Mom, don’t read this. And if you do don’t cry.

Because there is darkness ahead, this text has the Content Warning: Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Emotional Dysregulation, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.
It is okay to not read this text. If you do venture ahead, know that this text is raw and painful with a glimmer of hope splashed in, and some resources at the very end.

Dark raining clouds over swelling water, at the very horizon there’s a patch of sunshine, and a glimmer of hope.
Photo by Auro Queiroz from FreeImages

I took a walk tonight, in the dark and rainy British evening. I left the house without my phone, because I was not in the mood to be reached. I did however take my keys and locked the door behind me, out of consideration to indicate that I did indeed have my keys with me, as my partner was about to leave for his night shift.

As I began walking I started to wonder how many times had it been, since that first time when I took the cushioned kitchen chair, old and battered with striped corduroy covering the seat, out to the balcony. When I stepped up on it, looking down from the 8th floor, myself being only 12 years old… How many times have I not killed myself?

Can we even consider not doing something an achievement? If this was a game, would it be an achievement equal to a no hit run? Is it the equivalent to a pacifist run? If I didn’t harm myself significantly, am I a better suicidal-person than the people who took a knife to their wrists, jumped in front of a train, drank themselves to death or swallowed a bottle of pills?

Or am I just an invisible suicidal person because I’m not in any statistics because I never actually tried to kill myself? Or was I registered as a possible attempted suicide that time when I ran away from my mom’s car in the dead of winter, threw my backpack out on the ice of the frozen-over river and wrote a throw-away text to my mom that I should throw myself in as well, to which she called the police to come find me? At least there was only so many rivers (one) in town, and there was only so many places I could go from the bus station.

In this particular case, it’s more probable that I’m not a statistic, because my mom worked together with the social worker that showed up at the police station, who said something to the effect of “I wont tell anyone at work about this”, like my mom needed to be ashamed of me running away in the dead of winter.

How many brushes with death had I avoided, since I was old enough to make angry decisions and run away? Me thinking that the first time I wanted to die was at 12 is probably just wishful-thinking. I’ve been trying to throw myself out of cars, since long before 12, because I had to get out of the situation and there’s not many options when you’re in a moving car on a country road, and have you no say in if the car moves or not. If you gotta go you gotta go. I do not remember how old I was the first time I opened the door while the car was going, but I do remember who was in the car with me. And I know for certain that the first time I opened it was not the first time I wanted to. It was only the first time I was prepared for the consequences. At the time I found it most infuriating that as soon as the person driving heard the door open they stopped the car. I can’t end this if you stop the car when I’m trying to throw myself out of it! Have you no manners?

All the while, someone can write and direct a scene with that without having ever done it, and it will hit home with a huge crowd. I really should sit down and watch Lady Bird at some point. I guess we write what we know, even if we don’t. I never threw myself out of a car with any success, so I wouldn’t call it hypocritical, that would make me the hypocrite. I do believe that she took a lot of emotions from her youth and poured it into that script, to great critical success, I might add. Even though she lightheartedly laughs about it in the interview, it’s probably just nerves.

Is it possible that I am coping with my current overflow of emotions by writing instead of killing myself? Yes, but also, not quite. I feel like I’m just at a point in my life where, even though everything inside of me is screaming that I should kill myself, and it’s probably for the best, I mean look at you you can’t live up to this capitalist hellscape’s standards and you never will, so why should you even be alive?, I have so much practice in that I know how to make not killing myself an active choice by now. It’s tonight’s activity, just like game night.

Oh yeah, I should respond to my partners text, to tell him I came back home alright. I came home, but I wasn’t alright, so I didn’t reply. I guess that’s unfair to him. Okay, that’s handled.

And I guess, I should probably check that place on social media where I’ve been spewing dark suicidal jokes for a good while, without any real response or check ins.

Even though it was true in the moment I wrote it, earlier in the evening,

“I’m okay, I’m safe, don’t worry about me I just needed to vent. I will not kill myself, and if the urge is too great I know who to call (not anyone I know, but rather some emergency mental health services)”

moments later it wasn’t true anymore, because everything changed in a mere second.

Nope, no interactions on the algorithm-free social media network. Probably, because I properly CWd (added Content Warnings) and labeled everything so no one had to see that absolute pile of shit on their feed, unless they wanted to. A feature I’m simultaneously thankful for, but also kind of saddened by. That said, if I had posted the same thing on Facebook, wait Facebook was down so no one would’ve seen it either way. Let’s get back on track, where were we? Oh yes, suicidal “game” nights.

During my walk in the rain, I began thinking about GNU/Natalie Nguyen, a young Vietnamese/American trans girl, and about the night almost exactly 4 years ago (minus 1 month) when she killed herself. She was at a party with friends, and had what seemed to everyone a great night. A loving night with people who loved, cherished and supported her. She told them that she went out for a walk, and then she posted to let us know in our online community that she was sorry and that she couldn’t do it anymore.

That was the last any of us heard from her. This was traumatic for so many reasons, and it wasn’t going to be the first suicide among us, but it was the first that stirred up a huge part of the place we called home. A place we felt safe in. A place where we thought we were able to protect each other from the outside world. Many among us tried to reach out and let her know that we were there, even the people who had just moments earlier been with her in the same physical space. They could not reach her anymore. We all watched their tearful pleas for her to come back, for her to just let them know where she was.

Just like I walked out the door tonight, she had just walked out the door. Our reasons weren’t the same, and our lives weren’t the same, I’m not even going to pretend that our lives were anything alike, but that feeling inside of us to just get out… I think that deep need to escape was the same, and if not it was at least similar.

When I left the house tonight, it wasn’t unprompted, and I wasn’t just going for an evening walk, but I also knew that I wasn’t going out to kill myself. Even though the walk itself, while trying to make sure I did not fall for any of the urges to throw myself in front of a moving vehicle or just keep walking until my feet bled, most definite felt like playing life on hardmode. Like Dude, have you even played Life on HardMode if you haven’t actively tried to NOT kill yourself while out walking on a dark rainy evening? No, my evening had, all things considered been great. I had just been to a fantastic (online) party for a friend who just launched their new book.

I had however arrived late to this party, because instead of getting dinner ready in time, I had to sit down to write a letter to rein in my emotions, emotions that I can only explain as a severe case of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) to things I will not get into here. The letter had started as one thing, I’m not sure what, and I wrote it in a compose window in my email, so I must have intended to send it to someone. It soon warped into something else, something much more painful: A letter to my partner. Saying goodbye.

In what I can only call a cruel twist of irony, I realized that I had just written a suicide letter. To be more precise, I had written a suicide letter in order to not kill myself. Tonight I had used my years of experiences, and the countless number of practice opportunities which had honed my skill at not killing myself. So, I proceeded to pour everything I was feeling into this letter, because I did not want to kill myself, because I did not want to just run away and never come back. Even though my insides were screaming at me, at the top of their lungs, that I should do just that. Screaming at me that no one cares about me, and several horrible things about my relationship with my partner (I’m sure we all know how these internal monologues go), I kept writing until I felt ready to get started with dinner, and join my friend’s party!

I quipped about it online, and no one responded to it. To be fair, I did post it only to my little corner of this particular sphere of the internet, and also only to people who follow me, which is an even smaller subset of people. It was hidden behind proper content/trigger warnings, so if no one wanted to see it they didn’t have to. I’m sure it was filtered by some people too for mentioning suicide. So, let me be vulnerable for a moment:

“That awkward moment when you write a suicide letter to stop spiraling and talk yourself out of any suicidal ideation… At least I got my coping strategies 👍. I’ll be calling the GP tomorrow, or emergency psych. One of those things. I’ll be okay, and I’m going to take better care of myself. I’m safe, just hurting a lot inside.”; “just putting on a brave face. as always.”; “or I wont, because I’ll be pretending that I’m perfectly fine.” “always the fucking masks”
When I wrote this I knew I was being too vulnerable, so naturally I hid it with as many layers as possible. The CW tag, the Local Only, and then Private Post. This meant fever people would see it, and I could get more upset that no one checked in with me. Even though I clearly said “I’m okay, I’m safe”.

I put on my mask, and continued to enjoy my evening with my friends and I had a great time. I guess it’s a dichotomy, something we don’t talk about. We can have a sincere, genuine and fantastical evening with friends where we’re happy, and feel safe, while also dealing with a lot of inner turmoil. While I was masking, I was also being there for my friend on their big night, which was as important to myself as it was to them. I do fear that when they read this, they’ll be horrified. I couldn’t title this with all the people who shouldn’t read it, so I’m sorry if you are reading this. I need you to know this: That hour I spent with you and the others wasn’t about me, it was about you and your fantastic book, and the incredible world you have crafted. And it was a pleasure to be there.

After that hour with friends, old and new, I felt okay. I felt much better and calmer. Not as serene as I do today (this part is being written the following day). I thought I had everything reined in, and under control. All I had managed to do was to calm myself down enough to cook dinner, and distract myself with a fantastical game with fantastic friends, and just watch everyone happily interact with each other. Distractions are good and healthy. They can be helpful, and they can keep us alive.

Before long, another thing hit me, and it hit me hard. It was like a truck of emotions came out of nowhere, and just slammed into me. My RSD interpreted the trigger as the most horrific betrayal, disregard and just plain neglect. I was mad. I wanted payback. I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash my plates, the plates that I treasure so much because to me they are a symbol of my first true independence. I wanted to destroy them. I felt trapped, and I felt, I guess knew, that I had to keep calm and carry on. Like I always do.

Except, as I have just described, I didn’t want to keep calm. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself get any of these emotions out. That’s when I just put on my hoodie and walked out the house, without my phone. Because at least this way I could walk off some of it. And maybe scream into the dark void which is the outdoors in the early fall evening, in England.

We are back to where we began, the beginning of this story, but not the end of my story. I think it could have been an end. There has been many times in my life that could have been my last, both intentional and unintentional. And that’s okay.

I can’t tell you how to learn to “manage” these feelings of overwhelm. The feelings that will rush over you, like a wave, as if with the intent to crush you against the cliff-face. I can’t tell you how to get there, how to survive the next wave. I only want to remind you that you can. Even after the darkest night, the sun will rise again. It may rise to orange ominous clouds, or it may just rise to another overcast day, especially here in England, that will be just as boring as the days before it.

I think, the greatest lesson I ever learnt was to see tears as a release valve, of pressure building up inside. A release of stress. Stress can be caused by a lot of things, and if we do not flush it out of our system (metaphor, please don’t try to cleanse yourself of toxins) it can cause severe damage. I was tempted to say irreparable damage, but I shall refrain. Because while it may seem irreparable, that may just be because we need to build something completely new. If you are in a position where you are unable to cry, remember that that’s okay too. There are other ways to find release, that aren’t the ones everyone else around you will wish you hadn’t done.

In your hour of need, remember that you have survived everything thrown at you up until today, and you can, heck, you will survive again. Know your outs, your emergency exit, your emergency contacts. Be it a friend who has promised that you can call them whenever, be it your National Suicide Hotline, the Samaritans (thank you, Erik), for you to walk into the ER/A&E, or whatever is available to you where you live.

Even when all else fails, just allow yourself to keep crying, and cry yourself to exhaustion, watch your favorite movie on repeat, and either fall asleep or have something to eat. And remember, maybe tomorrow will be better.


This post was originally published on Medium, if you liked it it would help me out if you also clap over there.

If you enjoyed this piece of writing, and would like me to be able to write them more, feel free to head over to my Liberapay or Ko-fi and help me make payments on my student debt.
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Keep trying to get my life back together

I have been struggling, and I’ve gone from struggling to doing great and it’s been a mess.

@kinkymal

##ADHD meds update. Day 3 on a higher dose.

♬ original sound – maloki

I’ve over the past few months been doing a lot of my updates on TikTok instead of in written form, and about a month ago I got diagnosed with ADHD finally, and put on medication. Unfortunately when going up in dose after 2 weeks on it, I encountered a lot of issues, and I had to deal with that for past week and a half. Today I finally got back on the right level again and will hopefully start feeling better and be able to do things again.

It’s unfortunate because I’d just started to edit video, and giving myself permission to edit and enjoyed it, then the meds happened and my focus went elsewhere. So the RimWorld series isn’t live yet, but I can start again this coming week.

I don’t know when I’ll have another appointment with the ADHD services, so I can get my meds regularly prescribed, but I probably need to call them next week.

I keep finding myself here, where I think I’m getting my life back, and myself back together, and then something happens and it’s a lot harder to deal with it again. And it’s a bit of a pain. It’s hurting me on the inside, because I want to have a life, I want to reclaim the life I’ve lost over the past 15 years, and I want to start living better. Better as in, being able to do things, not as in “I must.be.good.healthy.and.pure”.

I have some grief I need to process, of the life I lost. Of my childhood and everything around that. And I need to allow myself to take that time to process it. It’s gonna be a pain, but I think we can do it.

I want to put things into written word as well as the video shorts. We’ll see if I can balance it, I’m hoping to start using my project Bullet Journal notebook now, which will be specifically focusing on any projects I work on, and allowing myself a better over view of things I want to get done.

This post is a mess, but I’m a mess.

Also, you can head by my other blog to see the posts I’ve been sharing about my first experience with Minecraft.


If you enjoyed this piece of writing, and would like me to be able to write them more, feel free to head over to my Liberapay or Ko-fi and help me make payments on my student debt.
Alternatively, check out my support page for more info.

Health & Diet culture

Within the first two months of mine and my partner’s relationship, I ended up with some severe stomach issues. I was nauseous and just feeling completely drained most of the time, especially after I ate. And if it wasn’t that it was severe bouts with IBS. It took me a while to understand that it had to do with my stomach as such, and I did see a doctor about it after another few months.

By the time I got to see the doctor, I’d already started to figure out things to help me feel less horrible, and I remember this question quite vividly: “Have you lost a lot of weight recently?”, and my response was “Yes, but it was intentional, so I don’t think it’s a big deal”, and my doctor took this answer as “there’s no underlying cause that’s making it hard for you to eat, so you’re losing a lot of weight”. When in truth, wasn’t me limiting myself in what I ate, so I wouldn’t feel sick all the time, my health causing me to lose weight?

When I think back on it now it seems more than clear, obvious even, that that was the case. I was clearly not healthy, my stomach problems were causing me to lose weight, but I was proud of losing weight at the time. I was like “omg, finally I’m able to lose weight, and look it’s so easy, you just eat less”. When in reality, I couldn’t eat more. If I ate more I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t study, and being at university at the time meant that I needed to be able to study. I couldn’t do chores, living in student housing and sharing a kitchen with people meant I needed to be able to do chores. So the best option was to cut out all the things I couldn’t eat, that made my stomach issues worse.

Long term I also didn’t continue taking the stomach meds from my doctor, because they were exasperating the underlying problems, by unbalancing my stomach acids even more. Can I prove this? No, but it seems to be fairly common knowledge, these days, that omeprazole and lansoprazole has that effect. There is a long-term negative to being treated.

Would a doctor tell me to drink a glass of apple cider vinegar (diluted appropriately ofc) in the morning every day? Would a doctor be able tell me that an apple a day, or as an inbetween snack, not even a whole one, but just cut in tiny pieces and eating them when you can/need to, will actually help you feel better long term? One doctor was able to tell me that bananas could help with my stomach issues, specifically green ones, before i take my meds in the morning. And you know what, it did help. And the apples and apple cider vinegar did too. They are still my go to. And overcooked rice with overcooked vegetables.

Yet, I find myself today, thinking about that other doctor, who took me at my word that me losing weight was intentional. And therefore there didn’t seem to be anything clearly wrong with me, so we didn’t continue investigating my issues, and I still have them today, 7 years later. I never got any diagnosis.

The issues come and go, and if I get back on my “bad food” for too long, or too many times in a week, often I’ll think “Huh, I have been drinking a lot of coffee lately, and I feel fine, odd. let’s take another cup of coffee”, instead of not taking that next cup.

Yes, I’m sharing this because I’m struggling with my stomach again, and being reminded about me eating less. Back then, with me not having money to cover food, eating less was a blessing in so many ways, and the fact that I also lost weight at the same time. I mean that’s the trifecta right?

I have a fucked up relationship with food, disordered eating is a daily thing. Battling the world of diet culture is fucking heck. Being body positive while also wanting to lose weight, or needing to eat less, is hard. How do I reconcile those things together? In ways they seem like antonyms.

Health at every size. Maybe health looks different for different people. Maybe in some cases health means eating less, and in some cases it means eating more. Maybe re-balancing yourself, and finding what works for you and your body is what we need to think about.

And as a thank you, while writing this post my stomach sent me to the bathroom with IBS (I realize it’s not the stomach, with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, but it always feels like it just as well could’ve been). Probably because one of the things I just had for dinner set me off. Thanks body.


If you enjoyed this piece of writing, and would like me to be able to write them more, feel free to head over to my Liberapay or Ko-fi and help me make payments on my student debt.
Alternatively, check out my support page for more info.

Took a break

It wasn’t an extensive break and most people probably didn’t notice, considering how the past year has been overall. Nonetheless I took a break in April. Mostly from planning, and especially from the bullet journal.

There are parts of it that doesn’t jell well with me, but most of it is fine. This means I get a chance to refine my own experience.

You may have read my previous post about starting to use bullet journaling. So today I wanted to talk about another reason why it’s so good for me:

I could take this break, and it wouldn’t matter, I wouldn’t waste pages. I wouldn’t lose a whole month in pages, because I didn’t use it. And I can just pick back up where I left off.

Considering that I needed a break, to just breathe and take care of myself for a month, I’m so happy I had started this journey. And I could let myself do it without worrying, and I knew that come May I was going to start again, and it wasn’t a chore to. I just started immediately on May 1.

That’s really it. If for nothing else, you can use a bullet journal to be allowed to take breaks when needed. And it will still be there, ready for you when you need it.

I also felt like I had internalized a lot of the process, so I did still get a lot of stuff done that I wanted to get done in April. Which is just bonus points tbh.

Grief: A love letter

I still love you. And I miss you. I dreamt about you last night, and in the dream we found our way back to each other, even though my awake self know that will never happen. So naturally when I woke up I was incredibly sad about it, and writing this I’m crying about it.

I cherish the time we spent together, the lessons you taught me about people, life, and the treatment I deserved. You taught me that I deserved good people.

We weren’t supposed to love each other, it wasn’t in the agreement. But so quickly we both did.

We comforted each other in our bubble. Albeit temporary, it felt like it would last forever. Why would something so good ever end?

Back then it didn’t really end in a clear way, maybe that’s why you’re still so close to my heart. Why I still miss you when I think about you.

The definite end happened 1.5 years ago, and I don’t think I processed it. My life was so busy, so renewed full of energy, and I was reaching out to a lot of people I’d not been able to talk with in many years. You were one of them.

I could speculate on my own faults, but you asked me not to. I never took the time to grieve losing you, simply because my life was so busy then.

So this dream, this specific one, where we recognized that we’d not been able to reconnect for a while hit me hard. My dreams are often very vivid, and you were with me, we were together again, and when I woke up I lost you all over again.

Would it have been different if I hadn’t moved away 10 years ago? Or would it just have ended earlier in a much more painful way?

On our first and only anniversary, you said something wonderful to me. And that was that you wanted us to be able to keep our anniversary as a celebration of our friendship, years down the line.

Today I don’t even remember what date it was. Was it January? February? March? I know it was early in the year.

I know our relationship developed into more than it was supposed to, and it was hidden from most people. Some people even tried to protect you from me at gatherings, because they didn’t know we were together. They didn’t know how good we were together. Something I can both laugh and cry about today.

I still love you, and I miss you. And today I grieve.

I didn’t understand until a day later, as I’m finishing writing this and as I was online reading other things about grief. Grief is love, and I love you, so I grieve that I’ll probably never see you again.

Yesterday I kept fearing that something happened, this immense overwhelming feeling that you weren’t okay. But knowing that I shouldn’t reach out to you, it just became so intense. I couldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t understand yesterday, but today I know.

I’m grieving. Because I loved you, because you’ll always be in my heart. I’m grieving because I know we both think of our time together with love and cherish it. Cherish the lessons we both learnt about ourselves at that time. I grieve because seeing you again, reaching out to you, would risk tarnishing those memories.

I don’t think about you all the time, it’s not that kind of love. But I think about you, and hope you’re well and all the people around you are well too.

Our paths crossed for a few years, and it brought something we both needed to our lives, and I will always remember that.

Thank you. For everything.

Love, Marie.


Header image: “Sjö” by Magnus MWW is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

The White Guilt Death Spiral and how to avoid it

As a white person it’s easy to fall into the pitfall that is white guilt. Before even understanding constitutional/structural racism, you will likely have felt guilt on behalf of figurative ancestors. And some of you may actually be in the lineage of people who owned slaves, allowing you to carry generational guilt.

Here comes the important question: Does you expressing that you feel guilty of any of this help anyone today?

I’m quite convinced it doesn’t. And once you start talking about your white guilt you may experience guilt from expressing it, especially when you’re reminded to not project your white guilt on other people. A few days ago this happened to me, where I ended up projecting white guilt onto something a friend wrote online. Today, I could easily make excuses for why I expressed white guilt, but that’s only really important for myself in regards to not doing it again. But the occurrence reminded me what a vicious cycle it can be and how easy it could be to get trapped in a never ending spiral.

As stated above, if you express your white guilt, and someone in your surroundings call you out on it, you’re likely to feel another pang of guilt wanting to apologize profusely again. And in doing so you make the whole thing about you. You’re not doing anything to solve any of the systemic racism we all live in and are affected by, you just start spiraling and building more guilt about all the times you did something wrong.

“Why am I not allowed to express myself”, is possibly something you’re feeling right now. And honestly, you are allowed to express yourself, but you’re not free from the consequences of it.

I see it as part of any personal growth, you need to be willing to do a lot of internal work. Let me say that again: You Need To Be _Willing_ To Do A Lot Of Internal Work. I hope I emphasized that enough. Doing internal work can still allow space to vent to a friend or confidant, but try to avoid doing that to any friends who are at the opposite end of your white privilege. They don’t need to hear it, it’s not what they need from you, it will most likely drain them. As Bianca Xunise wrote “It’s not my job to absolve you of your white guilt”.

This is why I believe that anyone who feel like they are experiencing this kind of guilt, myself included, need to practice nipping it in the bud, as soon as that white guilt creeps in. Just don’t entertain it, and especially don’t express it. If you need to do something talk with yourself about it (this can be done in text, like a diary or such, or a letter to burn, or your workbook for dismantling your complicity in white supremacy).

I can’t tell you exactly how to have this conversation with yourself, but if I were to do it I’d take a lesson from coping with anxiety: ask yourself questions about the negative thought, the thought about feeling guilty. Ask yourself leading questions, questions you probably already know the answer but need to hear the answer to, you may not even be able to answer it immediately, but have to ask again or ask another question to work around it. These kind of exercises can be done mentally or written. Eventually this becomes second nature, and you’ll do it unconsciously.

Why would white guilt and anxiety be treated the same? I’d rather phrase it like this: Why not take lessons from areas where we’ve experienced how to cope with difficult things? It may not work in every situation, but where it does, it does.

This is me, trying to practice to not let my white guilt take over, but rather work pro-actively to help other people begin their anti-racist journey.


While musings can be supported elsewhere, I will never ask for money for any of my anti-racist work, and every time you’d consider giving me money for it I’d rather have you support other creatives or organizations who are non-white and already having these conversations and doing the work. Alt. if you really want to support me, support someone else with half of the money for the same time.
You can read about Anti-racist work for White People here.

Bullet Journal Without

I started using a Bullet Journal in early January. It was my first time, and it really clicked for me. Finally a tool that works with ADHD.

Considering how many years I didn’t even know that I had ADHD, me not realizing that Bullet Journaling could work for me comes as no surprised, but it also feels a bit unfortunate. I partially wish I would’ve been able to organize myself and my thoughts this way much sooner. Then again, I wish I would’ve understood that “yes, I have ADHD” a lot earlier too.

In September 2020 I decided to journal every day, and I did for about 3 months. Now I still journal a few times a week. I soon got eager and excited about buying a new journal, and maybe trying out a dotted journal. I would let myself buy it if I kept writing my journal until the end of the year. And I more or less did.

Kicking off 2021, I was ready to start using my BuJo, but I didn’t do it immediately, because it felt like an insurmountable task to even start. So I began with a table of content spread, and wrote myself an introduction. This is something I’ve done with some journals in the past. And I figured that maybe it would make it easier for me. And now, I don’t even remember what I wrote in that introduction.

The important part for me was to get started, and writing an introduction and setting expectations helped with that.

I didn’t really plan on writing anything about my bullet journaling, I didn’t expect that I’d become one of those people who dedicate their “content” to the magic of the bullet journal (no shade). And I don’t think that’s what this is. Rather this is me exploring something peculiar.

In my habit tracker, I accidentally set my writing (w) to every day for the next 7 days, when it was supposed to be walking (o = outdoor/walking). And because I don’t have whiteout, it will just sit there and wait for me to be done or failed, and I figured I may as well write something about it.

So here we are, at the end of this blog post, talking about how Bullet Journal Without Whiteout is rough. And I can now add this point to my writing tracker of a written and published post.

My dream world

In my dreams there are places I've never been 

I wonder if we meet there when we both dream.

The places aren't old, nor are they new.
they are definitely not blue,
are they maybe borrowed?

While they are just the same, over again,
and I know that I've been there before.

Opening up like a maze, it just makes sense
once you get there, but never before.

I keep walking through door after door,
up the stairs, and then down the stairs.

Yet its core is out of my reach,
it's like a place I'll never breach.

Then in that stairwell, you give me your
hand and show me the door,
which leads to that central core.

It opens up, to a big cafeteria, and people laugh and talk,
the clock strikes 5 and they have closed their shop,
but we can still see the tasty treats offered up.

This is a place I've never seen,
yet so many times in my dreams I've been.

It comes back all over again
and becomes its own in my mind,
in our shared dreamland.

This poem was not sponsored by my patrons, but it could be in the future. If you would like me to be able to write more of them, feel free to head over my patreon and check out the tiers there, $2 will hopefully eventually start sending poetry straight into your inbox! (it’s a process)
Alternatively, check out my support page for more info.


Why did this fictional story line fuck with me so badly?

This blog post will contain spoilers from Grey’s Anatomy up until season 16. If you haven’t watched it yet but intend to, I’d recommend you not continue reading here. That said, if you’d want to know what to prepare yourself for, there may be reason to continue reading.

Content Warnings

character: deaths, breakups, divorce, children, cancer.

non-character (real): possible death, covid-19, lockdown

I’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy pretty much since it started, but the past few years (quite a few years) I’ve not been watching it regularly, but I will catch up once in a while. Recently however YouTube began recommending me clips from the show, and I knew if I began watching them it would start recommending me clips from episodes I haven’t seen yet. Even knowing this I watched a few, which I knew I’d seen, and then down the rabbit hole I went.

Eventually I began seeing clips from more recent episodes. I knew that the series had come up to season 16 (and now 17), and that a lot have happened. I knew that Derek had died but I hadn’t seen how. Which means I haven’t seen season 11 in full. I had however seen Christina Yang leave, at the end of season 10, but I don’t know if I actually had registered it as her leaving permanently.

I was enjoying watching clips, reminding me of the powerful episodes that really stuck with me, that would always make me cry, and that would make me cry more than I think I’ve ever cried to any shows. I used to use the show as my wind-down on Friday’s while I was still on sickleave, but training to leave the house regularly. It helped me cry and let out any stress that built up over the week. And me watching these clips this week was helping me do just that (it’s surprisingly stressful to move during a pandemic, and the 3rd lockdown in England).

I got to see two of my favorite broken characters not only get together (which I had seen on the show), but also get married, as the clips showed me. And here is where it took a really bad turn for me. So many times Alex Karev had said to Jo (Wilson) that he wouldn’t leave her. When I saw the clip of them finally getting married, my heart sang. They were growing together, and becoming stronger and better people together.

Alex’s development had partially started in earlier seasons with the help of Izzie Stevens. But she had left him in the most heartbreaking of ways, without saying goodbye, she had just left him a letter and gone away. He had later told her, that he didn’t deserve someone who’d leave him like that. And he was right, he deserved better.

So that brings us up to the dreaded 16×16 episode. We find out that Alex has left, for real. He was “missing” kind of, not where he was supposed to be. And his friends and wife get a letter each, explaining what happened and why he was gone. And it just hurt so deeply.

While I understand why they kind of had to go with it creatively, with Justin Chambers leaving the show abruptly, emotionally I’m reeling. It just pierced me with the reality that even when you think a relationship is good, and strong, and even fortified against any kind of disruption. Even when you know you would communicate about your issues to try and fix it, you could get hit by something completely unexpected.

In the story line there are somethings which makes it kind of make sense. There are children involved, children that Karev didn’t know about when he married Jo. Children made with frozen fertilized embryos he and Stevens had saved when she was going through radical cancer treatment. Embryos he had released to Izzie some seasons earlier. Karev brings this up in his letters.

A part of his letter that really bothers me is this part: “It was like no time had passed when we started talking again” (paraphrased). Because the last time they saw each other wasn’t necessarily a good time, it wasn’t a time where they were happy and in a good relationship. I understand what they were trying to go for where, when trying to salvage the actor leaving so abruptly. I also went to do some digging, what was his actual last scene, and yeah. It was tame, it was him reading out letters in court.

I guess in a way, this was not just Alex Karev leaving his wife, but also Justin Chambers leaving Grey’s Anatomy. “There’s no good way to say goodbye.” When that goodbye is happening on short notice because your priorities changed, and you want to go elsewhere, you may end up in this kind of a situation. Chambers has been on the show for 15 years. And it’s understandable that he wanted to go out and spread his wings and get a chance to get new opportunities.

I am pondering if it stung me harder because of the stress in my own life right now. Big life changes, me and my partner are moving into our first house together. Our own house. And the stress of moving, combined with the current pandemic, and feeling like a lot of things are out of my control, and I just have to keep swimming in order to stay alive. The thought that I can do everything right and everything can change by the drop of a hat is incredibly painful.

This isn’t revealing any hidden emotions or thoughts about a possible ending of my current relationship. But rather just reminding me that anything can happen, especially right now. Either of us could die, either from Covid-19 or something else.

I did not think I would write a whole blog post about this, but it kept stirring in my head, and I kept crying to various clips and montages relating to this particular episode, and some other heart-wrenching episodes. I just needed to put it into words.

Tell me about something in a story that struck you a lot harder and deeper than you had expected it to?


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I weigh (movement)

I weigh my heart, and care for other people around me.
I weigh putting into words what others need to hear.
I weigh connecting people.
I weigh community.
I weigh my curiosity, always looking to learn more about the world, and people and cultures.
I weigh my imperfections, and also that I am looking for ways to improve where I can, without pushing too hard.
I weigh my physical and mental health journey, which is a never ending winding road.
I weigh that I care.

I weigh podcast, clips, with Jameela Jamil

What do you weigh?