The path to healing has plateaus more than valleys & troughs. This is a suicide pact with my life as a writer.
I want to lay me down in the wet, squishy mud and let the moisture seep into my bones, the cold engulf me, numbing every nerve, blocking every vein…till the blood stops running, the breath slows down…slower…slower…slower. I wish life wouldn’t snap on and off like it usually does but…
I almost said no and called this post ‘Not A Party Girl’. Instead, today I chose my Inner Madonna.