Song For Johnny

Non-specific words force their way from my fingers, in a desperate attempt to escape (my heart?) where they have lived since before I knew them. Without understanding of why at all, and without desire to be so crass as to say what it is they actually might mean. Insistent fucking words once woven together like braided ribbon, wrapped tight around a mystery, untangled with the passing of days. Weeks. Months.

This isn’t a song, and there’s no one named Johnny, and this started out as something like automatic writing, in February, and its now the ass-end of April, and at some point most of the draft as it originally existed,  was somehow automatically “unwritten”…   Whatever it is, or was (not?) asks now to come out…

Johnny’s song is; missing what you’ve never had, so you can’t possibly miss it, except you do. It’s (a) dream(s) that bend space, and time, to reach across ages, and reunite souls; sort of.

Johnny’s song is, in moments, that which makes you (not sad) cry for the intensity of the everything that rushes past you, around you, through you, like the coldest winter’s air. Except it’s everything that couldn’t possibly ever be cold… It elicits tears of release, and confusion, of wondering why,  and what are you supposed to do with the everything that was supposed to be not really anything, or not at all. It is the grey of every question you’ve ever had, washed away by the sublime peace of knowing that the questions don’t matter because sometimes things just, are.

Johnny’s song is an “of course I love you”  because to think I don’t would be to imply that there is a way I could, not – when the crossing of stars, and connecting of planets, deemed it to be so. Without understanding of what it is now, or attachment to what it ultimately may be, it is being first drawn in by timbre of an unknown voice, unexpectedly become familiar – love’s song.  It is strength, and confidence, and gentle vulnerability. Complex in its simplicity. Borne of all that is beauty, and light.  If time has a beginning, it was then that this song began, the score for a first meeting of (souls?)

I still don’t know what it’s meant exactly to say, this Song for Johnny.  Or why the night was without rest, as they fed me lines I summarily rejected, once figurative pen, half asleep, met paper. If they want it different then they shouldn’t have unwritten it the first time around. And maybe they is just me, who visits only in heightened states of (emotion.)  Or maybe it’s something more.

And while I will never tire of Johnny’s Song, it’s time to stop writing (this) and launch it into the ether so I stop looking over my shoulder at it. Maybe then my muse, with her ridiculous randomness, will have enough space to conjure something new.


“…So We Must Love While These Moments Are Still Called Today, Take Part In The Pain Of This Passion Play…”

Listening to:  Everything Indigo Girls (again) which started (this time) here “Galileo”

12 years ago, 2005, in the span of 5 months, my confidant, greatest supporter, in many ways my mentor, my teacher, my almost-mother-in-law become dearest friend, Roxy, 5 days before my trip to Denver to see her, lost her (2nd) battle with cancer; dear, sweet, YOUNG boy, sound engineer working with the band I was managing, Chris, just starting his career making music beautiful, was taken literally by fire; and my niece, Cristina angel completed whatever it was she’d decided to come here for, and crossed back over to where she was free from the medical mystery of a body she’d occupied for not quite 11 years, this time around. And what I thought was forever (and real, and passionate, and nurturing, and healing, and spiritual, and healthy, and everything beautiful) love, found me. I wonder sometimes, had it not been for all the death that preceded the finding of me by (love?) might I have made different choices. Maybe. But I made the choices I made, and really, who the fuck knows. And now here I am… exactly where I want to be, at my core, happier than I’ve ever been.

In 5 days, in a courtroom far away, a Judge will wave her magic wand, and the life, and marriage, formerly known as mine, will be legally, formally, officially, eternally, over. And it’s good. I have outgrown that marriage, and the person I was when in it, and the person to whom I was married. I never understood until a few months ago that people can outgrow each other, their relationships, their marriages. I got it in terms of friendships, but not beyond that. I get it now. From my own experiences, and those of some others who have, or are going through this. They don’t have to involve things such as domestic violence, and addiction, for one to outgrow the other. Or both to outgrow each other, and the situation.  Moving on, walking away, is not something bad. It is not a sign of failure, or of lack of integrity. In fact, it is likely the exact opposite of that in some cases. (Such as for someone I will be quoting later in this writing, who helped me to shift my perspective on this topic.)

In one month’s time, my littlest angel, Ari, will be ascending a level higher toward her dreams, starting out on the road-trip, that is really a (permanent) move to Los Angeles. So much everything cool, and good with that. But cool, and good, isn’t always synonymous with easy, and free of sadnesses of sorts.

In two months time, I’ll be moving, locally, somewhere. As (accidentally) as accustomed as I am to moving, for some reason I didn’t think I’d be doing so again, quite this soon. I have always been “lucky” or whatever it is that has my back in this life, so things always work out, but, this just feels a little heavy this time, which is throwing me a bit off balance.


I’m over-thinking, and under-doing, and not breathing enough, but also, breathing sometimes too much. Maybe I need to get high? Or laid? Or swim in the ocean? Take a road trip. Spend more time in meditation? Allow myself to fit into a box, and be suited to a label? Live more in this world, and less in whatever the one is that so often calls to me? Drive until I get lost, and found again? I definitely need to sing again. And to dance more often, with absolute abandon, in a crowd of people doing the same, to share that energy.


From Elizabeth Gilbert – one of my favorite authors, and humans:

Yesterday, I asked my Fear, “How are you doing, my old friend? What’s going on with you?”

My Fear said, “I’m so tired. Trying to keep everyone and everything safe has completely exhausted me. I can’t do this anymore. Somebody else needs to be in charge now.”

And then I heard Love speak. She said, “Let me take it from here, babe.”

That’s when we all started breathing again.

Elizabeth Gilbert – Love this lady


I am now self-aware enough that I have been watching myself slip into where fear, or something similar to it, which is not shiny, or beautiful, has started to be a little bit in charge again. Not fear of a something, or a someone, or an event. Non-specific fear, that I’d thought was relegated to my past as a way of life, or even just an interlude. Not to say that I don’t know what some of the “triggers” are, but, triggers aren’t inherently the boss of me. And also, sometimes triggers only have the slightest hint of a fragrance past, which strikes the chord of a memory of a something that wasn’t pleasant, so making the decision to believe that the top notes, and finishing notes, and all in between, are exactly the same as the scent of experience past, is just, stupid.

So I look deep inside myself to see what’s going on, and I look to the planets, and stars, sun, and moon, to see what is maybe their part in all of this. I wrap my arms around myself when need be, remind my me that this healing is a process, and that my shade of crazy is actually quite beautiful, and that which sets me apart. Not above, or below, but apart. I (for once) reach out to others to talk to them about it, this (slightly) off balance moment I’m having.

The origins of fear –

Knowingly putting myself into situations which may result in me getting hurt in the end. But that’s a little bit what this human experience is about in total, so I kick my own ass, widen my view, and remember that I’d be bored, and filled with regret, if I didn’t take the risks of LIVING  vs the safety of existing.

Never afraid of change, but sometimes when a lot of it comes all at once, and when at least a part of it means (physically) letting go (again) (because it has seemed sometimes that universe has wanted to say to me that my super power in this life is letting go of anyone I love, but not because they die, but rather due to circumstances I’d never seen as remotely possible) I stumble, and momentarily clench my hands to grip more tightly, instead of releasing.

Feeling a lack of contentedness for my todays, because I’m very excited for my tomorrows. I got a little high, I think, on the fast pace at which things were changing, and moving (inside, and outside of me) for a while. Instead of appreciating the calm, and matching my energy to the rhythm, and in spite of knowing that a slow groove builds the foundation, so that when the crescendo comes, it is of mind-blowing proportions, I focused on the “high.”

That my wants will be perceived as neediness. That I’ll forget, again, that “no wo/man is an island” and won’t let myself be held, or nurtured, because that means vulnerable. And that vulnerable is scary as fuck for everyone who has any amount of living under their belt, and as far as I can tell, a lot scarier for those who have experienced years of betrayal, and betrayal by everyone in their life ever sworn by lineage or deed, to protect “you.”

That I will be seen (not by anyone in particular) to be “less than” because I don’t have a plan for 2 months from now, much less 10 years from now. Because all the good people, right people, best people, have a solid foundation, a firm plan, own a house, aren’t divorced, have a college degree, and a linear career path. They also don’t feel as if their life will be incomplete if they don’t travel to certain countries. And especially by 50 years of age, they have very firm roots planted somewhere, with someone, the end.

That what is before me, which is burning inside of me to know, and has been since before I knew it was, is held by unseen forces, and just carrot on a stick, with which I will later be smacked.

I want to write about shadows (in which I am not meant to live) because I am the girl who (metaphorically) sings from (metaphorical) sun drenched mountaintops, and dances on them too, not in the shadows. But also not in spotlights. Sun light. Glitter light. Neon light. Lava lamp light. Strobe light. Because I have a primordial need, and unquenchable thirst, for all that is light, and bright, but am not concerned with getting attention. Its not that shadow dims my light, or that (momentary shadow dwelling) is forced (because it is my choice). I’m just not very good at it. So now I’ve written about shadows… without saying anything at all.

These words that are my own, which had such another meaning to me, for me, when I wrote them 2 days ago.  My lovely Bloom says “Why are you doing that to yourself? You’re missing out on the joy of today!” And I know she’s right.  So I take a night off from the weight of all I’ve been carrying, am amused by the couragesness, or craziness, of those much too young for me to take seriously, and take more shots than I mean to. I have another conversation filled with laughter, childhood memories, and connections that defy space, time, and logic.   I allow vulnerability to have a moment or 2. And then hours of poetry in the form of lyrics, and harmonies, and melodies, fill my world. And I let love take over,  recall that vulnerability is absolutely precious, sacred, holy, rare, remember I’m not in shadow, I’m bathed in light, just not in the same way I’m used to, and again throw my arms wide open, and step forward without fear, into whatever might be, in every aspect of my life. 

Listening to: Still on Indigo Girls – Below quotes are from some of their songs. Brilliant, inspiring, intelligent, thought provoking, evocative, lyricists, they are.

“Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most”

“Working through the grammar of my fears”

“The hardest to learn was the least complicated”

“Now we all are chosen one’s”

“My place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark”

“The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine”

“And when you’re learning to face the path at your pace every choice is worth your while”


In the realm of the mystic
The land of the magi,
We’re taught to believe
love …
Can never be wrong.
But In magistrate’s world
The dimension of now
If from edges we tip
And fallings (aloud)
Then he will say
What she will say
Oh darling, dumb girl
Whatever ya thinkin?
Of course it is,
Of course you are,
So hopelessly perilously selfishly
So I’ll consort with the faeries
The witches and nymphs
Float through the cosmos
Dance in rarefied air
I’ll feel my way through
Letting love be (aloud)

…In the absence of poetry, mine…

I miss the sound of your voice, the loudest thing in my head, sing me something soft, sad and delicate, fill this moment with your wisdom, take this spark and make it burn. I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet,  look right through me, look right through me. I’m just like you, I know you know, to me you’re strange and you’re beautiful. You must have shadowed me through time, your history is mine. The sun is filling up the room, and I can hear you dreaming, show me the world as seen from the stars. Come take my hand, we’re riding out tonight to case the promise land, I’ve been talking to my angel, and he said that it’s alright. Live for today, we’ll dream tomorrow, ‘cause laughing lovers can overcome their closet demons. In a bedroom locked, in whispers of soft refusal, and then surrender, someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, and its all so unexplainable, I know I don’t ever want to leave.



Matt Nathanson, Straylight Run, The Storys, Ed Sheeran, Tears for Fears, Eisley, Aqualung, ChimpanA, Funeral For A Friend, Cristina Perri, Incubus, Bruce Springsteen, Melissa Etheridge, Anberlin, Finger Eleven, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Williams, Vayden


Getting naked, and losing myself

When I used to blog on Myspace, I liked the feature that allowed one to share to what they were listening while writing. So, as I start this writing I am listening to…

“…Let’s inspire, let’s inflame, create awe from our pain
Find a love that’s as deep as it’s holy
Let’s inspire, let’s inflame, create gods from our pain
Find a love that’s as sweet as it’s holy
Let’s inspire, let’s inflame, create dreams from our pain
Find a love that’s as plain as it’s holy
Let’s inspire, let’s inflame, create songs from our shame
Find a love that won’t fade, love is holy…”

Lyric excerpt from James – from song “Walk Like You” on  La Petite Mort album


In a week of tears of unknown origin, extra-terrestrial caring sent, the “downloading” of book stuff, SYNCHRONICITY like woah!, Sinbad, Mandela, McKenna, and Moore blowing my mind, mental messages being sent, and responded to, and, as Lauren put it, me being a creep, and literally KNOWING a call was coming, the day before it came, how could my thoughts not go to even deeper depths.

From the first moment I truly understood that I was in an abusive marriage, which did NOT occur the first, nor second, nor even third time he hit me, I knew that when one day that would no longer be a part of my reality, the path on which I would then be walking, would be one that I had to create for myself, and on which I would travel, alone. With the awareness that support would be paramount for me to ever heal, get whole, I still knew that some journeys are meant to be solo. And that no friend, family member, expert, professional, lover or beloved, could prescribe for me, even in the least, the precise cure for my dis-ease.

In the past several years I’ve read more books than I can remember on various “self-help” topics. Books about recovery, overcoming betrayal and trauma, and about saving one’s marriage, one’s self. About discovering yourself by going inward, by going outward, and sideways. (I might have made up that last one) I’ve read a lot of fucking books, looking for answers. Or to figure out what my questions were. I went to counseling for myself, and couples counseling, with counselors who used modalities of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, hypnotherapy, psychoanalysis, and others I’m sure I’m forgetting.

I can honestly say that the DV was my most deeply held secret. I will readily discuss having been molested by my stepfather, and have done for years. My brief stint as a coke addict, yep, I’ll talk about that too. But the DV, nope, nope, and nope some more. Maybe it was the response I got from the first counselor to whom I made a quick reference about the DV, “aren’t you ready to be done with him?” so matter of fact, so easy, for her, like, duh Michelle, what the fuck is wrong with you?, that pushed the secret further down. Or the second one, in a couple’s session, upon hearing he’d “hit” me, who said, “well, that’s got to stop” and then bounced the fuck on. Perhaps it was having discussed it with his mom, who pretended to care so much, and be so concerned for me, who then turned on me.

I remember having moments where I ached to talk to someone, to tell a friend, the real, and whole truth. To tell the co-worker who asked me about the cuts, scabs, and bruises that I couldn’t quite hide, when he asked me if (he) had done something to me. Or to tell my one friend, the day I asked him to get coffee, and shop for books, and pray/meditate with me, because I thought I could possibly, maybe, tell him, but then I didn’t. Every single doctor, and chiropractor, physical therapist, massage therapist, and body work healer, who treated me for my back injuries. Oh how I wanted to tell them, so they didn’t look at me like some medical mystery. Every single person who took care of me while I was in too much pain, and on too many pain killers, to take care of myself. I wanted to tell them all.

Since even before coming forward about my situation, I started to follow on social media, various groups, and individuals, with expertise or experience in DV. Soooo much of what I see reinforce a few things I just don’t vibe with, for better or worse. Much of the dialogue, to me, reinforces in some ways a victim mentality, or a survivor mentality (surviving vs LIVING, in my eyes). There is also a lot of ANGER, and negativity. A lot of living in one’s story, for what is years after it is ended. I dig that this sounds very judgey, and I don’t mean it in that way. It is simply that I am aiming for a higher place than angry, negative, victim/survivor. I’m not certain that the anger/negative thing is helpful for anyone, in the long run…

I will preface what I am going to say next with I DON’T HAVE YOUR ANSWERS. I DO NOT HAVE YOUR ANSWERS!! But I will say, here is what I believe was the start of me finding MY answers.

First, and most obviously, I had to put physical distance between he and I. I don’t know that I would have survived, literally/figuratively, had I not done. The physical distance started as a few blocks, then a few miles, and then a few hundred. Steps taken over years. Some moments I regret having taken so many years, but then I think about how happy I am with many aspects of my life as it is now, and if I learned anything from The Butterfly Effect, it’s that the slightest change in what was (or is currently, in another reality…) can have a dire effect on what is to come.

During the course of the physical distancing, and equally slowly, I had to CHOOSE, to get naked, in front of myself. To take off every shred, of everything, that obscured from my own view, the truth of just how frighteningly not OK, I was. I had to hold a mirror to myself, and look at myself from every single angle, and not break my gaze, no matter how ugly I found that at which I was looking. I had to become intimately acquainted with the woman I’d become after all that had gone on, and decide if she was with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

Was she the person I wanted my daughters to possibly model themselves after, in any way? What parts of that me were the true me? What parts were the me I became as a result of what had gone on? Could I still see glimpses of the chick who used to wear the “I Love Me” shirt, and meant it? Was she the person who someday in the future, I would want to stand naked in front of another, as? Would the he, in front of whom I would someday wish to be naked, be the kind of man I REALLY want to stand naked in front of, as the me I was seeing? The answer to all of the questions was, absofuckinglutely, NOT.

So, after the naked thing… which is actually still a work in progress in some ways, came the “what path to healed and whole is MY path?” The first part of my path was to break my silence, in whatever way I needed to, in any given moment. At first it was with tears, and anger, and the desire to shout it from the rooftop, because I’d held the secrets for so long, it was like an eruption of emotion. Having lived in, and surrounded by, such negative emotions for so many years, I worked to shift out of that place as quickly as possible. Angry/depressed chick isn’t the naked chick I want to be.- (It goes without saying, except I’m saying it anyway, that I DO NOT advocate breaking silence, if to do so puts you in danger!!! Safety first!!!)

So then, and still now, the next step has been, what people, places, things, do I vibe with, that will help me to facilitate my healing? Not “who has my answers/cure” but, looking inside me now, for what I do know I think/feel/believe, who I am/want to be, what energy do I invite into my space? To figure this out, I had to get lost… in myself. I’m still in this phase, truth be told. Doing some soul mining, to again borrow words that fit. A friend recently said to me, “maybe you’re supposed to be becoming an even more awesome version of yourself” and, like everything else this friend says, I let those words wash over me, wrap around me, get deep inside of me, and realized they are definitely truth for me. It stands to reason then, that only that which support, and those who support, the impending even more awesome, thing, are allowed in my bubble.

What is most important to me to say about this is, whatever works for YOU, is what YOU should seek. Church and religion? Vaya con Dios. Spirituality, and yoga? Namaste! Rituals and magick? Blessed be. Blasting music and singing at the top of your lungs? Rock the fuck on! Counseling and 12 steps? I have nothing clever for this one. Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain? (Lyrics. Sorry. That’s just what happens in Michelle world. Lyrics/music, and glitter are a relative constant.)  A combination of a bunch of stuff that aids you in sincerely working through all of the yuck? Sure! This is YOUR story, so you get to choose. Take some time to get lost in yourself, to figure it out.

I will not pretend that any of what I’ve written above is easy, when one is in the throes of things. My God I KNOW its not easy. Now I’m crying tears of known origin, thinking how lucky I am that I have always been, for the most part, self-supporting, and that I didn’t have small children to worry about, and that I am not one of those whose abusers physically stalked them upon leaving. All I can keep saying is, HOLD ON, because there will be a day when the weight is lifted, if you can just love yourself the tiniest bit for a moment in time long enough, to take a first step, or hell, crawl in a generally forward motion, toward your healing path.

And this blog, this one I DO hope gets read, by those who might need it. Because maybe it will be easier to reach out to a stranger who has been there, than a friend, or a counselor? Maybe its more safe to have an anonymous third party, blog writing chick, to contact, in case he’s standing too close? If nothing else, I am REALLY good at doing research, and finding resources. I remember too, how Sisyphean a task it felt, to try and find resources for help, at times I’d thought to find them. So I’m here for that. No matter where you may live, I’ll help you find what you need. I’ll listen if you need someone to talk to. I’ll do anything in my power to help you. I’ll even do stuff that isn’t within my power, if I can figure out how.  I get it. You aren’t alone. You are loved. And you are worthy of being loved.

Message me here, or on Instagram RandomMuse14.


And as I finish writing this I am listening to…

“…This bed is on fire, with passionate love, the neighbors complain about the noise from above….”

Lyric excerpt from James – from the song “Laid”

“…what’s so amazing about really deep thoughts…”

So, it’s the day after the day I wrote the, “maybe I’ll write tomorrow” thing, and here I am…

Today, tears, abruptly, and unexpectedly, found me. I was doing something innocuous, not thinking about anything sad, or even moving, but, there they were. They lasted for only a moment, and I found myself thinking “Just ride the wave, must be some residue of a something that needs to get out, and that’s OK. Or maybe it’s just that another shift is occurring, and that too is OK.” And then they were gone.

As inconsequential as that moment, and those tears, seemed to be, because of the recent remembering of who I am, I wanted to take some time to take a look at the tears, or more accurately put, their origin, to see if I could come to any conclusion as to the why of them. And then, I got an email from my attorney. Or rather, was copied on an email from my attorney, to his attorney, which necessitated a response from me. Which led to a phone call with my attorney, (who, for the record, is really pretty damn fantastic!)

Even though the email, and phone call, didn’t bring up any sadness for me, they did bring up a bit of trepidation at the possibility of having to appear in court at the end of this month. I can’t say enough how I have absolutely NOTHING left for the (soon to be) ex. I don’t love, miss, want, need, think about, fear, hate, or even dislike him. I genuinely have not a single fuck left to give for him. But that doesn’t mean I’m down with the thought of having to appear at a trial. It was never my intention to do so. He had his opportunity to man up, and pay support for a period of time for the medical treatment I’ll ultimately need, and he opted the fuck out. That’s a wrap! Except, that’s not how the legal system works.

I didn’t cry AFTER the email or phone call, so maybe the tears were preemptive. Get the residue out of my system, or to put me into a state which was prepared to have the conversation, thoughtfully, intelligently, and from an intellectual, rather than emotional, place, and hear what my attorney had to say. I am, after all, paying her 5 bucks per minute, billed in 6 minute increments, for her expertise, so, I should probably heed her advice where the legalities are concerned. So instead of saying “I know you’re the lawyer and all, but, I don’t wanna do what you think, based on the expertise for which I chose you, is best, I wanna do what I wanna do” I took her advice. Like a big girl. Who knew.  So, thanks, tears?

As anyone else in my situation would do, I decided the best course of action for the rest of my day would be to opt for a double shift at work later this week, and stay home to clear out some stuff, and cook.

So there I was, cooking, and listening to one of my favorite pieces of music of ever, from one of my favorite movies of ever, (“Somewhere In Time”), and there they were there again. Those f’n tears. Except this time they were a much less momentary, tiny drop of water sliding down a cheek, affair, and much more actual chest-heaving, breath taking away, almost brought me to my knees, sobs. With this BEAUTIFUL music still playing in my earbuds, and what I now remember as a crescendo of strings, and a brilliant piano run, I’m sobbing into a stockpot of fucking chicken soup. With no idea of why. But I rode that wave, too.

In all of this, the only thing I can think which makes even a modicum of sense is that I am now awake, and feeling, and thinking, really…deep…thoughts. Having gotten free of living in fear, living half-alive, I think really deep thoughts, about sooo many things. Mostly about things pertaining to me, and why and how and what, but some global deep thoughts, too. I’ve been shown so many things that make SO much sense to me, that feel like they are what I have always thought, and felt, but just didn’t have words for or education in. Some of what’s going on defies explanation, no matter how much I think about it, but its cool to just have the really deep thoughts, anyway.

I believe it is much more the thinking of deep thoughts than anything having to do with being (again) a more feeling (emotional MUSHY passionate) person, that played a part in the tears. I don’t think deep thoughts are inherently cerebral. In fact, I think the deepest thoughts find their origins in a non-cerebral place. (Is that an oxymoron? Fuck it, this is a blog, not a thesis!) Logic is cool and all, but, I’m not a rocket scientist up in here, I’m a chick, trying to figure her shit out, and algorithms don’t provide the answers to the sorts of questions I’m contemplating, as far as I know. And also, I hate math. But anyway, soul-level thoughts are a thing, right?

I can’t finish this writing without reference to the extra-terrestrial unicorn, who, as always, having not a clue what was going on with me today, somehow seemed to know I needed caring, and sent it. And after the tears, and during the replaying of the “Somewhere In Time” theme, thinking REALLY deep thoughts about how the caring ALWAYS comes when needed, while putting away clean laundry in a semi-trance like, state, the (extremely vague) outline for the middle part of my book, came to me. Because for years I didn’t know in what direction to take it, but have known forever how it started, and who would be its protagonist. But in the deep thought trance inspired by the caring given, I saw it. …

I suppose all that’s left to say is, “…what’s so amazing about really deep thoughts…?”  Everything, Tory. Just. Everything. So think them when at all possible. And if tears of unknown origin come, ride that wave like you’re Kelly Slater! And never be surprised when a unicorn knows you need caring, because they are nothing else, if not magic.


To anyone who may read this, who has or is experiencing DV, who needs a friend, an ear, support, assistance in finding a way out, or anything, I am here. I was where you are, and I will do anything within my power to help you. Message me here, or on Instagram, RandomMuse14.

(Drawing by cantalo-upes)