Uncontained - A Journey to Hope

You may not recognize that name. Her TikTok is under @domesticblisters. She's on Instagram. Her FB page is "Struggle Care". I first found out about KC through my FYP on TikTok. The very first video I watched was her time lapse on closing duties. I was astonished! You mean I don't have to function around my house, but instead my home functions around my brain?!?  Mind. Blown. My silverware goes in the container that sits over the sink. Easy to find and I don't have to go through nasty  stuff to grab and load it in the dishwasher. Cups go on that counter because we always forget we have one that exists with our current drink contents. On one of her TikTok videos, she mentioned this little trick. All my dirty dishes sit on the rack, usually grouped together. This way my sink is cleared throughout the day/meals and I don't have to worry about moving things around.  One of my closing duties is choosing to be kind to my future self. So I make sure the dishes are don

Why do I do this? Why do I share? Care? Dare? Is it too much? To understand me? Should I just keep things in, the suffering, pain, rage, screams? Pretend that all is well when in reality there’s a swell of fear and shame, an inner place where death wants to reign. I sit. I realize that this itself means I’m struggling, healing, choosing to let myself become a being – emotions, imperfections, messy with meaning. On the best of days I don’t want to regard the things around me - Knowing, seeing, realizing that some things will never be me. Healing from this trauma - It’s freeing The process begins - something inside -unfurl, uncurl, hurl itself - into meaning Steadies itself - Knowing that something big awaits in a blink of an eye. It’s my choice to jump in and die. The river becomes a flood - Rushing waters, rocks, branches, twists pulling and gnashing, gasping for breath, lunge in the depths, struggle amidst - Until you realize - You’re floating Into a Haven of peace - frogs croak, fis

TRIGGER WARNING:  Sexual Abuse, Narcissistic Abuse,  Self-Harm To make this clear: I don't hate moms. I don't hate friends or people who are moms. I don't begrudge moms this day of celebration. (I do hope you're celebrating your mom randomly and not just one day a year. 😐) I just hate dealing with this holiday. I hate the reminders it brings up. I hate that this day is always a bad brain day, even with medications. I hate that I have to escape these four walls and go somewhere that I can wander and just forget. I hate that I feel so trapped in my mind and my body that the battle for self-harm is a constant torment in my mind. I hate that by the end of this day, I'm so exhausted but I can't sleep because the night terrors are real and alive. I hate that this is one of my trigger days, even with therapy. I've just learned to try and cope with it a little better. THE PAST We sat inside the Red Robin, finishing our meal, small talk catching up. It had been seve

I seem to better articulate through written words than verbal, especially with emotions. I've been told that I should start a blog to have a place to keep everything. As I sit in the car, I'm realizing that maybe they're right. Maybe it's time I start unlocking the 🫙 and just let the words pour out. I need to let everything deep bottled out. It'll come with typos, grammatical errors, verbal and trigger warnings. Plus a hope that maybe what I let out can help someone else seek the words they need to express. I guess I'll take their suggestion and finally let it flow.