“Dear Phoenix Queen,” a poem written by Dylan Whittler. Copyright 2020.
The wooden figurine of Christ nailed to the cross hangs right behind my dad’s pulpit and always gives me the creeps. Maybe because it’s a constant reminder of my sin and worthlessness apart from Christ, which on other days would give me hope, but not today. Today, the cross mocks me. Maybe it’s the condemnation … Continue reading The Pastor’s Daughter
Dear Lovelies, It's time for some tough love and hard truth pills. Here's the reality of the situation: Your support system isn't your therapist; your therapist isn't Superman. We all know recovery isn't linear and there are ups and downs, twists and turns, and even resting places on this journey. There will be days when … Continue reading Your Support System isn’t Your Therapist, Your Therapist isn’t Superman
These past few weeks have been hard, especially Tuesday. Tuesday was a hellish day because it marked 4 years of dealing with the Beast that is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You would think that after some time, especially with the introduction and implementation of coping mechanisms and breathing techniques, the Beast would get bored and go … Continue reading The Siren Song of Self-Harm
Dear Lovelies, I have recently started a new journey: writing a book. But not just any book, no. This book is excruciatingly personal, which automatically makes it a different kind of painful than my fiction novel I've left on the shelf. This book is unlike anything I ever thought I'd write because it's not dealing … Continue reading Tackling Creative Nonfiction: An Adventure in Self-Discovery
I'm sitting on my bed, crying because all the floors in my parents' house are tile, which is a problem because I want to sit and be as small as possible but I can't because tile hurts differently than carpet. I'm crying because this is the second, no, third anxiety attack I've had in a … Continue reading 6 Reasons for Midnight Tears
On the rare mornings I feel too much, my heart slams itself against my trachea and the world nestles hard on my esophagus. It is not unlike a hummingbird flinging itself against a still, sharp, rain-washed window. On the rare mornings I feel too much, my breathing collapses upon itself, repeatedly, like someone squeezing my … Continue reading On the Rare Mornings I Feel Too Much
"I proposed to him." That feels weird to say, especially out loud, when he, my former, is light years away from me. Well, more like 160 miles, but semantics, right? I told J. that we had been inseparable, except for distance, for almost 5 years, best friends and all until life hit. He had gotten … Continue reading Throwback to That One Time my Therapist Made Me Grieve My Almost-Fiancé