“And in the end, we were all just humans… Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
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@splinterswerve
“And in the end, we were all just humans… Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
Anxiety
anxious (adj.) - 1620s, "greatly troubled by uncertainties," from Latin anxius "solicitous, uneasy, troubled in mind" (also "causing anxiety, troublesome"), from angere, anguere "to choke, squeeze," figuratively "to torment, cause distress" (from PIE root *angh- "tight, painfully constricted, painful").
I learned the weather by your footsteps,
how the floorboards spoke before you did,
how silence could mean safety
or the eye of something breaking.
I kept maps in my chest,
charting storms no one else could see—
the wrathful darkness in your voice,
the beer set down too hard,
the way night could tilt without warning.
I became small in the right ways,
invisible when needed,
useful when called.
A careful architect of calm,
stacking peace like fragile dishes
no one must hear me drop.
My needs—
I folded them into corners,
tucked them behind apologies
that weren’t mine to carry.
I learned that love
was something you earned
by not being too much.
So I became less.
And more.
Hyper-aware, hyper-ready,
a nervous system tuned
like a wire stretched thin
between disaster and control
and implodes internally.
Now I walk through quiet rooms
and still listen for echoes—
for something that isn’t there
but never really left.
They call it anxiety.
They call it patterns, disorders, names—
but I know it as muscle memory:
the body remembering
what the mind survived.
And still, somewhere beneath it,
there is a child
who thought peace was their responsibility,
who believed love could be stabilized
if they just tried harder.
I am learning now—
slowly, imperfectly—
that I can set the glass down loudly,
that I can need without apology,
that storms can pass
without me becoming the sky.
I learned the shape of dread
by watching the people I loved
become strangers
without leaving the house.
So I made myself useful.
I made myself quiet.
I became the child who vanished
before anyone could remember
to look for me.
I carried the atmosphere.
I read faces like omens.
I could taste the shift in a room
before a single word was spoken.
This is what survival looked like:
flinching before the strike,
smiling before the blow,
hearing danger in kindness
and calling it intuition.
Now I am older
and the past still lives in my nerves.
It wakes inside me as vigilance,
as compulsive checking,
as sorrow without a funeral,
as a mind that cannot stop
preparing for catastrophe.
I was taught that love
arrives with a storm behind it.
That peace is temporary.
That need is a burden.
That the self is safest
when it is barely there.
So I became a room with no light in it.
A house with all its windows covered.
A body trained to disappear
before grief could find it.
And still, the child in me
keeps listening
for the sound of someone breaking.
How It Works, Marilyn, Hemingway,Baldwin, my body and spirit thriving in wellness...
Alignment & Integration
Do what feels true to your heart,
not what asks to be noticed.
Validation is loud for a moment—
all applause and flicker,
a quick spark that feels like meaning
until it fades back into silence.
But what’s real doesn’t need to announce itself.
It’s the quiet choices.
The ones made when no one is watching.
When there’s no audience to win over,
no need to prove anything.
Those moments don’t fade the same way.
They settle in you—
steady, simple, lasting.
Not everything has to be seen
to matter.
And not everything that’s seen
stays meaningful.
So follow what aligns.
What feels honest.
What feels like you
when everything else gets stripped away.
That’s the part that stays.
=======
Your reflections already carry the pulse of a poem. I shaped them into something lyrical, cohesive, and centered on integration, recovery, self-compassion, and becoming.
Writing
I am learning not merely to survive, but to go through.
For years I lived as weather-worn terrain, bracing for storms before clouds appeared, mistaking vigilance for safety, mistaking exhaustion for strength.
Now joy arrives, and sometimes I greet it with suspicion, as though silence itself were a warning. Yet I am learning to remain. To sit in the quiet room. To trust that not every stillness conceals a fall.
I grieve the years I could not access myself. The years anxiety occupied the doorway, collecting tolls from every dream, every possibility, every moment of simple presence.
But grief is no longer my prison. It is part of the passage.
I feel creative growth blossoming. A clearing. A widening field. A place where I can finally sit beside myself without judgment, without the relentless editor crossing out every imperfect line.
I am deciding to begin.
To be lucid. To hold space for my own becoming. To welcome the company I keep, and the company of my own soul.
The wave of abundance is here, but abundance is not merely wealth. It is a job that sustains me. A workplace where I feel supported. A conversation handled with greater care. A boundary honored. A breath taken before reaction. A shower at night that washes away the static of the day.
I am learning that self-care is not an escape from life. It is participation in it.
My inner critic still arrives, red pen in hand, editing
How It Works... 💜🌞❔🐾💯☮️☠️🌊🕉️💫😍🧑🏼🩰🏴☠️✔️
Without help it is too much for us. But there is One who has
all power—That One is God. May you find Him now! Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point. We asked
His protection and care with complete abandon. Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as a Program of Recovery:
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
TO embark on recovery is a courageous act, full of my honesty with myself and commitment to my worth and future, with action and faith...
One day, one moment, one inch at a time...
Me tal health matters...
misty and moody in the fanal forest
feeling punch drunk
slow to the point
if i find it at all
everything seems small
and uninteresting
inspiration won’t hit
like the truck that once
tore through me
my contents are empty,
drained and malaise
oh the horror,
this endless boredom
It's only Wednesday...
I have been one of those "constitutionally incapable of being honest with" myself (AA), and I have been receptive enough to let the God of my understanding deliver a "moment of clarity" so I do not obsess with drugs or alcohol, and I thankfully am lucid enough and have been restored to sanity..."rigorous honesty" is indeed what I am encountering and it is sometimes gentle and sometimes rough like sand paper...I am endeavoring to be "fearless and honest from the very start," this start, this Now, this moment and accept my present with truth and growth and endurance and be one of those with the capacity to recover due to honesty, open-mindedness, willingness...gratitude...vulnerability without being weak or unsafe...the golden rule while honoring and respecting myself...Just For Today passage (NA) is so beautiful to me..."I will be unafraid."..."I will try to follow My program to the best of my ability"..."I will try to gain a better perspective of my life" just for today...I will have faith in myself, the God of my understanding, and others who are struggling and trying to find their way, their path, their light, their hope...
I dreamed a moment like that 🥰
And somehow, it’s already almost June.
This is your reminder that you deserve more than just surviving your life. Be present in it. Don’t postpone joy. Choose yourself, over and over again.
Guns in my area....
It's A 🔥 Fire
The baddest .
“My main goal in life right now is to be happy.. thats all”
— Unknown
Aligning...
o what feels true to your heart,
not what asks to be noticed.
Validation is loud for a moment—
all applause and flicker,
a quick spark that feels like meaning
until it fades back into silence.
But what’s real doesn’t need to announce itself.
It’s the quiet choices.
The ones made when no one is watching.
When there’s no audience to win over,
no need to prove anything.
Those moments don’t fade the same way.
They settle in you—
steady, simple, lasting.
Not everything has to be seen
to matter.
And not everything that’s seen
stays meaningful.
So follow what aligns.
What feels honest.
What feels like you
when everything else gets stripped away.
That’s the part that stays.