Twenty-eight years spent in the same place that felt like a prison when I was sixteen It once seemed like failure not escaping to surroundings exciting and unfamiliar somewhere far away But now I see it as a blessing to grow where you are planted to traverse the same worn paths through friendly trees in summer To sit upon the same faithful earth that holds mementos of my childhood and watch the slow changes in myself reflected back by the whispering hillsides Sharing secrets with the soiled river that has always known me more deeply than anyone could through words alone as it runs alongside my inner life The quiet protection of the thick woods softly urging me onward in time tiny hands searching for fish hook treasures among steep, rocky shores just outside of town The awesome unfurling of a life and a land intertwined the profoundly soothing resonance of a home that's greater than home
memories
House Fire
How can I ever forgive myself for the fire I set in ignorance and intentionally used to burn down the only place that I belong A decade spent sifting through ashes ears still ringing from the roar of the flames a warm home replaced with the unbearable weight of my own mistakes How can I ever trust myself again to hold what is precious to me when all I've ever done is ruin what I love All I can offer is to stand apart and busy my hands by sifting through the charred remains of my sanctuary forever laid solitary and silent How can I bear to move on from these ruins of a life I loved more dearly than myself to commit myself to a waking world that pales in comparison to burnt memories
A Precious Aching
Sometimes my heart strains toward you spreading so thin across the expanse between that it quivers like a tightly strung guitar string sending notes of anguish into all that empty space Reverberation of moth eaten memories stirring up stale dust in a long abandoned room as it echoes off the walls of aching lungs until I'm almost sure I should reach out for you The half formed fantom of a future grips my heart so suddenly in some moments that it feels worth risking anything for even certain humiliation and rejection But then the sharp, pinching recoil always returns to snap me out of my pathetic, forlorn reveries my hand is not worthy of even reaching a frenzy of hope can overcast the wretched truth I have no right to continue pining a don't deserve the bittersweet comfort of these carefully enshrined memories let alone the audacity of asking for more My lot now is to keep languishing moving inevitably away from a future that could have once been mine but was long ago forsaken My selfish heart keeps me from even the respite of one day forgetting pouring warm tears over ice cold memories I will be grateful for this aching
Green Tea Memories
Tea has been a re-occurring theme throughout my tangled life. My mother always preferred drinking tea to coffee. Her nervous nature simply couldn’t handle that much caffeine. Mornings filled with the fragrance of spices and herbs, clinking spoons, and tiny damp disposable bags.
Tea soaked wounds of my first broken heart remind me of moments of reluctant connection. It’s easy to wake up early when you’ve slept for over twenty four hours in the last two days. Dreams can only provide an escape for so long. When even that sanctuary is stolen from you, I learned that peace can be found in the slow ritual of sipping tea before sunrise. The begrudging silence between mother and daughter, the surrender of accepting help from someone you despise. Because you need her, and that hurts in its own strange way.
New love blossoms around a very different tea routine. Evenings after school, every day spent looking forward to this small, private heaven. Boiling water in the microwave and adding too much honey. The laughter we once shared when you finally admitted you couldn’t bear the way my overly sweetened tea made your lips sticky. Flirtatious frustration from the way you used to tease me for blowing on my drink before every sip instead of waiting for it to cool.
The soft haven found beneath the crumbling roof of your mother’s house. Her hovering hospitality of sharing joints with underaged teens, providing refreshments of my first teas made with milk. The strange, yet soothing smoothness of the subtle flavor. Savoring the mouth-watering smells of the best home-cooked dinners I’ve ever had being prepared in the next room.
All these years later, my heart can still rekindle those tender memories involuntarily as I sip my milky matcha. The most delicious ache, a powerful longing for a life that no longer exists. Beautiful lapping waves of private sorrow, never to be seen or shared. How can so much pleasure be found in such pathetic pining? Surely this secret clinging is a sickness, a delusion that corrodes all chance of a future. Even so, even so…
You’re With Me On My Own
Living lattice of spongey spiderwebs stitches supporting the dark, damp earth connecting networks transmitting information between the trees' deeply buried toes breathing in pulsating energy particles that permeate the thick air above quivering conviction of nature intertwined magical mirror image, veins beneath pale skin Sacred assurance that all is not lost the same sun still rises in the east each morning you reside in the red light beneath my eyelids retinas stained with sweet remembrance Everything fades except for this feeling bitter things only taste better as I age including this patient pain, the prize I protect hopeless happiness harbored in secret Silly dreams pluck breath from lonely lungs pathetic mantra of "maybe one day" vindicated by comparison to other laughably unlikely anecdotes The small, sharp pleasure of planning this impossible future fills my cracked cup enough to keep going Besides, we're still connected by that complicated underground lace linked inextricably through shared sunlight eternally sown together with this earth
Home Alone
Savoring the empty shell of the structure I've called my second home Today I took pictures of all the vacant, silent rooms so I can always remember I felt them catch in my heart as I cradled my camera with sentimental arms Whether I turn away or decide to stay I am so grateful For the way this place has held me and helped me to embody someone new I find so much pleasure in running my fingers over these tender memories No matter what happens nothing can take away what I've gained here

An End to Social Media
I honestly can’t remember how long it’s been since I decided one day to never post on or even open my social media apps again. It was definitely a pre-pandemic impulse. I can only imagine how much worse my mental health would have been at that time if I had remained on Facebook and Instagram. I really lucked out with my random timing because I don’t think I would’ve had the willpower to take that plunge during lockdown. I’m just going to estimate that it’s been around 3 years now since I’ve been a part of that online hellscape.
Right away I noticed more space open up in my day as well as in my head. There was no more mindless scrolling for hours or trying to mentally curate the perfect status update. I also didn’t feel the need to look perfect for even the most mundane events so that I could take tons of photos for strangers. I knew from the beginning that it would be more isolating to not have an active Facebook presence, but the pros far outweighed the cons for me.
Fast forward to now and I’ve started to feel that familiar itch for validation. Part of me does miss showing myself off and feeling important. Sometimes I miss knowing how people I went to school with are doing and always having an endless supply of people to message and get attention from if I’m feeling lonely. There have been a couple times I’ve considered trying to go back, if even in a much more limited capacity.
I had to remind myself of all the reasons I left in the first place and ask the tough questions about what I was really missing. The thought had occurred to me a few times for finding a way to have Instagram without all the other people. That might sound strange, but hear me out. I really loved posting on Instagram. It was my favorite when it first came out. I’ve always enjoyed photography, but even more than that, I enjoyed looking back at my own photos. It was my own personal little scrapbook of my life. I still look through my old feed sometimes to find a specific picture I want to show someone. It always fills me with such tender feelings of nostalgia.
At the same time, Instagram may have even been more toxic to me than Facebook. I followed so many beautiful, skinny, perfect women. It was one of my guilty pleasures to just gorge myself on these flawless images every day for hours. At first it really felt inspiring and motivating. That didn’t last long though. It quickly devolved into yet another way for me to feel like I could never be good enough. I would never look like those girls behind the screen. No matter how hard I tried. I truly believe (and many studies suggest I’m accurate in this belief) that those images on Instagram as well as Tumblr contributed greatly to my disordered eating and unhealthy relationship with exercise and my body in general. I was always a little messed up in that regard, but social media sent me over the edge.
While things are still not perfect, I feel more mentally healthy without these influences in my life. I feel like I have more time to form genuine connections with the people that truly matter to me. I don’t feel distracted by all of these shallow, phony imitations of community. Now for the first time in my life, I have been actively working to create a real community for myself. I even found a solution for the things I was missing about social media.
Having Apple products, I am constantly being bombarded with iCloud pop-ups trying to get me to pay for more storage. While it is endlessly infuriating, it has led me to realize just how stupid these paid cloud storage spaces are. Why should I pay to store this in one place when there are literally thousands of free platforms that offer unlimited free storage to every user? Instagram doesn’t ask you to pay to save all your posts from the last ten years. Facebook doesn’t have a limit of things you can upload or share. Even this blog affords me unending space to post or upload as many files as I see fit.
I mentioned earlier my longing to have a private Instagram vacuum. I don’t want to get sucked into looking at anyone else’s feed, nor do I want to become obsessed with a public image and getting likes. Some people have told me their camera roll is like that for them. But as I don’t have unlimited backup storage, I don’t feel safe relying on something that could ultimately become lost. (It wouldn’t be the first time.) Plus there isn’t really a way to organize photos on there in any kind of meaningful way.
A few months ago I had the brilliant idea of using my other blog that I never actually post on. Having a private blog is the perfect way to keep a little digital diary with photos, journal entries, or literally anything you might want to share on social media. So I switched the blog to private and make sure that I also set every post to private before publishing. Now I have a lovely little collection of moments from this past year just for me! I still get to take cute photos, edit and arrange them, but I don’t have to worry about tags or likes or who is going to see them. I can even add little excerpts about what that day was like or how my life was going during the moments these photos were taken. Uncensored, raw, and real. Memories stored forever, for free, for just me.
I would highly recommend this method for anyone who may be tempted to immerse back into the dark waters of these online spaces. It could also be an excellent substitute for people that want to extricate themselves from social media, but feel unable to do so. It has definitely scratched that social media itch for me. Even if you don’t want to stop getting on Facebook, another important takeaway is: The internet is the cloud. The internet is free, unlimited storage. Don’t pay for that shit. Anyway, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.
Have any of you tried this method already for yourselves? Do you have any experience trying to get off of social media? What has it been like for you? Do you think my solutions would be helpful in your situation? I would love to hear about any tips or tricks other people might have. Hope everyone is staying mentally healthy out there. Whether you ditch the apps or not, always know that you are worthy, you are beautiful, and you are enough exactly as you are.
Scars
I love my scars I love the raised white ridges randomly placed along my body reminding me of where I've been running my fingers over these imperfections private souvenirs from my past My favorite scar is the one you've left internal and invisible, etched upon my heart a mark that remains for only me jagged and deep, still tender to the touch from the years I've spent tearing out the stitches
The Roads I Used to Know
Crumbling edges of long, winding roads worn tires and no cell service kicking up dust and distant memories of days when I was someone different Complicated pangs between heartbeats it hurts, but I hope it lasts forever the bittersweet flavor of emotion crashing over me the sweet honeysuckle air of early summer saturating every poor with subtle notes of nostalgia a backdrop of rolling fields and familiar forests fading sunlight softly shining through knee-high grass the blooming joy of all that has been mine the bitter grief of knowing it's past the lonely recognition of unique remembrance never to be shared fully by anyone the miracle of time's twisting perspective the power to ferment past pleasure and pain into one deliciously intoxicating wine savoring each sip of yesterday
Linger
forgive me for still feeling so strongly for half forgotten memories for keeping these embers of images ever warm inside my mind somedays it feels like a sign to know I can't let go but maybe it's a sickness instead a festering heart left frozen in the past regardless I'm still grateful for the ghosts that haunt me my comfort and my curse I cling to the thoughts that tear me open if I were offered a remedy I don't know that I'd respond am I willing to sacrifice something as sacred as this shameful, secret joy I'd rather linger here a little longer with all that I've lost