was with John?

Maybe John and I had something real, and Red and I had something we wanted.

“We’ll always have Paris” quote from Casablanca

Maybe that’s the same for this situation.

We’ll always have Ventura………….

now I go cry into a pit of never ending abyss.

Choosing the greater cause, the greater good hurts more than the movie Casablanca ever could portray.

If I were them, I would have cried way more on that World War flight goodbye.

Paris had closure. Ventura, I don’t think it ever did.

Where did this wisdom out of nowhere come from? Choosing love is easy, choosing to let go is harder than hell.

Same goes for choosing that addiction.

Love is the worst one.

I just wish he knew how bad it hurts me. I don’t like this life lesson one bit.

This pain is the equivalent to my moms death and I don’t think I ever will fully get over it.

Wish we just broke up in January and he never landed in the hospital and I never saw him afterwards.

Sure it’s a great story, and that’s sadly where it will have to live forever.

Get well twin flame.

Sometimes loving someone deeply still doesn’t make the relationship survivable.

That’s a brutal lesson. But it’s a real one.

Whore

There’s a lot of times I open up WordPress and think to the liveJournal days where I wrote through a lot of childhood trauma.

One specific post I wish I could retrieve is the one where my father literally called me a whore for buying some modest brown, Anne Klien, 3inch heels with a dainty golden button.

I thought they would look nice to wear to church as I was no longer a kid.

One of the very first times I wore them out to some job, or acting audition (something my brain totally erased out of my mind)… He drunkenly called me a “whore” and proceed to just bash into how stupid I was for wearing them.

What I would do to read how I felt back then.

And I guess that’s why it’s good to write regardless. Just keep writing even when it’s hard and you don’t want to.

It’s one thing to screen write or do something poetically.

But writing my feelings is almost as hard as talking through my feelings and feeling them all the way through.

Something about writing, stream of conscious, absolutely existing in the present moment.

Especially looking into a blank screen. Something hits differently than on paper. Listening the jams that fuel the words. (Today: Liquify’s new 2026 playlist)

This morning, I have this looming weight over my chest, and then over my spirit, and then over my breath.

I think that I’ve got it under control or I’ve done all the proper stress management techniques I have to get past it.

But I have to remember it takes time. I do tend to move past things fairly quickly. But the things really mattered, it takes a while longer.

Am I still sad about Red?

Why?

I’m convinced he has BPD1 mixed with a heavy case of alcoholism. (later on case confirmed)

But maybe that’s my empathy – being sad about the underdog.

I always want the underdog to win. To prove me otherwise. I.e: Dad.

Not even sad about the situation that I put myself through by being there for him. The hospital visits and the gang nonsense. Plus being lied to and deceived twice.

He went back to two totally separate toxic girls. This time was almost worse.

Knowing that this chick fully said she was going to quote “fuck me up” next time she’d see me.

The disrespect man. I don’t even have to go into it on both their parts.

It just hurts. But the hurt is like a dull jaded hurt.

I guess it still hurts none the less.

Feels like my heart is making the silent noise of being broken. The silent cry.

While my mind says it’s alright.

Just like Red kept saying, “it’s alright, it’ll be fine, i’m fine.”

Meanwhile nose diving into a row of bird scooters and acting drunk on camera to post online and humiliate himself?

Maybe we say we are ok…. we feel the cry, but it’s in the opposite direction.

Like secretly we aren’t ok, but we don’t know how else to treat ourselves.

Sad, it’s all sad.

I’ve cried already.

Maybe I need to cry more.

I think what really get’s me going, about wanting to cry, is the thought of how badly I want this future I have imagined.

And then, when I look back at myself on that lifeguard stand, wanting this future I currently have…. I can’t help but to realize, it all came true.

I can’t forget those moments staring into the pool, bashing my brain into desire, wanted this exact life.

Yes, I got it and so much more.

So I remind myself, that the future should not hold back from the present.

I cry, because I am still that same little girl who wants all these things.

Waiting on the next “aha” moment –

This time it’ll be even more meaningful. I’m sorta still looking into the pool – just trying to figure it out.

The dream job, the dream guy, the dream family.

No fighting for it. Just breathing and believing it exists.

Cry, and cryyyyyyyy because I know how badly I want it.

And they say, the frequency you give out is what you get.

No playing the victim they say. The law of attraction plays out this way.

Being a victim only pushes the things you want, so badly, further away.

But this cry, I promise is not one of a victim mindset.

It’s the desire mindset.

It’s the, “I want this so badly. This exact cry, I am crying now, is the exact same cry of how it’ll be when I get it.”

A snapshot of how it’ll feel. It feels so real.

And maybe that’s the looming weight over me today. Present me doesn’t realize how good it’s going to feel.

It’s just an echo of all hard work I had endured to get here. I already validate myself more than anyone I know because – I KNOW MYSELF. I know my morals and my ethics and the depths that others may never experience or realize.

I mean who wouldn’t cry when the soul that came to accomplish this dream life, get’s that dream life.

I think about riding a motorcycle on a long scenic road. Sharing laughs with someone I love. Going to shows and catching sunsets. Cooking meals together. Encouraging our goals and creating even more goals. Working on the road. Exploring. Running a business. Totally crushing it on every front, and feeling effortlessly fulfilled.

Waking up with constant motivation.

And having grace on the off days, to just be.

Creating art in my gallery. Building a community.

Canvas after canvas. Messy hair, creative paint covered clothes. Coffee and a smoke.

Stretch, dance, laugh, skate.

Music, celebrate.

Time is not something to be afraid of. Missing out on the present is something to be afraid of.

I think when you stay in the mystery of the future, that’s where you miss out on the real gift, today.

Take on those words of wisdom.

Seriously. You always read back on your blogs and think, “who is that girl?”

I am reminding you who you are.

Do NOT doubt yourself ever.

You are the girl in your mom’s Volvo looking at that same green classic car every morning at the stoplight near school. That girl would want you to keep pushing on.

Remember when it was raining and you felt so bad for that beautiful car classic beauty being neglected in the driveway? And then one day it was gone?

Mom said something to you and you responded with, “I have to – because I have no choice. I’ll do it all on my own. I will get out of here and I will be successful.”

Well you did, but you don’t have to be alone.

Remember the tale of Baba Yaga? The little doll didn’t let the girl down. All the impossible tasks were completed, and the girl returned home a hero.

I know you’re angry, and tired, and hurt but you don’t have to be.

Someone really does love you. Your angels are looking after you.

If Red said anything at all during the time we were together that meant anything, it was that.

“You’ve got some serious angels, and they’re looking after you.”

It’s true. I am the luckiest girl.

Let’s see how incredibly fast things turn out for the better.

You have endured enough. Everything you desire is valid, and it is outright, divinely yours to have.

The future is just another present.

I love writing the way I love breathing.

AI is great and all, but it will never replace a true stream of consciousness.
Maybe it dulls that for some people.
And I feel sorry for them.

I envision a life that feels just like this little spot.

In this moment, this is that spot.
And this is how calm my life is.

A little sweater weather in the morning.
A little sunbathing mid-day.

Laughter in the garden.

Going to the market and seeing familiar faces—
the butcher, the florist,
the local farmers loading and unloading.

Making a meal for my family in the cool stone kitchen,
only to go sit outside again, near the garden.

To lie there with four children and a loving husband,
feeling the warmth of their skin on mine.

We radiate love.
Unconditional, boundless love.

Feeling so fulfilled that the past made it all worth it.

To hear my child’s voice.
To hear my family’s laughter.

To go sit in the garden and become the crazy garden woman,
thanking the plants endlessly.

I will cry, and cry, and cry—tears of joy.

So many tears,
they will water the plants too.

Love is everywhere and in everything, people just sometimes forget to practice it

Being a great writer is like being a great athlete.

You have to train for it—
not just check a box and call it done.

And a coffee shop must be the gym for people like us.
Or maybe a library—though those can feel like information overload.

But the right casual coffee shop, with the right casual vibe will do wonders to your soul.

Especially the slow, quaint, quite types with a gentle ocean breeze, tucked in a charming neighborhood playing slow oldies.

I like to sit in the shade with my back against the building. The sun splashing my arm with an occasional beam of light.

I admire hearing muffled laughter inside while dominios are being shuffled, the old screen door opening and closing, cars mindfully passing by, and of course, occasional crows in the distance, and some funny looking “turkeys” crossing the road.

I would never disclose this hidden gem because it’s like giving your heart away, in a world that just takes more and more of it. It’s hard to not hold on tightly to the things that matter. We care for these things like our lives depend on it.

Just my dog and I,
and a hazelnut latte—
like the old days in North Carolina.

In the short time I’ve been here,
I’ve been met with a calm, peaceful energy—
the kind where even my dog doesn’t bark at the mailman,
despite all his conflicting smells.

Everyone here is at peace.

The women inside smile—
not out of obligation,
but because they want to.

The barista takes care in making my drink just right,
offering something new —
cold foam on a hot hazelnut latte,
just to cool it perfectly.

Two women on the couch pause their conversation when I sit nearby.
They notice my dog,
and suddenly another small, friendly one appears from under the table.

The dogs sniff and greet each other.
We share that easy dog-owner banter.

I mention mine will be ten in April—
then realize… we ARE in April.

We both pause.
Time moves so fast.

But it also makes you appreciate the slowness of moments like this.

When my drink is ready,
the barista asks me to try it—
offering to remake it if I don’t love it.

I squeeze past an older woman asking for water.
As I stand there tasting my drink,
she asks if she’s in the way.

Of course not, I said — I just wanted to thank the barista.

I tell her how perfect the suggestion was,
smile, and head back outside. It blew my mind.

I sit. Exhale.

This small little portal
puts so much love back into my heart.

And it doesn’t stop there.

I sit on the patio next to a man.
We chat easily.

Otto brings smiles wherever he goes,
and whenever the energy feels like this, it fills me with more joy.

The man compliments how well-behaved he is.
Later, the women from inside pass by,
heading to their cars,
wishing me a good day.

Another older man approaches—
offers my dog a treat.

He says he meant to give it to his sister’s dog earlier,
but forgot.

Part of me thinks…
he probably just keeps treats in his pocket.

Something I would do.

Dogs make people happy.
They make me happy too.

And so does this place—
and this kind of energy I’ve been missing.

LA feels so…
focused on the wrong things.

The internal and external noise, the constant hustle and bustle, go-go-go culture—
things that just don’t fill your soul.

But a smile from a stranger—
a brief conversation—
that’s connection.

That’s community. Fill my cup with that over and over and over please….

Sometimes I wonder if LA is just too big for that.
And I wish I could change it.

But maybe these outskirts,
on a quiet weekday morning,
can be my little escape.

Maybe I’ll become that girl
who drives 45 minutes out –
and an hour fifteen back in traffic,
just to find a little bit of peace.

I could sit here all day.

maybe it’s time for a second cup of coffee—
black this time, but decaf.

The wild caffeine days are over.

Looking for the words

I’ve always wondered how we spiritually end up with the lives we have.

How we cross paths — and why.

Why you?
Why me?
Where’s the lesson?

Addiction was in my household too.
Fighting and arguing constantly.
A military PTSD’d out schitzo father who struggled deeply with his addiction.
A mother who stayed and endured the abuse for far too long.

And as children, we learned those behaviors as our “normal.”

We suppressed our feelings so we wouldn’t add to the chaos.
Never fully seen.
Never fully heard.
Never truly loved in the ways we needed.

Occasionally, we were graced with a small sliver of love — and we ran wild with it. Our parents too busy with their own issues.

When there wasn’t enough of that feeling, the love we needed, we self-medicated. Soothing something oddly similar to our parents.

Personally never felt like I was good enough for my parents.

Maybe I’m projecting.
Maybe I’m just speaking for myself.

But maybe you relate?

Love is something everyone needs.
Pure, unconditional love.
And it’s rare.

Like they say — hurt people, hurt people.

You have to love yourself first.
Accept your trauma.
Accept your pain.
Dig your way out of it.
Create a new life.
A life filled with love.

And that’s not to say the struggle itself isn’t beautiful.

Because today, Jordan — seeing you in this state — even this experience was beautiful.

Incredibly sad.
Literally terrifying.
Seeing you with half your skull detached, laying inside of a freezer, waiting for the day it gets stapled back on. That was intense.

I’ve broken a bone or two before — and that pain is brutal. But going through withdrawals… while part of your skull is missing and being numbed with anti psychotic meds? That’s pain I imagine is on a whole different level of insane.

You can’t even cry or process what just happened.

You are the strongest man I know.
And one of the sweetest.

Your poor heart.
Your poor body.

I’m not pitying you.

I just can’t stop thinking about that sweet 8 or 9-year-old boy left outside of an insane asylum. Chaos that early in life is traumatizing — especially when all you want is love, support and to be understood.

And I realize love may not solve everything.

But it lays a warm blanket across your shoulders while you fight the heavy stuff and figure things out.

It can be challenging to dig your way out of a mental battle of a lifetime.

When I saw you in that hospital bed, I only felt love. Everything else faded. I felt something deep in my heart and soul. I knew this would be a turning point for you. I prayed it was rock bottom.

I still pray you’re finished playing games with yourself.

I saw you as a human who had been beaten up by life, yet still smiling. Still pushing. And I related to that so deeply.

I still do.

When I walked into that room and your energy lit up — when you reached for me and pulled me into your chest — that hug felt endless. You held me so tight. And somehow, you rubbed my shoulder through it all… when I was supposed to be the one holding you together. You poured into my cup.

You kept repeating two words to me: I love, I care. And pointed at my chest.

I kept a brave face. It was hard. Listening to your slurred, jumbled words.

There was fear in me — fear that you might not bounce back. But hope, too.

You would get frustrated when you couldn’t say what you meant. Tilt your head back. Eyes welting up.

I pulled out my small pocket mirror so you could see the staples in your head. You were so shocked in awe and disbelief. Asked me if you were ok about twenty times.

I looked at you deeper than ever before.

I saw you.
I really saw you.

Even without clear words, we communicated. You kept reaching for my hand.

At the end, you motioned for me to lay next to you a little more in that hospital bed. The last time I did that was about 8 years ago with my mom battling cancer. I rested my head lightly on your chest, quietly crying so you wouldn’t notice.

Later, I watched them remove a bloody tube from your half-open skull. Then inject something with longest needles I’ve ever seen in my life. Only to stitch your head right back up – fully conscious.

I held your hand while you barely flinched through that process.

We even laughed that day.

But the tenderness in those 3–4 hours will live in my soul forever.

Forever.

You were so excited to see me. Your family saw how tightly you held me. They said it seemed like you didn’t want to let me go.

And when I left… you woke up and shouted a mumbled “Jules.”

A word we all understood.

How can you break my heart like that?

I haven’t cried this hard in years.

This is one of the hardest experiences of my life — not because you were once my boyfriend, but because seeing you like that reminded me how fragile life is.

When I saw you, I saw the world in all it’s flaws.

Then my mind spirals. Why do people go through this? Why is addiction so brutal — not just for the person fighting it, but for everyone who loves them?

I always wish I could fix it. For everyone.

My heart aches for the ones who fight wars inside themselves, by themselves.

There are many who have loved an addict and/or alcoholic. And it’s tough.

We can only hope they win that war. It’s not a war with the substance either, it’s with themselves.

Anyway, later that same day, I went on an abandoned hike to be alone.

I cried. I sobbed. I yelled silently into the sky.

God, why? It’s not fair. Love should heal all. Why put people through this?

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned there are boundaries. And that truth is unbearable. To love someone and have to let go.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
You can’t love someone into choosing the right things.

It’s hard to stand on one side of the battlefield and wonder if they’ll ever walk toward a new life.

When you held me close — almost near death — it reminded me of something I buried deep:

All I ever wanted was emotional closeness. The feeling of just meshing with someone close.

Not the flashy kind of realationship.

The quiet kind.
The kind where the smallest gesture shakes you.

It’s not money.
It’s not grand gestures.

It’s consistency.
Follow-through. Trust.
Presence. Energy.

I know you have a long road ahead. And I’m not waiting around —

but I do wonder,

Would you ever break your cycle? Or would it break you?

That thought destroys me. Knowing there are plenty out there that the world loses to alcohol and addiction.

To your future woman (whoever that might be) or your future family – I hope they get to see the best version of you someday and you keep their trust very sacred.

And know – even though there were many people who came to visit you at the hospital, I know it still might not fill your cup…. but you’re not alone.

I will always scratch my head in pain… why do people destroy themselves when love is right there?

Thank you for reminding me how fragile life is.

You are strong. I knew that early on. And yes, I’ve been strong my whole life too. Though sometimes… I don’t want to have to be.

Yet here we are. Still strong. Still alive. Broken many times. Rising anyway.

I have so much love for you. I don’t judge you. I see you. And I understand you.

I truly do. And letting go is never easy.

So many people battle things in their own crazy ways.

It’s our right to live the best life that we can.
Important to love and show up for ourselves first.
And to then love others properly.
Even through the hard parts.

Love is not how we feel about someone.

It’s how we treat somebody. Please treat those who love you with care.

There’s no formula. And it’s not a linear pattern either.

At the end of the day, I wish healing for everyone.

To heal inside and out. Treat yourself with this in mind:

Everyone deserves peace.
Everyone deserves love.

Your past does not define you.

Only the present will.

We all have our choices to make.

And we’re all simply human.

Life doesn’t have to be this hard.

Your mind can be a beautiful place if you let it.

❤

We sell boxes for rage

I went down to San Pedro the other day and took a clever photo of a storage place. Tapping back into my photography.

Those days are my favorite. If I’m going to do things in solitude, it’s going to be moody songs on sun kissed sidewalks, driving aimlessly and exploring new-ish territory.

Funny while I do spend lots of alone time, I’m not ever fully alone.

I recognize that I have friends, and more importantly my partner in crime – Otto.

And still, there’s some angsty rage always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind. Sometimes I wonder maybe it’s just a very crucial part of my soul. The part that is still learning.

Rage. RAGE. Have you every experienced true rage? Most women are told to be docile, put together, non confrontational and definitely not problematic.

Be the bigger person, they say.

But when you think about it, out there in the wild, if an animal disrespects or hurts another animal – do they just think “oh I need to be the bigger person and just ignore it?”

HELL NO. Animals lash out. Even if there’s a hierarchy, they don’t really question it.

The innate feeling of “I’m not getting walked all over”

But amongst humans there isn’t really much hierarchy. So why are there so many people pleasers?

I wanna say they’re simply hurt little pussies that didn’t have a strong self validation gene.

I don’t think about being an alpha female. But I am.

And I am aware of the energy I project. But I never realized it was the innate alpha energy. Not loud and flashy. Just cut throat and to the point.

No bullshit. No disrespect. All heart, and integrity.

So I realize that I am much more capable than the average person. Sharper. Spicier.

To suppress an alpha is a huge contradiction.

I say the whole point is, FUCK being the bigger person.

Say exactly what’s on your mind. Call them out, and speak your truth.

It’s the closest thing to claws and fangs that we have.

Luckily I don’t need to get into a fist fight – but I also don’t need to internalize the wrongdoing that was done to me either.

So I lashed out at Red.

And as many times as I thought, I don’t need to give this more energy, I oddly feel a lot better and respect myself even more for having a spine and saying exactly what was on my mind today.

Last night I had a dream about him. We had been broken up for 2 weeks.

In the dream he tried to kiss me at the skatepark and I jolted back, basically emphasizing, no – I can’t do this (the kiss) even though I want to.

And then in the morning I oddly felt like I needed to re-download Instagram and take a look……

First thing that pops up? His ex girlfriend making a silly video.

And who’s the guy standing just barely out of frame with gloves on, hiding his tattoos?

Who’s the guy with a stain on his jeans? The one with the same shoes?

Little details I still recall like a female FBI agent. I mean come on, even with his face not in the video, it’s clearly him.

So I confirmed right there, he went back to his ex after all of this.

Regardless if it’s for mindless sex or someone offering company through hardship. He couldn’t last a week processing a breakup?

It just really makes me feel stupid, and makes him look even more stupid. Especially after saying how she disrespected him and his family. How she hit him. How she made fun of him, mocked him online for how he reads books poorly.

She was even one of the biggest resentments in his 4th step. The step that I EVEN helped him write out. He hated her. He said, anyone who’s her friend is not a friend of mine.

And here I said the same thing about Runson, yet Red stayed friends with him too and didn’t respect how I felt about this rude immature guy.

I gotta say for a boy (not a man) who puffs his chest SO LOUD about loyalty and respect – he’s a fake. SO FAKE!

A sob story about mommy who didn’t love him enough and abandoned him. A kid who continues in his toxic cycles by going back to his toxic ex.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he did need to go to the psych ward. No normal person wouldn’t go back to a weirdo ex like that after pouring their heart out in pain. That’s some bigger internal issues aside from addiction and alcoholism.

But you know, I’m wise enough to realize that’s people go back to toxic things and toxic people all the time. My mom was one of them.

So it’s the rage talking. Wanting to put him down. Destroy him. But I don’t. Instead I write out the lingering rage and put it into boxes. (Or in this case, pages)

It’s clear as day.

He’s a little boy still, not a man yet. Dealing with his addiction, maybe healing a day at a time, but at the end of all, sober or not – he has not felt enough for nobody, not even himself.

Not by his family, not by the people around him.

And what’s sad is he doesn’t realize that.

No matter what drug he chooses. Cocaine, booze a gang, or love. It’s filling a void. Seeking validation and love.

He unknowingly just threw it all away. Me and him. Makes me sad.

I am someone who doesn’t judge the past. The rumors of domestic violence for instance. Or his home life.

I don’t judge the little imperfections. I don’t judge the dollars someone has in their pockets. I don’t judge the things they cannot control. Because we all have a past and that can be worked on.

But I do judge how a person shows up moving forward.

Red showed me that human trauma really does move in cycles unless you break it and choose a new path.

It’s easier to go back to something familiar. Even if it’s toxic. Because choosing a new path would require someone to grow. Be put under pressure.

Saying goodbye to my father was breaking my toxic loop years ago. You always hope that it will be different next time. Especially when it’s someone close to you.

You hope they’ll be better and that they’ll show up for you in the right ways.

Maybe Red was similar to how I looked at my alcoholic father.

And that somehow, I was hoping to maybe heal that wound.

I looked at him as someone that went through hell and was able to get past all their trauma. End up on the other side as a changed man.

But I can’t sit around and hope forever like I did with my dad. Thinking I would get that clarity, closure and love. You gotta do it yourself.

If they want to, they will. Not on your time though.

And after all, I want to see someone grow.

And I want to grow together with someone too.

They don’t have to have it all figured out.

I just want to see that person dig their heels into the ground and do what’s hard and difficult. And then I get to be the first person to enjoy the fruits of their labor. The mental hard work that takes to be the hero. To fight and do what’s right. To heal and to love yourself just enough, that others get to reap the benefits of your self love.

And I love my self enough to be generous, kind, loving, and understanding.

But I also love myself enough to speak my mind and to stop a cycle.

While I can’t stop other people’s cycles, I can stop my own.

And while I didn’t think Red was a part of a personal cycle, I do think it was my past whispering – “How long will you tolerate it this time?”

Rage. I waited 23 years thinking my dad would change and be a better man.

But it’s true 99% of the time, how you meet a man when you meet them is how they’ll be later on in life. It’s one thing to be going through something.

But HOW you go through things, says enough.

He couldn’t handle it alone. He needed something to soothe. Just like addicts do.

Regardless of everything he preached and believed in. Regardless of respect and loyalty. Regardless of being hurt by this exact person.

People either don’t like to sit with things. Or, they get consumed by it and absolutely ruminate in it.

Can I say I’m shocked? No.

Can I say I’m disappointed? Yes.

But not in myself. Because self respect is the biggest flex.

Bark back at those who are loud and fake.

Rage is totally healthy, and it shouldn’t be suppressed.

It just needs to go into certain boxes.

And I like to keep my boxes nice and tidy.

UPDATE:

After some more social media pops up… Turns out he was seeing his ex on and off while we were dating. Dodged a real bullet there. Thank god it was only 2 months.

They can go be toxic together.

UPDATE: UPDATE:

Read blog post Finding The Words, half his scull is missing, literally. And the ex gf is crazy, so perhaps, maybe he wasn’t cheating on me during our time together, but he did run back into her arms immediately after our breakup.

So you tell me how to feel about him?

Transmute

…

Transmute means to change something from one form, nature, or state into another—especially in a deep, fundamental way.

To convert energy, emotion, or substance into a different expression.

When the collective is hurting, you hurt too.

It’s hard to not want to cry a very long and painful cry together.

But in order to get better you have to fight the fire.

Show up better than what’s bringing you down.

Transmute pain, sadness and fear, into determination.

Golden

What do you write or say, when your feelings feel this way.

There isn’t much time to think, but blink and there’s a drink –

This time it isn’t poison.

Not wine, nor whiskey or bourbon.

Ask yourself do you deserve them?

Of course you do, you’re a catch.

Hot and heated in the room.

In my heart there’s no more doom.

Every wish like a grain of sand, never ending in this land.