I spent three hours at the pier today. Pacing. Measuring. Flipping my camera completely upside down and taking eight shots to get one frame right. Deleting half of what I made and starting over without drama. And somewhere on that gravel beach with the tide out and the clouds doing their whole Pacific Northwest thing,…
I need to tell you something about what healing actually looks like. Not the version people post about. Not the aesthetic. The real thing. The quiet, unglamorous, nobody-is-watching, random-Tuesday version of it. My last post was a big unnecessary explanation I should have never written. It’s the last one you’re getting. This one is about…
Every city has a haunted house. Mine is all of downtown Bellingham. The bars, the alleys, the breakfast tables, the blocked contacts, the empty chairs. I changed my name, got sober, lost almost everyone I knew, and I still have to walk through all of it. Here’s what it looks like when your whole former…
I woke up crying with unrelenting grief and the kind of guilt that doesn’t fade with insight or healing. Some choices can’t be undone. Some love breaks beyond repair. Dancing to Over My Head at high tide became the only honest response. No rescue. No repair. Just pressure, accountability, and the choice to live differently…