Everyone simply… helped.
No one made my mess into my identity.
No one made me earn the help.
Thoughts from the edge of ordinary
Category: Letters from the Void
Every chronic illness has a beginning. Mine always starts the same way—with impossible fatigue, brain fog, and the stubborn hope that maybe this time it will simply disappear on its own.
An invitation is different than an obligation Dear Void, Lately I’ve been leaving the back door open. Partly for the cats. They wander out into…
Dear Void, The feeling of new is in the air. Not certainty. Not abundance. Not even happiness exactly. Hope. A whiff of it. And relief.…
Dear Void, Last night a teenager in a rabbit suit hijacked by evening. Not because he frightened me. Not because a jet engine fell through…
A reflective Letter from the Void on witnessing tragedy through digital screens, emotional overwhelm, and the strange miracle of finding authentic human connection in the modern world.
Dear Void, Of course. Of course this is the day I get pulled over. A day where I already do not want to participate. Where…
I Was Told I Seemed Put Together Dear Void, WTAF. Yes. That feels like the appropriate opening. Because somewhere between the slow tilt toward the…
A reflective January letter on melancholy, empathy, absurdity, and surrender—written from the quiet space where time softens and meaning is allowed to drift.
December asks for enthusiasm. This is a letter for people who don’t feel it. A quiet reflection on winter, unresolved endings, and the melancholy season; without fixing or pretending.