Everyone has a story to tell.

Everyday as a nurse, I care for someone who has a story to tell. It could be a juicy romance, a historical non-fiction, or a very fucking dark tragedy. However, in every story I hear… there is a wound, a heartbreak, or a trauma.

I’ve met people who have lost limbs in wars, families who have lost children, and those so sick they have given only days to live… and they all have a story to tell based on their own personal tragedy. And even though they may be telling me the damn worst imaginable story (that make me cry in the bathroom afterwards)… majority of the time they are at fucking peace and have accepted their pasts.

I am coming to realize that everything that makes us who we are… are our dark pasts and wounds. Every scar tells a story. Every trauma that we face molds us into the person that we are. It is up to us, me and whoever you are reading this, to make the best out of the traumas we are dealt. We need to be able to grow, learn, and accept our past wounds to become better people. i mean… fuck… the shit that each of us has gone through or is going through is terrible. But…

We only have one life. ONE FUCKING LIFE. So don’t ignore your fucky past, accept it. Make the best out of every fucking day. Live without regrets. Create amazing memories. Love others and yourself.

Honor the fucking traumas that molded your story.

Falling Apart… Together

Maybe things have to fall apart before they come together...

That was my fucking Dove chocolate quote, under its’ shiny little wrapper… conveniently the day after I thought I lost one of my best friends.

I did something stupid this previous summer. I won’t go into all the damn details, but basically… I fucked my best guy friend (8 year long friendship btw) and didn’t know how to stop my emotions afterwards. He left after a few weeks of very consensual sex and it seemed okay. But… then there was the inevitable silence after a month of mixed emotions and confusion.

It had been over two months… and I finally went through ALL the fucking five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I hit acceptance and WHA-BAM. Here he is again.

So now… I have my best guy friend back. There is still that elephant in the room though and I want it fucking out.

However, I don’t want things to fall apart again… Because I don’t know if they will come together again.

Thanks Dove chocolate for your emotional support through this. I fucking appreciate you.

Never An Accident

I'm feeling beautiful, 
out at the bar.
I'm talking to new people, 
and my friends aren't that far.

You chatted with us,
across the fire pit.
You had a friendly smile,
but fuck... were you lit.

You drunkenly stumble over,
and "bump" into me.
Your hand goes to my ass,
but I think "what if it's just me?"


You're brave enough try it again,
but this time you get yourself a really good feel.
Your hand goes all the way down,
and my disgust becomes real.

I realize it then,
as I shoved you away.
That was never an accident,
and it will never be okay.