Romanticizing the Breakdown

This Easter, I proudly skipped all the family traditions, food, and awkward small talk—just so I could stay in my room and collect panic attacks like Pokémon. One by one. Gotta catch ’em all, right? All in the name of “embracing who I am,” which, apparently, includes crying under a blanket and eating chocolate eggs with existential dread. Happy resurrection, I guess.

Ah to be a writer.. Like a hardworking ant who has spent its whole life carrying bread crumbs — except the bread crumb is my talent for writing, and the ant is me. Step by step, day by day, I push forward, carrying that crumb through storms and sunshine alike. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s mine. Sometimes, I get lost on the path to becoming who I want to be. The trail gets muddled, the weight gets heavier, and I lose sight of where I’m going. But eventually, I find my way back on track. I always do. The drive to keep moving forward, to keep writing, never disappears — even when the path feels endless. I see details others overlook. While the other ants keep their heads down, focused only on the ground beneath their feet, I look up at the sky. I see the cracks in the pavement, the shape of the clouds, the shifting patterns of light and shadow. That makes me different — and sometimes, being different feels like not belonging. Most of the time, I feel out of place, like I’m walking a ...

At the office, as I sit at my desk, watching the others at their desks, busying themselves with all sorts of nonsense, here’s what I’m really thinking about: lighthouses. The sea and the lighthouses — those lonely little houses with their dim yet stubborn light piercing through the darkness, marking humanity’s need to communicate with one another.But think of how much those lighthouses endure. Storms, tempests, lightning, tornadoes… Just like some people. Haven't you met such resilient people? And one thing is certain — even they need solitude. You’ll find them where you find the lighthouses, at the edge of the loneliest shore, insisting on shining their light and offering hope to those sailing through the dark.Time doesn’t flow if you’re a realist in this world. I hear people say, "I’m a realist," but what others glance at and overlook is glaringly obvious to me — I see it clearly. I struggle not to shout at those people: "HOW MUCH DARKNESS ARE YOU CARRYING?" J...

photo by me - (2-2-25) Aly  stood on the pavement on her way to work, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the breeze, warming her from within. She watched the world pass by. Each person absorbed in their own lives, some in their cars, others still trying to make sense of how another day had gone by. But Aly felt invisible. It wasn’t just the crowd. it was the weight of being a working woman in a country where dreams often seemed unreachable. Even foolish. She had grown up in a small village where expectations were clear: find a job, get married, have children. But Aly wasn’t content with that script. Her parents had raised her to be imaginative, creative and, though it wasn’t part of their plan, a dreamer. She dreamed of something more. A life where she could carve out her own path, independent and purposeful, not just someone’s daughter or wife. But that dream seemed to be fading. The song playing on her phone, Reamonn: Supergirl , was the only thing she owned that was kee...

source You know that feeling, when you're in a bad mood and can't quite explain why or how?  Imagine me, a cat nestled on my lap, lost in a playlist of nostalgic jazz, the soothing crackle of a fire, and the haunting wail of a snowy wind outside. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? But all of this collapses when reality seeps in. Me, in my thirty-sixes, jobless, with no income, bills piling up, and rent looming. Despair settles deep.   And yet, I have to continue. I have to keep pursuing everything, as if I’ve never grown up, as if I’m naively unaware of the disappointment life inevitably brings. Listening to my cat's purrs somehow soothes my rumpled soul.  I know I am capable of many things, and I know I will succeed, but the world feels so rigid and discouraging, as if any hope for change is met with resistance. What’s left to do, if not fight?

  source This year, I haven't put up Christmas lights, I haven't decorated a tree in my apartment, I haven't even bought Christams cookies for my coffee. What I did was working with myself and my mental health problems all year to be happy at this very moment. Never before have I ever been joyful. Most of my life I've been feeling unamused and blue. At least, now sun is kissing my cheeks and a smile cracks from this ancient, ugly face. Merry x-mas to me 🎈🩷