Brain Vomit
Greetings, breachlings. I’m writing this with pink eye, so please forgive any typos as the world looks a bit foggy and goopy at the moment…
(Yes, the evidence is conclusive: If someone farts in your face, you will get pink eye. My son has taken it upon himself to test this theory four times this year. I’m so proud of my little scientist…)
Anyway, it’s been a while since I invaded your skulls. It’s somehow August! Half of me feels like it’s still January, and the other half feels like this year has been ten years long. The summer has been great but busy, and I apologize for my random absences from social media. I was unintentionally aloof and emotionally unavailable in an unsexy way. Between unplanned fart experiments, the kids’ day camp, my sister’s wedding (congrats, baby sis!), a family beach vacation, the unfortunate need to work full-time till I achieve galactic domination and am swept away to be crowned by ancient cosmic royalty, and the visceral hold my current WIP has on me that is fueling my withered soul, I juggled as poorly as a sugar-high clown atop a horny bull at a rodeo. None of this is to complain—I’m very grateful to have what I do. It’s just to explain my absent stretches from social media and my increased obsession with becoming an immortal creature who doesn’t require sleep.
Fair warning, there’s no rhyme or reason to this newsletter. I just wanted to check in with those of you kind enough to sacrifice your email addresses to the data-hungry kraken who lurks in my cyber lair.
So let’s just talk. Real talk. No bullshit. And certainly no advice. I’m an animated dumpster fire of ridiculous chaos who is nowhere near worthy of imparting anything of meaning and wisdom into the world. Take a seat on my shitty couch that sheds weird chunks of cheap pleather, grab an ice cream carton, and let’s chat. I chugged half a dozen sugar cookies, so I AM READY TO RAMBLE.
How are you all doing? Splendid, I hope? If not, curse the bloodline of all who have wronged you, and may they fester in their own waste and decomposing organs for eternity! It’s been a weird year for me. I’ve felt static, in limbo, for much of it, with my mental healthy deciding this is the perfect time for existential panic. Did you know that we’re all going to die?! That time doesn’t reverse and fix shit you fucked up?! That life doesn’t ask permission to storm forward, regardless of all the things you wish you had done or not done?! That some things are meant to stay broken, and that healing is a long, messy, nonlinear journey over unmarked dirt roads and through mountain passes at constant risk of avalanche?! These are just some of the super helpful thoughts my mind loves to drown me in at the most inopportune times. 3am dread spiral? Yes, please! Pre-meeting “nothing’s ever going to change” panic? Sign me up! Midnight “I’m going to die alone, trapped in a person I never wanted to be” terror? Oh, baby! Bring it on!
Again, this is not to complain. I’m doing well, which I can confidently say, because for many years, I wasn’t. I try to be open and transparent with my mental struggles to hopefully help others, though I must admit it causes me huge spikes of anxiety and the looming threat of nervous shits to share anything beyond IT’S MOIST BUTT CRACK WEATHER AGAIN. (Yep, this newsletter has gained sentience and driven off the rails.)
So if you, like me, want to tell your mind to go fuck itself and to shut the hell up for one goddamn moment so you can watch cupcake competitions in peace, know that you are not alone. Growing up, I knew no one like me, but there are many people like me. We just all hid. Everyone shoved their struggles beneath plastic smiles and small-talk facades. As a teenager, I was diagnosed with depression, OCD, and anorexia (I know, so lucky to be thrice blessed!), and for years—decades—I felt so fucking broken. Then, in my late twenties, I bled my soul into Edge of the Breach and was baffled by how many people reached out to me to say that they struggled in the same ways, too.
For the first time in nearly thirty years, I didn’t feel broken. I felt strong. Scarred and storm-battered, but strong. Like I had raged against the demonic fates and won. I was still here, still kicking, still breathing, still fighting—even when breathing was all the fighting I could summon on some days—and still swearing far too much, still spewing an inexhaustible stream of shit jokes. Someone somewhere (who I would cite if I remembered where I read it—sorry!) said that instead of shaming those with depression and mental struggles, those who fight for every smile, every laugh, we should congratulate them, because they have survived. I have survived. You have survived. We should celebrate that more, the conquering of another day, another hour, another minute, especially on days when you feel the weight of every minute, the burden of every hour.
So, yeah…this is what happens when I don’t outline my brain vomit lol. This newsletter might be cheesy or corny or cringeworthy, but I wanted to write it for the fourteen-year-old girl I used to be who felt so different and damaged, so hopeless and unwanted. I want to tell her that it WILL get better, but before it gets better, it will get worse—and during the absolute worst, you will find your heart, your voice, your teeth. In time, you will cherish the darkness. You will be grateful for all the pain and rage and heartache, because they were the catalysts for so much necessary change and growth. You will still struggle, still fall apart, still cry in the shower, still play sad songs on repeat and belt the most anguish-ridden lyrics through your tears (because you will still be melodramatic and own it now), but you will also know that you have the power to rise, to put yourself back together and build yourself up again.
As for what has worked for me? Writing, running, reading, routine, thought training (going from “I’m a piece of shit” to “I’m not a piece of shit, but I’m still a whiff of shit” to “maybe I can upgrade to being merely shit-adjacent”), dance parties, playing with my kids, singing Queen songs in the forest, cereal with milk (it’s for the coolest of people), venting to family and friends, St. John’s wort, green tea blasphemously made in a microwave (sorry, my British friends!), garlic, chocolate, and movies with big explosions plus impossible car chases. These might not work for you, but I figured I’d share since we rarely talk about the concrete steps we use to dig ourselves out of the pit of depression turds.
In summary of the above shit explosion, be gentle to yourself. Be kind to yourself. And forgive yourself, because life is too damn short for 3am dread spirals. Keep fighting. Keep writing. Keep celebrating every smile. But also be patient with yourself when you can’t. There’s a community here who cares. Reach out if you need help—even though that often feels like the hardest step of all.
Well, this was raw and vulnerable and borderline bleak, and it’s scary to put out there, to be this starkly honest, but I hope it’s helped at least one person to feel less “other,” less broken.
News
Moving on to happier terrain, I am absolutely ecstatic with Holly Prinsen for recording the audiobook of The Heartbeat of a Million Dreams! She is a LEGEND, a DREAM COME TRUE, and a vocal GENIUS! It’s FREE to listen to on YouTube—please subscribe to her channel to show your support! Check out the FREE audiobook here!
Recent Reads
All FANTASTIC!
A Dutiful Son: A Pride and Prejudice Variation by Kelly Miller
Portals of Magic: Poetry and Activity Book For Kids 6–10 by Lali A. Love
Podcasts/Channels to Stalk
The Writing Community Chat Show, Story of a Storyteller, The Tiny Bookcase, Boomers on Books, The Shadow’s Project, Steve Talks Books, What The Book, Human Chapters, Words & Pictures, Talk Wordy to Me
Aggressive Love
Perhaps I had one or five too many cookies, but fuck it. I hope you’ve enjoyed and/or related to my sugar-charged thought blast, and I hope you’re doing enviously fantastic. As I tell my kids, you are safe, you are loved, you are worthy, and everything will be okay—and please stop farting in my face.
Lots of love & chaos,
Halo
This is fantastic, hope you're doing okay! I feel the same way with being pulled in all directions but I'm not complaining for the same reasons! You are definitely turd adjacent, possibly even within shite vicinity, maybe even just close enough to see the edge of a shit smeared toilet bowl! Aren't we all?!