Ana: A Sketch Essay

*Trigger Warning* 


Ana: A Sketch Essay 

She is present and she is absent. She is cold and unforgiving. She is bold, and unwanted. She is thoughtless, careless and the saddest creature you will ever encounter. She is the mistress of manipulation. She is inside my head.

 Think of a tangled mess of bare branches that are attached to an aging, creaking, once flourishing- now spiky Red Wood tree carcass. Nails on a chalkboard, her bones creak and break with every step she takes. Skin as white as snow, eyes black as holes with tear ducts streaming a nile of endless sorrow. Her hair is long, black and stringing with grease. A grotesque little thing she is. Her smile sends shivers down spines – reaching earlobe to earlobe and curling at her gums, exposing yellow pointed teeth and a slight empty laugh -Ana’s smile is frightening enough to make anyone run. Her official name is Anorexia, though I personally know her as Ana. She does not appear this way physically to the world, and is constantly attempting to dismantle my confidence into fragmented pieces.  

Ana reminds me of the pretty girl who I used to walk by in the hallways of my highschool. That outwardly looks like she had absolutely everything at her perfectly polished fingertips. This girl had eyes that were as bright blue as a California spring day, that were always overcast due to the pain I saw herself putting through. That same girl walked through the doors of one of my group therapy treatments when I was a sophomore in high school, hand in hand with her laxative addiction. She was a perfect abstraction of outwardly false confidence, but still one of the most striking girls I have ever seen. It does take one to know one. Some people kill for beauty, even if it means themselves.

Ana and I have known each other for quite some time, for ongoing ten years. I first met Ana, diagnostically, when I was fifteen, in my personally infamous year of 2012, though I now have presumptions that she and I had been acquainted for some years before that. I met her on a first name basis in a tiny doctors office – a day that is forever in my mind as a core memory. Of course, Ana did not reveal the horror of her true identity to me all at once. It was only after she was identified, named and defined as a negative narrative that I now live with for the rest of my life, that she revealed how ugly she can get. 

 I wondered as I got older where Ana came from. Did she come from  the inhumanly disproportionate, plastic Barbies my mother used to get for me? I had always secretly wished as a little girl to grow up to be as beautiful as those late 90’s Mattel manufactured Barbie dolls. Was it the Victoria Secret catalogs that would come in my family’s mail? Could it have been watching my mother, going through the blood, sweat and pain of the 2000’s toxic diet culture trends? Thinking to myself whenever she broke out in a hungry induced fit of anger, that I would never want to end up in her condition and having to go through the same thing.  

I had grown up with pretty things all around me. Princess this and pink that during childhood. Now almost grown up, I have developed a love for fashion, dresses and fragrances. I am considered to be a girly girl, and do take care of myself routinely. One of my greatest fears is that I am as ugly as Ana. How can I not be? I heard the saying “what is psychological is also physiological” from an old psych teacher once and for a longtime, I had applied it to be the logic behind my insecurities. Anorexia (Ana) is a life-long diagnosis with no cure and no medications to cleanse her from the person she inhabits. Only treatments, programs, the threat of being fed through a tube, and constant care repetitions. Having Ana in my mind feels like a minefield inside of my own head – being triggered to the front of my consciousness at the drop of the right pin.

My entire life I have had my parents and loved ones comment on what a pretty and petite thing I am – though it doesn’t penetrate Ana’s smoke screen around my self-confidence. I was even a child model and actor for quite some time, shouldn’t that tell me something? For a disorder that is rumored to be motivated by fat-phobia and vanity, Ana is quite in fact a gruesome thing to the host she resides in. She is a personalized deadly energy for said individual, if fed enough attention. She has no remorse and will relentlessly attempt to anchor me, or anyone she inhabits in her many demonistic forms down, if given even the slightest amount of time. I constantly find myself worrying: Do I look like this Ana on the outside? 

Having Anorexia does not mean that I am fearful of becoming overweight (all the time) but it does mean that there are more days than I would like to admit where I avoid my own reflection in the funhouse mirrors that seem to follow me everywhere I go. Body Dysmorphic Disorder comes as a buy one get one free with having an ED. Just the other day while exercising we were asked to place our feet hip distance apart. My instructor came by and corrected me – pulling my feet from 7 inches to about an inch and a half apart and said “Julia, your hips are not that big”. I felt embarrassed knowing that was a body dysmorphic disorder move, at its finest. 


The amount of times I have put makeup on and heard Ana’s taunting voice in the back of my head is tragically sad: 

“You think that concealer can cover those fine lines?”

“Is that a double chin I see forming?”

“You’re the ugliest thing I have ever seen”

“Give up Julia, you’re just not good at this pretty girl shit” 

I then cap my Chanel lipstick and take a deep breath as I take a step away from the mirror and feel warmth flush over my face as tears swell into my eyes. I just want to feel pretty. I wish I could just like myself at this moment, but even though I don’t – I go back to applying my makeup to the taunting tune of Ana’s nasty and untrue comments. 

I hate to admit that Ana knows me very well, but not all of me. She knows nothing of my true self. A happy, ambitious and loving individual who is confidently excited for everyday I get to live. I am the friend who always has a smile on her face, rings any environment I am in with laughter and will always go out of my way to help those who I love and need it.  Ana only knows my vulnerabilities, my triggers, destructive coping mechanisms and what presses my anger. I hate to say that on the days where I see her lurking in my shadow – there is a battle of self conflict between myself and Ana. 

She tries to remind me that she was trying to save me when we first met – I was diagnosed with Anorexia when I was also unknowingly being molested, in that infamous year of 2012, at just fifteen years of age. Ana came to my as demon disguised angel who planted the toxic and permanent seed in my head:

 “Starve yourself till you are so small,  no one will be able to touch you, see you, he won’t be able to touch you anymore – you’ll be invisible” 

Today I am twenty-five and Ana is still a chip on my shoulder, a pain in my ass and an unfortunate part of me. As I have grown older, I have learned to treat myself better. Exercise, eat well, practice mindfulness. Ana’s kryptonite is positivity and self love – light. It is me versus Ana on the days where she comes crashing into my psyche, attempting to poison and pick apart everything I have done to build myself into an independent person away from the engraved attachment she and I have. 

I tell you, Dear reader, of the horror that is having Anorexia to attempt breaking the stigma that Eating Disorders are a form of fatphobia – and remind society – eating disorders do in fact exist. There are many examples in my life where I have gotten unwanted comments on my body that I know come from these assumptions, somewhere. 

“Her waist is as big as my thigh”

“Aren’t you just the teenisest, tiniest person I have ever seen?”

“You don’t need to workout, you’re so skinny already!”

“Yea, all ten pounds of her couldn’t help me”

My eating disorder was manifested from a series of traumatic events that started from an extremely young age and that was born during one of the hardest times of my life. In no way do I look at other people who are bigger than me and think to skip a meal so I won’t end up looking like them. I don’t keep certain foods out of my diet to look like anybody else – and certainly do not choose to be mentally berated inside my own head, just to keep a slim waistline. 

There are some days where I feel as small as Thumblina. The unprecedented commentary from other women just feeds into Ana’s darkness in ways that I have yet to figure out. And that is what I intended to do, confront Ana time and time again until I can look in mirrors without seeing a false reflection. I want to enjoy a treat and not rip myself apart from eating it later, I don’t want to skip meals because of a bad day or stressful situation. Eventually I want to bring awareness to the Eating Disorder community and society: that instead of treatments and therapy, consisting of increased calories and limited physical activity – that we need to learn how to be confident and love ourselves. We need to know how to ease the clench around our throats in order to speak to ourselves nicer inside our own heads and most importantly, find healthy coping mechanisms when things get tough. 

At the end of the day I am strong enough to know that this is my life, not Ana’s. And though living with her some days feel as though I am as haunting looking as she is, I soak up every moment I get where she is not present inside of the day or thoughts. I take advantage of these moments by writing mantras to myself, finding new things to experiment with in fashion that are both comfortable and to my liking. I shake off the comments from others because I know they have no idea who I truly am, where I have been and what I live with. With everything that I have been through, I know one day I’ll be able to live in health and clarity with myself – and even smile at my own reflection. Later to become an active voice, guiding those who relate to my story to light and love in the ED community.

Ana is a ghastly creature, but that doesn’t mean I am or have to be either. Exuding kindness and graciousness in all areas of my life is what keeps me going. As well as knowing that I too will tell my story and have it be widely known as a learning lesson: We truly do not see ourselves as others think we do. And to always, speak to yourself as kind as you would to someone you love. 


Julia Katherine Publications – Copyright 2022

Sprouting: A Reflection By Julia Katherine

Dear reader, 

2021 has been a closed chapter in all of our books. I wanted to share with you some of my reflections and most integral experiences last year. 2021 was  filled with incredible achievements, flourishing with bright and vivacious days. I do not know if the memories of my friend’s smile were shining brighter than the summer sun, or if I just remember it that way.  

Of course, not every day was so great. 2021 introduced me to a new side of my anxiety I had never encountered. I started the beginning of the year by losing my beloved first pet and went through phases of crippling overthinking. I reached peaks of stress from battling the over-achiever that was born in that year. I watched walls that I had spent so much time and pain building up disintegrate, as I transformed them (and myself) into new, healthy boundaries and habits. I opened myself and my mind to small and big things in life – these days, even I look back in awe. 

  The biggest difference I see in myself now is instead of  numbing those bad days away- I confront them and sent them straight to a place in my brain I like to call ‘processing’ – a mental note to self to learn from my mistakes. I also don’t make habits or patterns that are harmful for me anymore – though there have been some days where wine doesn’t taste as bitter. I like this little part of me that takes tabs on behavioral patterns and choices not to repeat again. 

  Take it from me reader, it is not expected of you to change into an entirely new person overnight. I tend to also comfort my anxiety by reminding myself, Rome was not built in a day, though a wise friend told me that it only takes that long to burn it all down. 

At the beginning of the 2021, I was working as a Starbucks barista (again) and had just applied for Arizona State Universities online B.S program. I was contemplating going back to the local community college in my area, but my boss at the time (a wonderful lady) gave me a pep talk to take the chance with applying to the Starbucks ASU program. After the application process, I anxiously awaited the answer of whether or not I got into ASU and put my head into a spin. My GPA plummeted when I was abusing substances and I saw little to almost no light for my educational dreams. Though I didn’t get accepted initially – I was put into ASU’s pathway program. This was a program that included taking courses for credit but I had to maintain at least a C average or better GPA. And I learned fast, grew faster. 

I created a completely healthy, disciplined and dedicated routine for myself when it came to studying and turning in assignments. I would wake up before the sun came up on my days off and pound out work at my desk – some days were as long as 8-10 hours. I want(ed) not to only succeed – but to soar. Avenge myself in a way, that would put as far of a gap in between my old self as I could. And that’s exactly what I did. The scores started to rack in at 100% and I became addicted to my own success. There was something about surprising myself with the level of commitment that drew me in further, made me more curious – and motivated me to always give my best if not more. 

This is where I believe my anxiety and the long road of learning not to be so hard on myself was born. Immediately I was overcome with self-induced pressure, I felt as though every assignment I turned in was an art piece made of glass. One wrong move and all my hard work could shatter away. My anxiety would conjure fears, like my professor dropping me from a class just for missing a piece of information. I know that’s pretty dramatic to say, but when has anxiety ever been known to be rational? After turning in big projects my mind would race as I would try to fall asleep some nights: 

“Shit…did I use the right headers? Should I have triple checked that assignment? What if I fail all over again…”  


Between this, interning and working I had my hands full. Deadlines, Zoom meetings, intern interview assignments, getting up at 3 AM to get up for an eight hour shift – I put in work during 2021 to say the least. Which naturally led to the days where the pressures of it all simmer over and come out emotionally. There were 7AM crying fits, crippled by the fear of failure, because I had seen it once before. If you dear reader have also expressed stress attacks due to high expectations for yourself, even as early as when you first open your eyes to the pounding repeated sound of your alarm – you are not alone.

 Stress comes in nasty forms for each individual. Whether it be under or over eating, using any sort of substances, nail biting, skin picking, trouble sleeping or being mentally paralyzed by the rapid thoughts reminding you of all you have to do or improve on. Stress can do things like poison the mind in thinking that the people you love do not love you back and that all your hard work is for nothing.

 What I have learned is: Stress attacks happen and there’s nothing we can do to prevent them. What we can do is aid ourselves, learn from it and repeat. How we pick ourselves up and continue on afterwards is what matters.  I found in 2021 that truly taking one thing at a time is a helpful tool. Don’t let the amount of times you have fallen or life has held you down be the reason why you do not ever get back up. 

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results – then laying in bed and letting anxiety consume you while expecting it all to go away tomorrow- is a contestant of insanity. There is a difference between visiting our comfort zones versus being consumed by them. This is a topic I visited in my writing last year as well. I knew that I had to get up every I felt the weight of all my tasks was pushing down on me. There was no other option but for me to keep going. This mentality worked swiftly and rewardingly for myself. 

The happy ending to my ASU story is I received my acceptance letter from my first choice program, on my twenty-fifth birthday. I raised my GPA to a semester 4.0 and calculated 3.71 and still have that today as we enter Spring 2022. 

During 2021 I tested boundaries and limits I had once falsely assigned. I gathered myself together by creating a foundation for myself of hard work and consistency. Slowly but surely new patterns and parts of myself emerged that have taken many, including myself, by a positive surprise. I started becoming aware of not only what I was thinking but also saying. I finally wasn’t scared to get to know myself.

For me, that goes very deep. Due to the work in progress with my traumatic past – I didn’t want to know myself or let anyone else get the chance too, for a long time. One of the many discouraging feelings that carries into one’s adulthood when they have been sexually exploited as a child, is that you’re a fifthly person. That since I was used in such a malicious and disgusting manner, for the pleasure of a monster, that must mean I am one too, right?



Once I started detaching from that decade old mentality this…beautiful person started to make an appearance in around spring of 2021. I blossomed, with the trees and roses all around me. My smile grew more genuine as the sun rays came out on warm California days. My self confidence started to immerge once again. I now have the dream support team that includes a group of young women who are superheroes, a loving family and my incredible Ian. All of these people, individually, are why I believe Earth side angels exist. 

Dear reader, I am going to end on a happy note because I am not a writer who accepts sad endings. If any of my words strike your heart and churn in your thoughts then let that transpire into action. The strength of human resilience is innately inside us all. It is most commonly said not to let other people dictate your life for you, or hold you back. What I think needs to be said more, don’t let YOURSELF hold you back. 


I’m off to work on a few other projects. And I cannot wait for my first novel debut. 2022 is my year, and yours too. 


Love and kindness, 



Addictive Behavior Observations and Admissions: An Article of Empathy by Julia Katherine

As the seasons have been changing, I have officially decided that I will be one of those people who is in an almost constant state of metamorphosis. This mindset has made the swift changing social conditions of the world easier to accept and adapt; and easier for me to accept myself, without addiction. I broke walls, false morals and repeated cycles that I had made during those freezing years of my life. After some time in my head, I have finally been able to put together a few of my thoughts about addiction and how I see it in different forms in my life. 

A LOT about me has changed. My room, my clothing, my routines, my work and school ethic, my friends, my relationship with my family and the people who care about me. I’m also able to keep a stable and healthy relationship that has recently just reached its one year mark. Ian, if you’re reading this now and any time in the future, I love you. You’ve been more than my rock since I met you a couple years ago. How far we’ve come individually as well as together, is the most beautiful thing I have had the blessing (though I am in no way religious- you are the closest thing to an angel I have ever seen) to call mine, in a long, long time. I can’t wait for our tomorrows. 

I recently told Ian about my boundary with relationships and my writing. That since we have now been dating for a year, and if he was okay with it (he was absolutely thrilled and spun me around in excitement) to be featured on my website and written into my pieces. 

Ian is one of  the reasons why keeping my priorities in life together has been more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. I used to think that sustainable relationships weren’t obtainable- until I accepted change. He has expressed to me that we wouldn’t be together if I was still using, and I don’t blame him. I don’t blame anyone for leaving while I was using. However, those individuals were not meant for me in my current evolving prime. 

   To those who are reading this, and are in a time in your life where you continuously keep hearing people tell you to get your shit together- I promise you two things. One: when you do start to take the steps to pull yourself together- life is better than any high or low you’re currently chasing. Two: If you’re hearing what’s left of your conscience is trying to tell you that you need to change- it’s time to actually do something about it and stop numbing it. Three: The emotional, spiritual and overall humane experience of regaining one’s self after numbing with substances or destructive comfort zones is astronomical. I can tell you this from personal experience. 


  I have been advised in therapy many, many times that in order for one to keep healthy relationships, you must have a healthy relationship with yourself. Your life is as good of quality as you put into it. This includes how you treat yourself, the quality of the people around you and how they take care of themselves and their lives. I am no longer friends or in contact with anyone who I used with. Though I have gained a gallant amount of positive company back into my life. (Thank you to my lovely coworker who is also an artist- who asked me when my next piece was- you are a part of the positivity I’ve gained in this new phase of my life.)

 One of the scary things about drugs is how it silently takes over the user. This also applies to people in our lives that we may want but in no way need. 


 I remember when I first started “doing” cocaine, and telling myself as I fell asleep at night that I needn’t succumb to the consequences that cocaine could bring. I also remember meeting young people who have similar traumatic backgrounds to mine, witnessing them fall under the curse of addiction and promising myself that will never be me. However, it took over so quickly, so silently- I didn’t remember ever having boundaries like that until after I got sober. And want became need, when I discovered how easily the deadly white powder numbed the violent flashbacks of my kidnapped youth. 

  Another ‘addiction’ that I have observed is: the influence that we unconsciously absorb into our lives from the people closest around us. There are many ways to interpret this of course. A common example used in my psych classes was: Having trouble letting go of that childhood best friend who isn’t going off to college? But is guilting you for going off to University.  Equallying into either a tough choice made by the friend who has his academic career on the horizon or choosing to stay in his comfort zone. Another more common example; have you ever known that toxic couple who keeps anchoring one another down, yet neither one leaves? Personally, I have experienced this. However, I dumped my unlawful treatment after a little over two years. I have also seen people from my past turn down amazing opportunities due to such minneal things like the printer paper weighted strength of a promising forever friend from someone they went to high school with. 

My point of these observed examples over the years is; the addiction of not being alone seems better than to risk the free fall feeling and breaking out of something bad in one’s life. I have seen people turn down even better opportunities because they let their own destructive behaviors get in the way of starting anew. It wasn’t until I started questioning behavioral patterns and not just addiction based ones that I started to grasp a better understanding on how to break and prevent toxic cycles.

Behavioral psychology was one of my favorite sub-branches of psychology to listen to in lecture as well as read about both for school, as well as personal knowledge purposes. Behavioral psychology studies human behavior from infancy to elder years in behaviors, patterns, cycles- that make us, us (in very simple terms). The subject categorizes expected or “normal” behavioral patterns for each stage of life and the milestones or downsides and the reactions that come with them. For almost every life milestone, there is a psychological explanation for the reaction and behavior following said event. Behavioral psychology also allows us to explore the reasons as to why we make choices beyond what is considered the ‘norm’ (in psych- the word ‘normal’ is looked down upon- but still used) 

In life, anything can become an addiction. Usually when one hears the term addiction, the first thought usually is substance addiction. However, this demon comes in many forms. Addiction can be to video games, to lying, to certain people or persons, to projecting a false persona. Addiction can be food, pills, working out, gambling, sex, cars, cocaine, heroin, working- the limits for addiction are unfortunately- almost limitless. 

A common phenomenon that I caught onto in my hometown, besides drugs and toxic relationships, is the addiction to image and social status. Imagery in the bay area is important to many and essential for most. Social status is also as imperative as physical health. In some cases, physical appearance takes precedence over maintaining a healthy well being. Girls and guys will hang on to the most toxic people in their lives romantically just so they won’t be alone. Having a circle of friends to be able to show off on Instagram or strut downtown- is a social up-play move.  God forbid in the bay area you don’t have anyone to keep you distracted from what you actually need to be addressing to progress in life. I make that remark thinking of myself as well. I tend to try not to think about where my life would be now, if I had not wasted so much time on people who ended up never being good for me. You’ll see a pair of nike airforce1’s on the feet of one in five girls from the ages of 16-26. Addias graphics and unconsciously rapper inspired clothing for the males. Louis Vuitton logos glistening in the sun’s reflection. Perfected middle parts and the newest mom jeans. Winged linger and graphic logo’d snapbacks. One cannot deny the bay area has style- that’s for sure. With so many people putting in so much effort to what they look like in the East Bay, many have forgotten to work on what is really important- the development of self. I truly wonder how many people I used to associate myself with can honestly say that they are no longer producing the same patterns of destructive behavior- addictive behavior, that they were during the duration of our relations. 

That saying about your comfort zone hurting you, is true. We as humans are not meant to be stagnant creatures, though we can adapt to be one. What I mean by this is; there comes a point in repeated behaviors where we lose ourselves. We lose our inner voice that tells us when we should stop hurting ourselves and that we deserve better. I am aware that what I am stating also comes with many factors, which include those outside inflictions that we cannot control. But what we can control is our sense of moderation. In Philosophy, one of the founding fathers of the subject, Aristotle once said: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. So, again, for those that are stuck in a rut of any sort or find themselves trapped in repeated behaviors- trying adding a different action or behavioral choice into your mix to debunk what is dragging you down. If this means having to step away from the world, socially, then by all means do what is necessary to get yourself out of your addictive behavioral choices. Just don’t forget to communicate with the people you love, that you’re detaching for a while. 

I have lost friends, many of them in fact, to  past behavioral patterns and addictions of my own. I was trying to make it look like I was completely functional and succeeding. I was the girl who spent hours wasting her life away with sleepless, strung out nights- wrongly rationalizing that what I was doing was productive at the time. When you are under the spell of a drug’s deadly addiction;  the only sense of accomplishment you have is when you score.  The addiction was cocaine, the behavioral cycles and patterns were: lying, manipulating, greed. I don’t blame the people who left for never wanting to come back. I was quite the flash fire flame when I was indulging in the wrong side of life’s vices. Even now, I have left behind my bad habits; the bad habits of others that are not societially as imperative as drug addiction came into beaming light of observation and curiosity to me.


To the girl that’s been with that partner for way too long- who is clearly NOT good for you- why do you stay? I see you look away when happy couples walk by. 

If that partner were heroin, would you stay with him until the end?

To the girl who keeps chasing disguised orges and life-sucking vampires when you could clearly have prince charming- do you want to keep practicing your behavior? Or, will you actually tell yourself that you deserve better than what you are familiar with and know how to temporarily control? To the girl who lets her past control her silently in the present day, why don’t you let those private tears flow? What is so physically painful about accepting the pain of yesterday and embracing the opportunities of healing and life tomorrow? These are all questions I have asked myself for years based on my life and the people who I have known.


Why do we choose to suffer subconsciously when all we need is to be able to stand/speak up for ourselves? All it takes is one pebble to be thrown and a cascade of ripples will erupt. I feel as though people need to be reminded just a little bit more: That little thing you did yesterday to change yourself for the better is an amazing first step to all the good you want to see for yourself. And, that you deserve. 

I ask this last question knowing that it is easier said than done. 

The hardest time I have ever had to speak up was when I had to tell my father that I was being wrongly sexually infiltrated and used when I was a young, young minor. 

However, it has been since that day- that I had made a promise with myself, that I would never again let myself suffocate underneath anyone again. No outside source would be able to cause me pain again. Though I never expected that I would be inflicting destruction onto myself when I started using and this is something that weighs on my mind deeply. However, it’s processing and on its way to healing. 

Drugs are different from people. 

For some people, it is people that kill them as softly and silently as any substance would. And for the rest, it is the substance that is the latter. 

This is exactly my point: people become addicted to other people. And the behavior that comes along with the addiction itself, weighs just as much as a destructive addiction than the person itself. 


I’ve experienced this first hand. My second serious relationship, I was with someone who suffocated the developing young lady I was on the road to be- with destructive and manipulative treatment and behaviors. That seeped into my subconscious making me think: So, because he treated me like this, I can treat other people like this. Especially, because of how much pain I’m in. 


I feel as though so many people carry this mindset. Dishing out pain to the undeserving, residually leftover from the painful past relation. I’ve endured unintended emotional pain from people I used to call my best friends. I have seen the most beautiful and intelligent women break down over the most pitiful example for a boy. Myself included. I think one of the worst addictions of life can be the addiction from a made up expectation or version of a person, besides substances. This makes me think of the times my friends would dream of the sober me I am today. And while I was one of the lucky ones to make it out of the grasp of addiction, I was recently told by a close friend of mine that: “there are some people who are too far gone, Julz. Some people are still there but they haven’t been for a long time.” 


I’ll start my conclusion with a confession. I still struggle with addiction. I’m currently working on kicking the vaping habit and want to eventually reduce my caffeine intake. The fact I’ve even conjured those thoughts on my own, reassures myself that I am growing, once again.  Everyday I used to run away and numb so many parts of my past and unknowingly then, so many parts of my beautiful self that I have gotten to know now more and more every day. 

Readers; if you are depressed, if you are stuck, if you are fighting addiction, if you are somewhere lost in this crazy world: please take my words and let them linger. I’ll reassure you that in life- we don’t have to know the answers of our futures right away. Just having a thought of “what if” and “I want this instead of what I’m currently enduring” – is a sign that positive change is on the way.


Keep going. 




Julia Katherine

The Return of Her: Julia Katherine

Hello Readers, 

Welcome back, and welcome in- to another era of myself that I am bearing to anyone who stumbles across my website. And if that is you, welcome and thank you. 

I would like to say that my website, my writing, my ‘space’ on the internet is one of a comforting nature. My writing has topics that are traumatic, however, with a tone of soft fluctuations and always filled with love. I know one thing is for certain, if I didn’t have the love from my support system, and myself, I would not be where I am today. 

Where do I begin- 

Where should I begin…

It should firstly be noted that it took an extremely long time for me to build up to this very moment. I haven’t sat down at my desk, of sober mind, in over four years. Yes. Four years. 

I’ll go ahead and start my re-introduction with a few confessions. 

For anyone that was following me on any social media platforms (Spring to the end of summer 2019) you followed me through cocaine induced psychosis/ mental breakdown. After four years of a vigorously active, on-again-off-again relationship with cocaine, compartmentalized childhood sexual abuse, and a traumatic abortion experience (that was only ONE year prior to this) it finally all caught up to me.

For anyone who saw me in person during this time, and was negatively affected, I apologize. For anyone that saw me during this time, and is still worried that I am in that same mindset- I am long past it.     

It is no secret to anyone who has read my writing or knows me personally that my story is full of trauma and tragedy. Last summer, I think, was all of that trauma coming to surface at once, as well as a horrible mix of cocaine and alcohol. 

Here are some things I have experienced since the last time I have sat down to write, just as I am now: 

  1. Waking up in a hospital with little or no recollection of how I got there 
  2. Mental paranoia that a bay area rapper was trying to rise me to fame 
  3. Being dragged and handcuffed by the police 
  4. Almost losing everyone I have ever loved, and I mean this in the scary: “We love you but have to let you go if you don’t accept help,” way
  5. Letting every single demon I have ever battled control my body, mind and soul

Are you still with me, readers? I know, that was a lot to take in. 

Let me update you on some positives in my life…

  1. I work five days a week (aside from the writing)
  2. I finally have a stable and healthy relationship with the most amazing guy
  3. I am sober from cocaine and hard alcohol
  4. I still write
  5. I fully and mentally recovered from my episode with no horrid side effects- or at least I haven’t seen any.
  6. I am back at a university, not community college  

I have thought long and hard all year on how I wanted to return to my passion, that is writing. For you see, during my psychotic episode, I used my writing and my website, in my mind- as some sort of…weapon? Mothership? I felt as though my writing at that time held the significance, symbolism and metamorphic meaning as did the eye portrait of TJ Eckeleberg from F. Scottfitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.”

I had conjured it up in my head that my manic writing were words of a just woman. That I was given some sort of power, making it okay for me to pass judgement on people who have hurt me.  That is one of things I remember doing the most, during my episode.  (a lot of my psychosis I don’t remember unless I really try) And while I  am embarrassed that I used my passion as a form of destruction, that does not mean I still won’t be opening up about the people who have done me wrong in this life. And tell my side of the story. This is how I make peace and give myself closure with most of the trauma in my life. Also because, the people who were a part of these situations don’t want anything to do with me and only keep me in their memory- knowing the truths that I store in my mind must haunt a few.  Making examples out of those who brought me injustice, is my way of getting justice. 

If you are reading this now, those destructive pieces that I wrote while I was manic are gone. Instead, as stated earlier, my approach to telling these stories comes from a place of hope and sanctuary for myself and my readers.  I know that there are many people in this world that have experienced similar pain, as I have myself- so I am putting myself out in the world for others to lean in and lean on- to relate too. As well as bringing comfort to each and every one who reads my writing. 

Please, let me remind you,  

You are not alone.”

And if you didn’t get the chance to read those manic pieces, don’t worry. 

There is no market for a girl who tears down other people in a manic state. 

So…where do we go from here?

I’m back. 

It’s currently 9:13 A.M, Friday morning and I have been up for four hours gritting my teeth in anxious joy, thinking about coming back to the writing word. And here I am, once again, being fulfilled and rejuvenated with my passion for writing. One word at a time. 

 There was a point in my break from writing where I had almost accepted that my gift- the spark that makes my fingers tap the keys of my board, imitating the sound of a perfectly percussion drum- may never come back to me. That my using of hard drugs had dimmed my light inside of me. The light that shines through me; reflecting to the world: she’s a writer. Or, that my lack of writing was some sort of universal karma for all the damage I had done to the people around me after the entire episode was over. 

Did I mention, it lasted ALL summer? 

I am a writer. It is in the blood that flows through my veins. It wakes me up every morning, each ray of sunshine that peaks through my shuddered windows, waiting for me to open them, and soak up what I shall write about that day. I see words and stories from experiences as little as getting a coffee, or opening up about anything from my past. My voice cannot carry a melody but it can stay steady whilst I read my words from a page that will one day go from my hands, to yours, and then to a shelf- destined to be collecting dust in the back of someone’s bookshelf. And opened when one is in need of a boost of comfort. 

I am so excited for what the future holds. Remember,  leather bound and ivory towers, that girl turned into a lady; ready to grace her readers with all her powers. 


Julia Katherine 

A Message Of Hope For Women Who Empathize

It was a message from a close friend of mine that helped my conscious thought connect with one of the vaults of unspoken memories inside my head when I realized: Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

I had the unfortunate run in with life and that thing called choice January a year ago. I chose to have an abortion nine days into the new year of 2018 after finding out only 72 hours into it. The famous Christmas song lyric and melody scrape the inner workings of my bone tissue in a way that I have not yet begun to face yet.

“We wish you a Merry Christmas….and a happy new year.”
I did for myself back then as well…

The fact of the matter is, it has been one year later and this is my second mothers day. I remember last years day quite well.

I got myself all nice, pretty and dressed. My improving weighted frame in threads of black. From the heels that lifted myself from the harsh concretes of the Earth to the tight fitting top that would often be to small – I had an issue of letting go clothing from certain periods of my life. While there is admittedly still a black sweatshirt hanging in the far back of my closet, it seems to cycle back into the first left into my mind.

My feelings on this day. In this moment:

I am calm.

Whilst I am not a mother to a physical soul, I spoke to the one that I carried for seven weeks in my tiny little belly, in the moments I was left alone while the once expecting boy-father- I never understood why he fought so hard and claimed he was: “There for me there for me there for me.”

Put down the goddamn video game controller, take a deep breathe and adult the fuck up- in this very paragraph is where I am opening myself up to the world my most vulnerable thoughts on my experience because: humanity learns from others experiences because we are all selfish enough by nature to whisper in the back of our mental selves: “I am so happy that has never or did not happen to me.”

It takes anyone with enough of a basic understanding of human emotion as well as the obviously known biological and physical changes a woman goes through for many MAN to see: She is now not herself more than ever and this is a moment to prove to myself (speaking a if I were the boy) that I can step up to the plate for what is half mine. I know she is probably terrified because of what she knows happened before her…”

I have a strong inclination that after or possibly never, has the second party in my situation has ever had the heart, courage for himself as well as even the confidence in him as a human- to realize what he did was completely inhumane.

People should never: Leave without saying the truth- that way there is less mess to clean after the storm of lies settles in the dust, decay and debris of what once was the most fantastic friendships I have ever had the pleasure of calling mine.

I have long let go the idea of resurrection between him and I. I don’t think he will ever understand that because I once carried a physical result of our physical action: he could not, in that time, physically handle it.

I do not forgive you.

I will not forget either of you two and how you changed my life forever.

All my love,

Julia Katherine

A Philosophers Thought

As a philosopher who studies existentialism, I believe in existence, not essence. I believe in free will, over determinism. However, there are those times that the most life-saving coincidences have occurred in my life. And then, those situations that are not as much live saving, as they are puzzling.  

My mind can trail as far as my first year in third grade. Whenever it came time for my parents to discuss my progress with my beloved teacher, she would always commemorate me on how advanced my writing skills were, for being so young. To this day, I am an up and coming author, however, I am a writer.

Coincidences have always been circulated throughout my life. Little things that were mentioned in what would have been another time-filling conversation that moments later; become a universal and mental connection.

There was once a sick man in my life who inappropriately told me that my breasts would look amazing if they I pierced them. When I was nineteen, and years had passed from that evil man- the day I single-minded made my own choice to get them done. This same man had suggested to me, that I would thrive in Starbucks as my first workplace. I worked there for a total of almost four years.

What does this mean? How does this get explained? I could easily see a psychological analysis being conducted with results along the lines of: I was only settling or possibly overcoming a trauamtic childhood experience.

I am writing a final paper on the existential argument: existence vs. essence. Early ancient western Greek philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle both believed that for one to live a “good” life, they must live out the essence that they are given before they are born. For centuries, this essence was regularly known as God. That is until the mid-nineteenth century when the French father of Existentialism came to rise. It is genuinely shocking how radical Sartre’s philosophy that man is free, and that our essence comes as we live out our existence, during his time. I agree with Sartre. There is no posterior knowledge within us, in my opinion. We each are in utero for up to nine months, and from the second we are born, comes the interactions and interpretations that surround us to shape later how we make our choices. We are our own choices.

Those instances I had mentioned early from my past put a kink into my radical philosophical beliefs and thinking. In the situations where the bad man gave me those suggestions regarding invasive body mutilation and where to start my first job- I chose to pursue them both. I, Julia-Katherine woke up one morning and decided all by myself, without thought or recollection into my past, to alter my body. To be honest readers, I hadn’t remembered that the sick man with a three letter name had made that remark to me. I hadn’t recognized that until a killer swarm of late night PTSD had set in at least ten months or so later. Years before this had happened, but when he was no longer a part of my life, there was a hiring Starbucks location within walking distance from my house. At that time there was an eager seventeen-year-old who was looking for her first job, something close. Did the evil man determine my fate for both of my actions? Did my subconscious happen to remember both of these instances and I just went with it? These are the type of questions a philosopher asks. Or was it merely that, Starbucks was a convenient option for my first workplace, and I had wanted my breasts pierced for a while- as a girl who already has quite a few body piercings already.

As for the situation that I am convinced occurred due to fate, or whatever Science, Laws of Physics nor Philosophy could explain- I am thankful. I am thankful for one of those “signs” that Sartre highly dislikes in his works as being nothing but a reaction from an action. For in this case, it was not that. It was simply someone or something looking into me and my life at that very moment, and saving me.

An Opinionated Love Column By Julia Katherine

What is love? The intoxicating, deadly and ancient term still holds no set definition. Only a guideline of commonly shared symptoms among those who have been“bitten by the love bug.” That cute phrase has more meaning behind it than given credit for. The “love bug,” is a wise old tale that little girls learn growing up, to not touch any little boys, in avoidance by getting “bit by the cootie bug.” Then as little girls grow up, the bug evolves into“ the lust bug.” The Lust Bug, as I have so named it, is a disease that is as the adult cootie bug. A real-life emotionally straining illness that can occasionally turn into a committed relationship. Keyword: occasionally. Welcome to twenty eighteen where I and thousands of other millennials fear and dread being tied down. One of the symptoms of the lust bug is the grey area between physical intimacy and emotional intimacy. It’s sickly. Lust or love, both are toxic pests to the young female. The insect uses its venom draws out the most alluring and intoxicating emotions that make women seem like some crazed Moaning Myrtle. For a while, at least.

As I was driving home tonight, I was listening to a song by a band I have recently fallen for. Screaming lyrics; boasting of a romance that once brutishly captured a young singers heart. The singer is over her today. Lyrically, however, he still channels the way she made him feel when she left, to play every one of his shows. So his lyrics exclaim in the song “Upside Down.” I reminisced to myself of the three times I had been “bitten” by the love bug. (Only three boyfriends at twenty-two, my mother raised a lady) Each one during their time, I couldn’t picture my tomorrow without them. However, the sun always sets on the horizon.

In all three of my relationships, only after, did I realize that the “love/lust bug” was truly effective. There is a saying that goes: “It takes two to tango.” A small, however, powerful statement of a simple life explanation that possesses nothing but the truth. When two people become intimate in any way; the possible outcome and being together is a genuine option. I feel that is something young women today forget about. That in any grey area that confuses one or both parties as to whether or not they are in a regular relationship. Notice how I said both parties. Ladies, this means the man who is involved in your situation with you. Two to tango, remember? Women forget about that in most cases. Letting their little anxious mental voice romp free and destroy any good faith in the situation. Growing up female, we are taught that when a guy breaks up with you or decides not to sleep with you anymore; that the man has lost all emotional and physical interest in you. Leaving that anxious voice to tell us females that, “he’s fucking another girl because he grew tired of you.” This, however, is not true. Ladies, men have feelings too. Their social standard makes them feel inclined always to be our rock when we need them. No matter how little or ridiculous the situation may be. Leaving the impression on women of all ages that our men of interest are a strange kind of taffy that we can stretch and twist, without them breaking. This is not true whatsoever.

The relationship stereotypes that are presented to both sexes contradict in so many ways. I learned first hand that even the most handsome of knights that are decked out in the strongest of armor- could not save me. In the current day, I am a princess who woke up in a cold tower when 2018 had just begun. Those past months until now, I have slayed my own demons and have gotten myself out of that wretched tower. Now, I find myself free and happily exploring new fields of all reaches of life. If I ever do see a knight again, I will remember, there is someone under that handsome and robust suite of protection and honor. And that sometimes, he will need someone to protect him.

Ladies, have you ever asked yourself if he was as hurt during the times you were cried in front of him? Whether it was about him or not. Or, if he would be okay knowing you walked out his front door upset? Or if he misses you. If he thinks about you in the ways that you do him, happily. Two acts could lead to an answer in this case. One, ask the damn guy. Ask him those exact questions. Or, don’t. Keep your silence, and call it that. When your really just scared that he will either leave you with an open message or that he won’t give you that answer that you want. One thing is for sure, if you do keep your complete silence, you will only leave yourself questioning.

You know when we retell a story of a memory that involved some sort of pain? An accident of any kind, or a tattoo, so on. Most of us can remember that pain so badly to know that we would never want to re-experience it. Even when we retell memories of happiness, the elated feeling of brain chemicals that temporarily blissed our entire nervous system cannot be relived again. You can never relive a moment, only remember it. That’s why I believe it is moderately good to live in a moment and not worry or plan a future that is not guaranteed. However, there are a few memories that can trigger a chemical emotional reaction. Such as fear, humiliation or, PTSD. We learn some of the most important life lessons we will ever encounter through the feeling of love. I remembered this on my drive today.

I found myself trying to trigger the feeling of love. My mind flipped through my past encounters and some of the sweetest memories I hold. Though I could see the soft look in each set of eyes from all of my past guys, and though I remembered how safe and high I felt in each of those moments, I couldn’t trigger the actual feeling. As I watched the smoke dance in front of windshield, the cool autumn air had influenced my mood. I was cold- no, I was numb. I felt as though time had momentarily stopped when I had searched deep into my mind of when I used to call a man mine. I’ve had some awful experiences, but not all of them. With remembering that, where was the feeling?

You can’t get high without smoking, you can’t be drunk without drinking, but you can be loved, without having another variable factored in so you can achieve that feeling. That is what self love is. That is what I realized in many smokey stop lights.

Do you ever find yourself repeating a pattern that you once did with a significant other(s) Or is that just me? There was a while where I couldn’t go to sleep without having certain YouTube videos on a repeated playlist. They brought me comfort from, how I had originally discovered them. Now-a-days, I still tune in whenever my favorite vloggers post, whenever I can watch them. Compared to, watching them on loop with no sense or urgency for anything else I should do. Once this faze pasted, I knew I was a few steps forward in walking towards healing and independence. In that order.

While lately, I have been the happiest I have ever imagined. As well as coming to terms that dating exclusively is just not in my deck of cards at the moment. The fact that I found myself as perplexed as I was tonight over the fact that I couldn’t find immediate or short finding comfort from a memory with someone else, reminded me why, I am choosing to stay single for awhile. It is completely normal for a single human of either sex to feel lonely at times- the best way to curve that negative feeling is remembering that you are exactly where you should be in this moment, for a reason. We all have the people, choices and opportunities in this moment due to the choices that have lead us here. As well of the choices and actions of others. I also recognize that this mentality is easily carried by those who believe that life hands you what you need when you need it. I just hope that my readers take comfort in the fact, that someone like me, who holds no faith in religion, and even less in humanity, that the universe has always been there for me.

Where Is She Coming From?

Her eyes,
Widen at a subject that she wishes she could just forget.
Her neck,
Her pulse raises,
After every text she gets.

All we do is lie,
All we do is think of the feelings that we hide,
All to protect our made up pride.

California was never meant for me to call home,
California was never supposed to be home,
Even after I saw the glisten in your eyes after you would listen.

His laugh traces down her each one of her vertebrae,
As she’s climbing her way up from the hurricane they both put her in.
There are days if she questions if she will win.

Her mother is in the wind.
Her mother gives her the waves of strength to climb harder and longer.
She remembers she is her mothers daughter.

All we do is climb,
All we do is try and avoid the cracks that was suck us through, as if we were made out of slime.
All we do is…

California was never home for her,
Cali was not meant for a girl of her wisdom and standard.

There’s a place deep down in Stanford,
Where a girl lives behind books.
She dreams of all her accomplishments.
That seems so attractive…

What if I told you I would break your heart?
What if I told you I past demons that made me mean?
What if I told you I had that my past has to power to rip your mind apart?
That is why solitude fits me like a glove,
What if I told you I was just bad at love?

Maybe you should stop before you start.
Maybe you could see that I’m just too young to love…

You ought to know where this is coming from,
I stood alone while I watched my home burn to the ground.
All of the pieces were burned and gone.
Do you see where I’m coming from?

What if I said I was built on carelessness and crumbs?
What if I told you that I once loved a substance that would make me feel so numb?
What if I told you, I would be gone before you…

You out to know where this is coming from,
I saw my home burn and gone,
I was so, so young.
Do you know what it’s like to be without a home?
You, he or him couldn’t turn me away from the blows you all took at me.
When your so alone,

No one knows where you are coming from.

The Princess and The Yellow Brick Road

Don’t think I don’t remember the pain that embedded itself into every one of my membranes.

Don’t think that I still have to shut off my head because certain memories sound like a shot gun instead.

Don’t think I don’t have those intimate evenings that flash themselves so vividly, it feels like some nights I’m still in your bed.

All those messages unanswered,

Might have been unread.

Should I inform you on how badly my body bled.

Physically, I needn’t state it, obviously.

Internally, from all those words that you said.

Or should I say screamed?

Flash forward to present day and I can honestly thank you for teaching me my strengths.

I’ve been through hell and back,

But what the hell was one more trip?

There were to many unfortunate reminders of the way you could only grab my hips.

Bruise my lip.

Remember when I showed you to unlock that trick?

With all rhymes aside,

I for a awhile had already decided to grow from an experience that was paved as a beautiful yellow brick road.

I thought I had kissed a prince but now I see he was nothing but a rotten toad.

Now I am a woman of her own,

That paves her own road.

And while at times it gets lonely and scary,

I am thank for all the


Nightmare Passing

What I saw is true,
That if I couldn’t screw,
You would have never manipulated yourself into my bedroom.
I had been standing there for two years
And I hate that I question why I should have gone with the right thing but got caught in the left hook of your thorn ridden wing.
A disaster passed down to that guy who never lied.

Oh, do you see me now?

Better run for cover.
Cause my addiction to you was just another contradiction to my life’s confusion.
And I used to say I would be scared to walk away,
In fear I couldn’t find other muse’s that knew me and my music as well as I thought you did.
Then I found someone who can’t listen to Halsey without me getting stuck in their head.
You claim that every time you took me in, took my hand,
It felt like you were being reprimanded.

Do you see me now?

A self-medicated
Mentally blocked.
When I came through, you were dark blue,
And all I did was try to take care of you
Even when I had been spit up and chewed by you.
Now I hate the color blue.

You try now to compensate for that time and “regretful” mind state.
And I’m just Anna on the train tracks for all that you’d give a rats ass.
But then I looked back as she did at those train tracks and saw my “dark world.”
As a story arch.
I had to get away,
You beat me down into the color gray,
Why is still such a mystery that my attention was redirected when I was a stray?

Do you see me now?

Now tell me what you want from me.
I think you need someone who isn’t a lead-
A weaker girl?
Because a woman knows where her stance is-
This story will be one of me growing strong.
Because you are so,
But you refuse to listen to my song of justice.
To be honest,
You were just a placebo.
I might as well have been your depot.

I put you on a pedestal and gave you the throne.
But you take pride in bloody eyes,
You always liked it when I cried.
Is that why you lied with her and,
Too me?

I can hear resentment in your tone,
You thought I’d never make it on my own.
You made an effort,
But nothing can last forever,
We’re such pessimists.
You left for the hell of it.
And when you realized I laid with brown eyes who holds no physical expectation over me, except to see me smiling over him-
He even helped my body not to be so slim.
He has never laid an unwanted hand on my limbs.

I asked you once,
What do you want,
And I need to know.
But that ego runs wild,
You said I got your beatings because I acted like a child.
You cheated on me so why are you still haunting me.

My memory is bated from your loneliness,
That is from childhood emptiness.

You won’t come back.
You aren’t anything but slack.
And I don’t waste my wishes anymore-
To wish that,
You thought of me more.

You will get yours,
Trust me.
I have many open author doors.
Didn’t I tell you,
You fuck with a writer,
And I will put you in my words,
Right here.

Still in love with fashion,
Trying to be Hugh Heffner.
When he hurts a fire sign,
He didn’t think he would get burned.
Poor little boy,
Cries his psychotic eyes out on the stand,
It’s all part of a show.

I’ve always wondered why can’t you just leave me alone?

Timor Luman Metus

This is a story of how an astronomers son fell in love with the moon goddess. Ever since he was a boy, Ryan Masters had been captivated by the night sky and all it beholds. Ryan’s father said there were a million stars in the universe, but only one moon. When saying this, Ryan’s father was referring to his late mother. Who had been said to hold all of the moon’s phases in her eyes and soul. Ryan’s mother passed away during his birth, which made his relationship with his father a rough one. For Mr. Master’s claimed he could no longer see the moon in all of its glory since the day, his beloved passed. Leaving a star child in his care, that had every essence of his mother.
Growing up Ryan’s father had warned him never to fall in love. He would tell young Ryan, “Falling in love is much like a meteor shower. It is captivating, beautiful and catastrophic all put together”. Since he could remember, Ryan Masters swore never to fall in love. The guilt and pain he felt of losing his mother during his birth had haunted him heavily for years. Ryan followed in his father’s footsteps in becoming an astronomer, hoping that one day he’d be able to see his mother for the first time in the vast night sky. Homeschooled, Ryan took every precaution he could never to develop an affection for anyone. He never wanted to experience the pain his father endured his entire life after losing his moon and stars.
One cold February night, Ryan Gilligan Masters hiked to the top of Mount Diablo to set up his telescope to see the full moon that came on this night. Each time he hiked his lonely self up to the top of the mountain, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what the gentle caress of a woman felt like. Was he incapable of being loved, or incapable of loving, he internally battled. This night, in particular, Ryan felt something inside of him that he never had before, hope. But for what? He was only doing his usual routine and study during yet another full moon.
After Ryan had reached his usual spot and set up- he waited. Waited for a sign pointing to him of what triggered this sensation of hope. He watched the glorious moon rise to its highest point in the night sky. Peering through his telescope- there it was. There she was. The moon looked as it normally did this night. Ryan took a seat on the wet grassy area surrounding his set up. Closing his eyes, he breathed deep. “I miss you, mom,” he whispered to himself. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that started beaming from the moon. Ryan shot up and ran to his telescope. “What in the world…”, He questioned. He zoomed onto the moon, and there was a light…that was falling from the moon. What could this be? Ryan frantically ran to his computer and started to chart and study possible and logical reasoning as to why there was a light falling from the moon, rapidly, and…towards him. Young Masters backed up from his telescope. Breathing so heavily, his breath looked like the smoke from a cigarette. “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the FUCK!”, Ryan frantically shouted. The light was falling so fast and so close to him. A light started to cast from whatever mystery was falling towards him. It was bright. Brighter than any neon color or new light bulb. Painfully protecting his eyes, Ryan Masters was sure he would die that night.
The light peering down at him was fifty feet from him when its warp speed spastically became slower. Ryan peaked one eye and noticed a figure he couldn’t ultimately make out, but that was not a meteor or unknown space mass, as he had thought. The light was becoming dimmer as well. Ryan soon realized, this was a person- human? Twenty feet above him he caught a glimpse of a silhouette, of a woman! He started to panic. “Shit, shit shit- Ryan catch her!”, He thought to himself. And he did.
The light had ceased completely. Ryan Masters looked up and saw what was hurtling toward him. She was a woman. A…beautiful woman. Ryan widened his eyes to see examine every detail of the armful he held. She was small, pale. She had hair that had to go down to at least her back. Her hair was red. A red so romantic it put a million red rose petals to shame. Ryan leaned down to her chest to make sure she was breathing. Cold as ice, she was breathing. She was captivating, fascinating, she was…she was naked. “Oh SHIT Ry, don’t be a creep!” he panicked under his breath. He took the blanket that was once his mothers and draped it over the body of this mysterious woman.
She opened her eyes. They were the purest green Ryan had ever seen. Pure, like the calm after a storm. Pure like a blank canvas. Pure like a life without turmoil. They were big. They were beautiful. Ryan had only read stories of love at first sight from his mother’s book collection. The adrenaline that courses through your body at the sight of the one body you want forever in every way. He couldn’t believe it. Ryan Masters had fallen in love, in a location, he had been researching for years, and no phenomenon had taken place before. In his arms, he held his moon and stars .


Make love to a couple grams

To empty hands

Make up for a couple sniffs

Curling up, feel so stiff

Waking up



Wait a second

I’m evaporating in front of my eyes

She wants to live today

She wants to listen today

The snow is melting away now


The snow is turning into rain


Rain to turns spring,


It’s refreshing not to have to


On a substance,

That made me once so mean.


Having to wean myself of cocaine,

Made me realize,

What lane I want to be in life.


Because thinking I was a better writer and stronger fighter,

On it,

Was a lie.

Why did I, you may ask?

I saw using at first for fun,

Then a task.


But now,

I task.

In my dreams.

Instead of finding ways to scheme.

And my dreams,




Trauma Teachings

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains material of sexual abuse

I find my work is enveloped in an essence of darkness.

We all know that any journey ends when the break of dawn seeps through every crack,

Every crevasse,

Light trickles into the iris’s of my eyes-

Sweet lass,

The best part of being broken,

Shattered glass,

Is picking up the pieces.

I list the things I have lost,

From rape.

I list the ways I was hurt,

From rape.


When was the last time I listed the things I gained from rape;

The things that weren’t swept away:

1. My smile

Oh for a while my smile was not was it can be- what it is today, and what it always should be.

But even while wrongfully under you, him and it,

They were never able to rip it,

Which I know put all their stomachs into a pit-

“Who is this creature, that can recreate her tradgies and become a teacher?”.

I’m still smiling.

While all of you are still lying to yourself,

Its cute to think you could put a flame like me on the shelf.

2. My laugh

I spat in a monsters face and laughed maniacally,

Just like him,

You think you can win?

I cant even feel you trying to force your way in.

For this is my body and mind,

Never yours,

And though the first monsters 21 year old fiance was a bore,

Does not mean I became a 32 year old mans whore.

I laugh in the face of danger,

Which only made them all fill with rage and anger.

My laugh is loud, almost as loud as my immaculate strength.

My laugh comes out at all the right times.

Laughing in the faces of my rapists,

Was the greatest.

3. My writing

Tattoo’d boo you think you could patronize me,

Lets quote Moonlight Madness,

“Aren’t you a fighter?”,

Yes, but more importantly,






Now that is danger.

Now don’t get me wrong,

I have made every single mistake that one could ever possibly make,

I’ve taken, cried and lied,

But as time passed by,

I learned that one of the strongest traits, that I want one day for the entire world to relate;


Forgive yourself for events that have happened-

It was never my fault that I was hit, chewed up and pinned-

Because in the end,

I’m still able to look back and say,

Thank you,

For those terrible, inspirational days.

Moonlight Madness

Sweet dreams are made from sober dazzling inseams,

Those seams were once clogged by cocaine fog.

Where are your words, little writer?

He taunted you; “aren’t you a fighter?”.

Has your magic pen run out of ink and power?

Or is it that your mind is in limbo,

Trying to figure out where to go.

Because I can no longer bear the tragedies from evil monsters,

Failed strategies and attempted mental catastrophes.

When I see my mind in a crowded room,

I want to dive in and zoom through.

Be a little loud,

Stand a little proud.

But oh,


There go the memories reminding me about those painful mental catastrophes.

Leaving me in a mental sinking sand lot.

I recently heard a song where I was told not to let my crown fall,

But cry if I must.

But I can’t cry,


Because how many times can you rewrite the same story?

Before it gets old and boring?

The girl who has eyes made of emeralds and sun ray teardrops that create the golden red ribbons of her hair.  

The emerald glass stained windows into her soul tells her struggles.

But that is not all she is.

A beautiful,




That has been blessed enough with the riches of life;

Not her fault she’s played in Satan’s strife;

But she saved her own life.

And while prince charming is still on the horizon,

I see him in my dreams-

And we make the most glorious team.

We save the world to make the one we want




That has us laying out under an island moonlight.

Can you grip me that tight?

The way you move my hair from my eyes, feels so right.

Make my body and mind feel so light.

Making love under the covers of the night-


You are in reality.

Your tears want to come streaming,

But you choose to scream internally.

Because of how many times you have repeated your bullshit verbally,


Nobody wants that.

Why do I feel so lost?

Because sometimes being so gifted,

Is an opportunity cost.

I’d like to lead my life like the boss,

I am.






Try me,

I need it,

My time,


Not everything in life is cookies and sunshine;

I have jaded summertime memories,

Faded nightmares from past Decembers,

Broken windows that make me tremor,

That haunt me every night and force me to


All the dispare.

In 2011 I was

Once a virgin angel who fell from


But thanks to my strong mentality,

I turn my reality


Into a worldly heaven.

Never Meant For California

You were drawn to me,

Pretty and smart,

You once,

Multiple times,

called me,


Work of art.

I met you in California,

We both know this state is,

And never,


Home for ya.

I told you that my heart was frozen over.

But that I could still be your lover.

We both sing that lyric of not being able to afford that Rover, and tattoo on someone’s shoulder.

But then I just had to roll over,

Because of the ONE my frozen,


heart took over.

I am so sorry.

My heart is still frozen over,

Maybe forever,

Because I wasn’t used not being run through the gravel.

I miss the miles I used to travel.

It was my choices that had us unravel.





I’ve been going through phases,

Rewriting phrases,

Mentally running through messed up, terrifying, excruciating,






You haven’t seen my new faces,

Because you’ve been happily busy,

And I’m happy for you,

Cause I feel like all I did was screw,




This is not the first time I have written about your valuable time;

It’s just the only piece that isn’t in ripped up pieces.

My body was laid out for a willing sacrifice.

Almost three weeks,

I haven’t felt human.

I’m a robotic device.





You had to leave.

For four days all I did was weep and feel the physical pain settle,

Into every inch of me.




I met you in California,

This poem probably sounds so familiar.

I wake up again,

Every night,

Drenched in my nightmare tears,

Sweat and regret.

Taking practice not to talk to you about my frets.

Because I am forever in your debt.

You know I don’t regret,

Any choice of mine,

But that one, two, three…

Speaking for myself,

Though this repent is genuine,

Those verbals and labels that I’m still trying to tell myself I am not,

Left me and my confidence,


to rot.

It was a lot.

I was ready to let my body and soul just drop.

But I can’t ‘rightfully’ say that,

Because what I did,

Hit you like a baseball bat.




This was scarring to not only you,

But me too.

But you saw some value,

For knowing each other,





Did not get,

Sucked out.

You think I have no clue of what I put you through,

Oh darling,

I do.

Still sorry.

But you don’t know the pain I endured, because I kept it from you.

So take a note;

Because you don’t know how my skin bled,

Like the ink from my powerful pen.

That though mistakes were made on my end,

I feel like you will never hear me when if or when I ever try to tell you,

That those earlier mentioned verbals,

Made my already difficult healing process,

Get shot through,



Of sleepless nights.

I don’t expect this poem to make it right,

But something you still and have always admired in me,






Though I will admit someone as strong as me,




The light left in me,

Left me my ability,

That is mutually still admired,

To write.

I hope-



Find a way to make this 110%


Because I feel like you don’t see the way I’ve had to fight,

The bite,

That was taken from me,



This isn’t metaphysics,

My feelings are as real as the laws of


My limits,

Were challenged and push,

From those verbals I so rightfully deserved and took.







I’m so sorry.

Breaking The Habit

When do you honestly like yourself the most?  And when I say, “the most,” I am not just referring to a fun night, that is now a memory on your Instagram. Nor something of substance, or instant gratification of any sort. What is it in life that comes from yourself, that makes you like, or even better, LOVE yourself? Trust me, my readers, I do know, far too well, what it is like to be lost in substance and fast good feelings. Chained to addiction and depression. I am told very often that I am strong, for overcoming my self-inflicted struggles, as well as the ones that were forced upon me- I do not believe that it takes any certain soul, strength or psyche- to break the habit.

Genetics is an unfair gambling game. In the life you live, you can make your own choices- but you cannot choose what you look like, who your family is, or whether or not you’ll develop Huntington’s. Unfortunately winning the “addiction gene” is another attribute we cannot dispute. Though there is no official biological addiction gene- as surgeon Dr. Glen Hansone quotes:

“Just because you are prone to addiction doesn’t mean you’re going to become addicted. It just means you have to be more careful”.

The term heritability now comes into context. It plays a role in what makes us individual as people: the term phenotype is defined as our physical and biochemical appearance. The second function is two more or less describe our personality traits and what makes us, us. Genetic variation: both physically and mentally.  Well, thanks to my mystery of a biological mother, my genetic code happen to win the addiction gene, on many counts. Uppers, downers- you name it, mama probably did it. Including her early days of being pregnant with me; and coping with the adoption, by drinking.

No human needs a  specific gene to be able to fall into the toxic, yet temporarily sensational release that is- not being sober. No human needs a specific gene to be able to catch on that playing with toxic temptations to numb or forget up treacherous, traumatic event- feels so arousing. Almost comforting. This usually takes place when there is a lack of support, that isn’t attempting to help mend together a new void.

I speak of this topic today; in an informative voice. That is a world of choices, be reminded that you are the one who makes them, and who chooses to learn from them after. Addiction is a little harder to grow from, than a bad day or event. Addiction is another part of you. He or she are made up of broken atoms from atomic bombs thrown unwillingly into your life. A quantum ghost of yourself. As someone who speaks empathetically on this topic, during my dark times, I was intrigued to get to know this drug addicted duplicate side of me. I thought she at one point made me a good writer; I thought she made me a “bad-ass.” Nearly a year; and I still hear the ringing in my ears that would pierce my skull as I would sit at my desk, lining up in preparation for another test. I always had a gram, rarely ever less. Addiction left me a mistress to constant emotional and physical distress. I thought I could never fit into that black dress… The biggest test that got me out of my mess was telling myself “I deserve better than this.”  

Humans do hold some capability to redefine their genetic codes. Though there are some things in some of us (Like Huntington’s) that we have to carefully decide how we will make our lives (if one WANTS too) worth living. I thought I liked myself best when I wasn’t sober. I’d be me, but more lively, witty. But highs never last, natural or not. All of us all crash.  Shortly I would find myself in a mental cage, temples throbbing my regretful and painful choices- all for what? Towards the end of using I would sit and stare at nothing. Hoping that words would flush through me, just as Dopamine would flush my receptors, each time I picked up that plastic scepter.

Breaking my habit was like racking up broken and torn fall leaves. That would so shortly, put my mind at ease. I could sleep again. Eat again, live again. Eventually, gain confidence with every pound I put back onto my 60 pound something frame. That day came because I choose it too. You don’t need to look for who will do that for you; you can’t always have someone there. Even when you are in what feels like the darkest mental lair that you so dared to explore. Realizing that the night before only left my body and brain sore.

Though I am more susceptible to develop an addiction and did, does not mean by any means the lucky ones whose odds of addiction are lined up higher than mine- you won’t get addicted. Addiction always turns physical but starts as mental. Convincing yourself that the cotton-mouth conversations, will next day be realized as a train you’ll never see again leave the station. I found creation once I got past my deadly white temptations. A permanent, content, mental vacation. It’s never too late to find out how you honestly like yourself.


Today I came out from a haze

It was a Sunday.


I know my wildfire persona has been tamed

But I have never laid in my bed


In pain


Feeling absolutely mundane.


Being as low and hallow


But still acknowledged and admired.


Like the momentary nostalgia and comfort on a fall day;


The array of leaves that would blow and accentuate my slightly








Small strong and physical


My beautiful red hair.

All the fall leaves blow away.


And her beauty


Conjured from forever mysteryness baby book faces.

I wonder the places I would have gone,


If had never been hit, tossed around,


Like a ping pong ball.


But I choose to fall back on the memories that light up the emerald stars that are my eyes.


Which are not a mystery to me.