Kat-Lyn D.

"Now that he's gone, I can clear my head," she thought. She looked down at her fingers that only hours ago had touched his face, his lips, his beard, no longer feeling the electricity that sparked beneath them when her skin grazed his. They were empty now--powerless, but when he was in front of her, she could start a fire with the sparks between them. They were hot. There was passion. They were breathless.

"I had to do a clearing in my life of some people whose energy, I realized, was not supportive of who I wanted to be in the world. And I recognized that there are people who are not going to take responsibility for their energy so I now have to take responsibility for the energy that I allow to be brought into my space--life-changing for me, and what I know is, that you cannot continue to move forward in your life to the level and level and level that you need to be if you're surrounded by energy that brings you down. That sucks the life-force from you. So not only are you responsible for the energy that you bring, is what I learned, you're also responsible for the energy that you surround yourself with... And you will never be able to do and be who you're supposed to be in the world as long as you continue to buy into the energy suckers." - Oprah Winfrey

Fictional Nonfiction Pt. II I nervously wrung my hands as I walked up the steps to enter the building. I unlocked the key, placed my hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Go get your kids, bitch. Go save your sons. 

Depression is hard. Anxiety sucks.

I'm not really sure how much I trust myself to write this at the moment, but I'm going to give it a shot anyway. I've been up since 4 am (the sun just came up), I might be hungry, my cat is being extremely needy for whatever reason and I just want her to go away. Sometimes I wonder if she can pick up the fact that I'm distressed, and she's really just trying to cuddle me to comfort me, or, is she thinking, "Fuck you, bitch. Love on me in spite of your aggressive depressed state because it's my affection, and I need it now!" I really don't know. Either way, these hands will remain on the keyboard unless I'm fidgeting nervously while thinking of what to say next. She's still cute as shit, though.

Anxiety is a bitch. Depression is a motherfucker, and circumstances be damned.

Fictional Nonfiction Pt. I "Go get my cigarettes, bitch." He leaned back on the couch and lit the last out of the pack of Newport shorts. "I'm not leaving you here with my kids alone," I said with defiance in my tone and hate-filled eyes. "Oh, you'll go get them alright." He pulled a long drag from the tobacco filter as I sat on the floor, trying to remain as least threatening as possible while trying to gather the courage to stand up to him again. It never worked out in my favor, but I had to try. He couldn't be trusted alone with three year old Bobby and ten month old Tyriq. I couldn't possibly leave them with him after what he did to me.