“my story grew heftier, full of confusion and grief. It became second nature for me to practice and recite my lines for my dramatic sob story. My fishbowl was filled with murky water and I had become so accustomed to it that my clarity was absolutely distorted.”
“My busyness eventually caught up with me. When my world stopped spinning for a moment, I realized my productivity didn’t have much to show for itself. My forward began to rotate backward. And, my band aid had finally started to lose its stickiness.” .
“The days of burying my head in pillows, sobbing my life away were over. Climbing steep mountains of various grades developed into my greatest drug of choice. The cadence of my heart harmonized with my feet pounding up and down the dirt paths and desolate country roads, always pulling me…
“By this time, my relationship with my mother masked over my anguish of what I thought was a lack of a childhood. This turned into a drive to forget and to make excuses for my own actions. And so became the birth of my story, my evolution of my excuses…
