Every day I become a little smaller, by degrees. Infinitesimal amounts. Tiny shavings so insignificant you wouldn't notice. But I do. I feel it. In my bones; in my blood; in my breath; in my consciousness; in my being. And as I shrink, the space for me becomes smaller, too. Less capacity for my ribcage … Continue reading Shrinking
mental health
Shattered Glass
There is a tingle in my fingertips, a rhythmic shaking in my hands; nervous energy I cannot liberate. A flick of my wrist, a crack in my bones—a short-lived release; one, two, three breaths of freedom—a temporary reprieve. But the fear of death is inside of me and I cannot shake it, and I cannot hide from … Continue reading Shattered Glass
My Story to Write 