21 Days to my Damn Self: An act of rebellion to selfishly make your way back to you.

How the fuck did I get here...It’s honestly not a rhetorical question, love. Like how the fuck did you get where you are right now, and can you honestly say you’re happy and living the life you want to live? Are you where you want to be or still searching around and sifting through life to find what you actually like? Wherever you are, you know how you got here, whether it’s exactly where you want to be or in a place of feeling stuck around and not knowing what’s next. You know deep down how you got here, and that’s what you have to ask yourself, but more importantly, you have to be ready to hear the response. When I asked myself this same question, I was able to get down to the exact moment, or for me, several moments that pieces of me began to erode, like little by little they chipped away, leaving fragments of me behind in those places, with those people that broke me.I don’t know if you’re like me, but I believe that everything that happens to you has the power to make or break you, but you have the choice on the trajectory in which it goes. I’ve heard people say that you aren’t what happens to you, but for me, I feel like you are, you have to be. It shapes you, it makes you, it molds you, good or bad. I wish I knew this when I was 5; it would’ve saved me a lot of childhood trauma, but then again, all of those things are a part of my story, and they’re a part of yours too. So much happened to us, to you, that no one knows. Crying yourself to sleep, internalizing the words of cruel kids and adults, or deep, dark things that tucked away so far to protect yourself. Baby, it’s your story. But I wrote this journal to uncover and bring to the surface those things buried because no matter how good you got at hiding it, those monsters still exist. And you can’t fully live until you slay them, hoes, and lay them to rest, lol. And that’s what we’re going to do.I can’t begin to assume that you are as broken as I was when I decided to write this journal, but if you are, baby, I see you. I’m here with you. Because I wasn’t okay, and I didn’t recognize the person I was looking at in the mirror. It’s almost like I had disassociated just to survive. I was fighting for my damn life, and no one knew it but me because I was pretending so well. Read more