i am writing a new book. a different kind of story, one that will be more of a daily excerpt. i have experienced many things in my life, and one of my main ambitions was to be a successful author so much as to win a #1 on the best seller list. now 60, realizing that isn’t going to happen but somehow i still want to finish this book maybe leaving behind a legacy for my son.
i have been reading one of my other books, “it all happens for a reason” ( if you want the ebook version, let me know, i’ll send it to you ) and it made me realize, reading through the first chapter, i have never been truly happy. this last crash of 2025 has taken a big step back for me wondering what the fuck life has in store on this next path. then i had another thought while writing:
how the hell am i still breathing? my doctor set up a meeting with an intake therapists and she called yesterday asking me the same questions of others so many times before and it suddenly hit me: survival of grief and loss doesn’t make you stronger it weakens your ability to believe you are good. she also i think was concerned about the usual self-destructive question they always ask, “are you suicidal” and i laugh when they ask me that.
why take the cowards way out? i am not that woman. i am here for a reason, a purpose yet to find and at the moment, it is to make others miserable that have harmed me. my mind works different than others, i guess you could say i should have been a philosopher seeing things outside the box. the problem with this box right now is that life is difficult for me. i am not beyond help or understanding of my feelings but i certainly want happiness. i guess that is why i really keep going.
i am sure there are many others who feel this chaos in their minds and if this posts reaches out to the world wide web, i hope they know, we are not alone. we are fragments of what is to come because we are still breathing.
