This writing mentions self-harm. Please consider your own limits as you read. Due to the personal nature of this letter, this will eventaully have a paywall. I am happy to comp anyone - just ask!
This past weekend, I went to the beach to write. I sat in the room above the garage at my dad’s house on a bed next to an open window. The frogs outside were loud and I could feel a breeze coming in. My feet were covered in blisters from wearing shoes filled with sand and I had three mosquito bites on one knee. I’d split my lip a few days before and I kept running my tongue over the raw skin. My dog gently snored next to me.
I wanted to write about the cycle of human experience- memory, coping, how we heal. The pressure to write this had been building for a month. I told people “I’m writing about patterns. Well, mostly just spirals.” But in the process of thinking about writing and trying to write this, I literally spiraled.
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