Emily Dickinson wrote that "Dying is a wild night and new road."
The death she spoke of came to mean two things, and I often times found myself lost in myself.
I began this blog with the wrong mindset, maybe.
No more than a girl piloting her 20's.
Trying to make sense of the world but I wasn't ready to view it as I should, not when I started.
There was hope
Beautiful, radiant hope.
If I held on long enough I too could be happy.
Turns out you have to leave the front door of your insecurity to find that happiness.
My story here began with an eating disorder relapse, beginning to learn to face the after math of sexual abuse, an unhealthy relationship, and the end of my undergrad.
I'm no more than the usual girl
And while I wish I had the answers,
Felt things like I think I should
Take more chances like I should
And shed these chains like I should,
I'm along for the ride like everyone else.
Dying is a wild night because sometimes you have to kill the ugliness,
The old you
With bad habits, self-serving tendencies, insecurities, and that piece of your humanity that renders you otherwise.
I removed most of the old posts because I want you to know me as this,
On this new road, dying ever day
If you're on this ride with me,
Save the salutations.
At least until you decide if you don't mind
The contents of a searching mind and heart.
We're all a little broken
But we're never hopeless.