Facts
I wrote a new piece over the weekend called I Killed Her. She’s Dead. It is a clinical summary of who I used to be, and why I’ve made the choices I’ve made—from a psychological perspective. It is haunting and brutally honest. But three hours after publishing it, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to share.
It was too far from the truth of how it actually felt. It didn’t capture the reality of being a person who couldn’t stand on her own two feet unless her entire identity was wrapped up in someone else. To feel worthy, I had to attach myself so deeply to another person that I disappeared. I was terrified of sharing my authentic self, so I performed instead. Always trying to be the best, and “if you ain’t first, you’re last.”
It wasn’t all bad. There were wonderful moments. But that’s what they were—moments.
When your body is wired for hypervigilance, when you’re suspicious of everyone and everything, life is not a safe place to be—and I did not want to be here. And whenever I felt trapped, I found ways to escape. So, often.
If you were to read I Killed Her. She’s Dead., you’d read a story about a brilliant and talented girl, capable of achieving anything, if only she would get out of her own fucking way. You’d read about a woman who punished herself with vicious cycles of self-sabotage, lies, and broken promises. The willingness to do or say anything for positive attention. Anything to feel in control. Anything to belong. Anything to feel free.
Writing and spirituality have saved my life. Getting my thoughts out, giving them form, has been my way out of the prison of my mind. For so long I was ruled by compulsions. A gifted soul trapped in her own hell.
One of the biggest traps in spirituality and healing is getting stuck in the darkness. Wallowing in it. Lost souls. That’s not me anymore. I can’t write every trauma in detail, because that’s not who I’m becoming. The shadow is something I’ve integrated, not something that rules me.
The truth is that I have so many regrets, but I do not regret them. I’ve had to let them go. Without all that chaos, I would not be who I am today. And I am proud of the person I am, and the person I’m becoming.
I try not to be too hard on myself, because I am still on the journey. Every day I wake up and choose to drive my own life. I make decisions that don’t send me spiraling into panic attacks. Decisions that don’t pile on lies I can’t keep up with, or catastrophic mistakes made just to feel something.
I am an open book. If you ask me something, I’ll tell you the truth. There’s no shame in it—because it’s the truth.
I have so many stories. I am a storyteller. I love sharing my knowledge, my truth, my experiences. And I love that people now have a clearer understanding of who I am. I have always longed to be understood.
The deeper I go into my spiritual path, the more people show up who are on the same frequency. People who don’t need me to explain myself. People who simply understand—and love me for it.
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be my own person. To be loved for who I am.
