Dear Fear, You Cannot Have My Man.

My partner and I have broken up in the past. Our first breakup rocked me, shocked me, literally skinned me and hung me up to dry. I was working a hefty corporate job at the time, typing between tears and writing weepy poetry in between calls. I would lie in bed, my entire body feeling like a cramp, unbelieving that this whole break was actually happening. Stunned at how much I loved the man and paralyzed at the thought of losing him forever. The wild thing is that I didn’t realize how deep my love for him was until two weeks into the break up. I was shocked at the heartbreak, not because we did it, but because it even came. During that time, I stopped drinking— funny enough, while it took me until this year to fully commit to my sobriety, putting the drink down has always been the first thing I have done during times of great heartbreak or great stress. If I’m gonna get over this shit quick, I’m gonna just feel it all out now, I say. I ate better, I woke up earlier, I cried my eyes out for hours on end, but I took walks, I wrote poetry, I got mad, I was alive. I was alive falling in love with him all over again realizing I had completely missed out on him for the better part of two years. I was mending. Until the decaying raccoon came. Read More