childhood trauma

  • The Mourning Room

    At some point you have all the answers and then those answers disappear quickly leaving an empty space where comfort once lived. Nobody knew exactly why the room was called the Mourning Room. Perhaps because of the black velvet curtains hanging over windows tall enough to belong in a cathedral. Perhaps because of the ancient…

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  • Somewhere today someone is celebrating a birthday, but I truly wonder if they are celebrating the way they should. There it is again. The writer’s block. A great big stubborn wall parked right in the middle of my afternoon like it paid rent to be there. I stared at the blinking cursor hoping it would…

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  • There is an orchard few people ever speak about. Not because it is hidden. Because everyone standing in it believes it is normal. They walk among twisted trunks and fruit that never quite ripens. Some branches bloom beautifully while others rot from the inside. The leaves shimmer just enough to convince every generation that next…

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  • Some people never realize the conversation ended three versions of you ago. They keep typing.Double text.Triple text.Paragraph after paragraph like they are still standing in a courtroom where somebody asked for their defense. Nobody asked. Nobody cares. The audience left halfway through Act One, but they are still center stage sweating under a spotlight nobody…

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  • He didn’t wake up one day and say, “Today feels like a great day to unpack decades of emotional damage.” No. He woke up hungover, annoyed, and weirdly aware that his life kept repeating like a bad episode nobody asked to rewatch. Same arguments. Same women. Same ending. Different names. Same script. And somewhere between…

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