1/25/2016
I’m receiving all of this love
From up above,
Upon the starry night sky,
Destined to live or die.
While my destiny may be set,
I haven’t quite met the standards yet…
~𝒜
1/1/2015
Icy blue eyes
With dark hair and goodbyes.
Putting on their capes
As their lives were at stake.
While his mask, pure as white,
Showed a great ideal of light…
~𝒜
[Inspired by the character Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon ... ִֶָ☾.]
This is a vulnerable post—one I’m sharing to mark my health progress throughout my weight-loss journey this year. It’s a reminder to myself that change does happen, and that meaningful results take time.
I want to give my deepest thanks to my sister, my greatest supporter. I truly couldn’t have done this without you. I feel more energetic again, proud of how far I’ve come, and committed to continuing forward. I’m excited to see how differently I’ll stand tall on my birthday this next year.
I’ll keep giving my best—whatever it takes. I even bought a jump rope yesterday and plan to add a hula hoop and my own yoga mat very soon.
I’m endlessly grateful and incredibly lucky to have you as my #1 defender, and as my sister.. even when I test your patience.
With love,
Sis
Circa 1/1/2025 - 12/20/2025
I drive past the old house once in a blue moon.
Not because I miss it—
but because it reminds me where I learned to survive quietly.
You weren’t there when it mattered.
Not really.
You left us exposed, and somehow expected us to understand. I did—too well. I was old enough to know why you had to go, but young enough to feel abandoned anyway. That contradiction never stopped hurting.
You were my hero once.
Do you know how hard it is to bury a hero who is still alive?
I loved you before I learned who you really were.
I still love you, and that’s the cruelest part. Loving someone who never chose you first. Loving someone who demanded grace but never earned it. Loving someone who took and took and called it need.
You scared me.
Not with fists—but with unpredictability. With anger. With alcohol. With the sense that I had to be careful, even as your daughter. That kind of fear doesn’t leave marks. It just settles into the body and stays.
You say you love me. I believe you do.
But love without accountability is just another burden you handed me.
You leaned on me when you should have protected me.
You asked when you should have given.
You chose yourself—again and again—over your own blood.
I carry guilt that was never mine.
I carry weight I didn’t create.
I carry your failures because no one else would.
I resent you for that.
I wish my grandfather had been my father.
A man who stood firm. Who served something greater than himself. Who didn’t run when things became hard. Who didn’t mistake selfishness for freedom.
I don’t hate you.
But I no longer excuse you.
If forgiveness ever comes, it will be quiet.
It will not look like closeness.
It will not look like sacrifice.
It will look like boundaries you don’t get to cross.
I am your daughter.
But I am no longer your keeper.
I love you, Dad.
But it is not the love it once was.
And it never will be again.
Circa 1/13/2023
This song is a personal favorite of mine, dear to my heart and soul. It belongs to my sister and I.
Growing up, I felt a sense of paternal protectiveness toward her—she was my little baby doll while I was still a child myself. Like all siblings, we bickered. I pushed her away at times, wouldn’t let her tag along with my friends, embarrassed in ways I didn’t yet understand. If I could rewind time, I would let her stay. I would choose her, every time.
When we were young, she loved to ask me for “night-night songs.” Sometimes I sang children’s songs—Twinkle, Twinkle, The Itsy Bitsy Spider—but my favorites were always the classic Disney princesses, Aurora and Cinderella. Once Upon a Dream and A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes. I would sing softly as she lay in bed, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead goodnight.
Those moments were gentle and sacred. Bittersweet now, but forever cherished. They live in my heart, untouched by time.
“What is more haunting—
To be tortured by memory,
Or erased?
The scream that never ends,
Or the silence that swallows it.”—𝒶
