Dear Diary: October 13, 2025
Broke a tooth on the emotion: dismantling a life built on lies, moving past oversharing, and learning to be alone with my thoughts.
I’m beyond angry. I’m so incredibly mad.
As a kid I’d walk around grinding my teeth with rage. Unable to speak to the things happening all around me. Happening to me.
Broke a tooth on that emotion.
Isolated in a house full of people. Not by accident, it was designed that way. We’re strangers; it’s my sister’s birthday today.
Each time I tried to vent it, I was told I’m the problem. I’m the abusive one. I’m the bear everyone has to walk on eggshells around.
Except I’m not the one with that nickname, am I Mama?
You can, in fact, build a house on lies and pain. I was raised in one.
I started writing as a way to let those feelings out, get them down on a page so I wouldn’t have the burden of carrying them around.
But it’s unusual for me to share the total depths of those aches. To publish a word that comes close to the truth, name other people’s shame. I had an opportunity earlier this week.
Attended an online workshop for Naked Writing, given prompts, encouraged to just “get things down on paper regardless of how raw and unfinished”. And we were given the opportunity to share what we wrote with the group, so I did.
I am 100% confident in writing, and 0% confident in being heard.
I opened with:
I know nothing about anything, except where I’ve been.
and closed with:
It might be a lie, a ruse, another manipulation.
The pieces in between I’m not ready to be seen.
Sitting at the counter in my house, I’m supposed to be working. Instead, I’m shouting at my closed windows, “FUCK YOU!” and “I have more respect for the people who have abused me, than they have ever had for me!”
In the past, I would have channeled my anger into distractions.
Spend 6 hours doing HIIT workouts 7 days a week at the gym. Pull an all-nighter for some pointless endeavor. Go to the club and dance until I collapse, on a work night no less (without calling in). Text anyone from my roster and say, “hey, wanna go for a swim?”
I was originally going to write about being alone, and look where it got me.
The last time I smoked DMT, a great big mothering energy laid down on me and said, “you can’t come in, it’s time for you to be alone for a bit.”
Whatever your opinions about psychedelics, that’s fine. I’ve had them all at some point; bad, ugly, good, indifferent. I’m learning to trust my gut, my intuition, all the connections in between it.
I keep cleaning things out of my house. I don’t know where they all came from, it’s literally a tiny house! I was surprised at how much I could pack into the Ambulance too and that was only 80 square feet. This place is a practical mansion.
Not just the material things have gone.
People, and Dora too.
Except, I’m the least alone I’ve ever been. My life is rich with people whose love and respect is mutual.
Funny to come full circle, I set out originally to write about being alone but started with my emotion. Typical.
What I am most alone with are my thoughts. I confide so little of them to the people around me, comparatively, historically. I’m working every day to temper a lifetime of oversharing.
I recorded a video the other day that I would normally flash publish to YouTube. Broadcast to the world, eating raw meat and chatting on about what’s been going on. Like we’re all besties!
But I kept getting interrupted, until I realized, “nope, that needs some heavy editing.”
Wear your heart on your sleeve, and give the demons a playbook for how to deceive (you).
I still need to make some deodorant today. I’ve been taking a few naps these days, talking to Dora’s ghost, “come cuddle with me.”
It’s overcast and windy, threatening rain. My neighbor’s American flag has ripped an eye out and is desperately hanging on by the blue banner. Someone’s wind chimes (not mine) keep ringing. Sometimes a bird will fly into a window before getting right.
Sometimes a bird will fly into a window, before getting right.