Relationships

The birds froze solid on their perches, tiny sculptures rimed with ice. That was the first sign that Stormwraith was coming. It became undeniable as the wind came screaming out of the north and the birds shattered as the trees hit the ground. The village was next, sturdy buildings of stone and wood, folded up like cardboard and riding the wind to places far from home. The lucky ones died as their roofs caved in. The unlucky fled into the cold. The Dreams and Memories couldn’t pile on enough clothes to stave off the heat bleeding away from their bodies. Their shivering cracked the thin ice coating their limbs, filling the air with the soft sound of fragile things breaking.

The snow came. The Dreams and Memories looked into the sky, only to flinch, blinking away pink tears. The snowflakes were sharp, leaving thin rills of blood wherever they touched skin or eyes. A Dream limped by, clutching his half severed ear, while a Memory’s breath cut his lips as he screamed; his scalp slid off of his skull. A javelin of ice cut the wretch’s screams short as it pierced his throat, toppling him to the ground. Cracks spread through his frozen flesh.

By the time the lightning came, the village was littered with corpses impaled on spears of ice. A lightning bolt struck the leeward side of one of the few standing trees. The half of the tree that faced the village exploded, raining burning fragments over the bodies, setting them ablaze. The other half dropped, frozen, as dead as the Dreams and Memories it could not shelter. Now the lightning rained down in sheets, sending steam hissing into the air as it collided with the deathly cold, displacing it with a firestorm and funeral pyre. The Dreams and Memories were no more, erased from land now barren.

Freezing drizzle fell from the leaden sky, turning the crematory ash into mud. Stormwraith’s eyes hung briefly like moons, surveying what he had done. I had to flinch away. His gaze was heavy with loss. Then the dragon, the storm, was gone.

Stormwraith is my depression. Stormwraith protects me. What horrible sights was I spared when I had to flinch, blinking away pink tears? When I had “healed” enough to try being in a relationship, I was abused by a narcissistic con woman. I would have been better off broken. I sleep dreaming in the snow, the cracks in my frozen skin a reminder of the folly that comes from doing, from being, from the impossibility of living. Stormwraith will never abandon me, unlike everyone else. Frozen in death, Stormwrath keeps me safe, until the pyre cleanses my stain from this earth.

#Depression #Trauma #PTSD #Suicide #MentalHealth #Disability

The birds froze solid on their perches, tiny sculptures rimed with ice. That was the first sign that Stormwraith was coming. It became undeniable as the wind came screaming out of the north and the birds shattered as the trees hit the ground. The village was next, sturdy buildings of stone and wood, folded up like cardboard and riding the wind to places far from home. The lucky ones died as their roofs caved in. The unlucky fled into the cold. The Dreams and Memories couldn’t pile on enough clothes to stave off the heat bleeding away from their bodies. Their shivering cracked the thin ice coating their limbs, filling the air with the soft sound of fragile things breaking.

The snow came. The Dreams and Memories looked into the sky, only to flinch, blinking away pink tears. The snowflakes were sharp, leaving thin rills of blood wherever they touched skin or eyes. A Dream limped by, clutching his half severed ear, while a Memory’s breath cut his lips as he screamed; his scalp slid off of his skull. A javelin of ice cut the wretch’s screams short as it pierced his throat, toppling him to the ground. Cracks spread through his frozen flesh.

By the time the lightning came, the village was littered with corpses impaled on spears of ice. A lightning bolt struck the leeward side of one of the few standing trees. The half of the tree that faced the village exploded, raining burning fragments over the bodies, setting them ablaze. The other half dropped, frozen, as dead as the Dreams and Memories it could not shelter. Now the lightning rained down in sheets, sending steam hissing into the air as it collided with the deathly cold, displacing it with a firestorm and funeral pyre. The Dreams and Memories were no more, erased from land now barren.

Freezing drizzle fell from the leaden sky, turning the crematory ash into mud. Stormwraith’s eyes hung briefly like moons, surveying what he had done. I had to flinch away. His gaze was heavy with loss. Then the dragon, the storm, was gone.

Stormwraith is my depression. Stormwraith protects me. What horrible sights was I spared when I had to flinch, blinking away pink tears? When I had “healed” enough to try being in a relationship, I was abused by a narcissistic con woman. I would have been better off broken. I sleep dreaming in the snow, the cracks in my frozen skin a reminder of the folly that comes from doing, from being, from the impossibility of living. Stormwraith will never abandon me, unlike everyone else. Frozen in death, Stormwrath keeps me safe, until the pyre cleanses my stain from this earth.

#Depression #Trauma #PTSD #Suicide #MentalHealth #Disability

Untangling yourself from the emotions triggered by learning your partner has checked out of the relationship can be extremely hard. Often, we feel as though we were broadsided, even though there were slow, sneaking signs all along that something was amiss. One of those early signs is a change in behavior or attitude toward the relationship, where things “outside” of your partnership are increasingly more interesting or prioritized by your partner more. Another quieter signal is if your partner is increasingly dismissive about maintaining the relationship, whether physically, emotionally, or both. It’s easy to assume such behaviors are part of the natural ups and downs of being in a relationship, which is why so many early signs of trouble may not be noticed or may be ignored.

It is also possible for there to be absolutely zero indicators your partner has checked out. People can hide their feelings, use masking behaviors, or simply not be aware of it themselves. Eventually, the issue can manifest in some of the behaviors mentioned above, but if you feel something is amiss, a gentle and honest conversation about your concerns can go a long way toward working through issues before they become problems.

What’s important to remember is that every relationship is unique and that communication is critical to understand the nuances of yours. If you see smoke, there could be fire – how far that fire is from you right now depends on how clearly and honestly you can communicate about your concerns before it escalates further.

I’m going through a very painful divorce with my wife. What hurts the most is how it affected my relationship with my kids. Communicating with them feels hard and unnatural now — there’s tension, fear of saying the wrong thing, long awkward pauses. I worry about losing our connection, about becoming a stranger in their lives. Still, I’m trying to stay present, to listen more than I speak, and to show them that I’m here no matter what. I truly hope time, patience, and honesty will help us heal.

#Divorce

It wasn’t the violence that hurt the most.
It wasn’t the endless cycle of abuse
that finally pushed me away.
It wasn’t your fists.

What broke me
was believing, for the first time,
that I could fall apart safely—
and realizing you didn’t care enough
to help put me back together.

I was handed off instead.

To cops.
To jails.
To therapists.
To military schools.

Institutions that tried to parent
what you weren’t willing to.
What you didn’t care to.
What you didn’t know how to love.

Because you couldn’t love me.

You never learned to regulate
what I had to.

You say you won’t tolerate a relationship
that isn’t rooted in respect.

Was it respect
when you beat me?
My mother?
My siblings?

Was it respect
when you offered to pay for my education
and later threw it back at me as worthless
because it made me empathetic—
because it made me soft
in ways you never survived being?

When I look back on a life half-lived,
I can’t find a single moment
where you actually respected me.

Only obedience.
Only dependence.
Only the version of me
that needed you to survive.

And when I didn’t—
when I finally stood upright,
found my own voice,
claimed my own opinions—
you hated it.

But that is not a lesson
either of us needs to keep learning.

I need to learn to love myself
in the places you never could.
To respect what you couldn’t see.
To heal what you broke first.
To unlearn the patterns
you're still trying
to beat into me.

Maybe they were beaten into you.

Maybe you have changed.
Maybe I just can’t see it
while staring so hard at the past,
trying to rework the present.

But today,
saying *I love you*
means not saying anything at all.

Respect means restraint.
Accountability is foreign.

So silence—
not anger,
not punishment—

silence will become comfort.

#MightyPoets #MightyTogether #MentalHealth #Addiction #PTSD #Grief #Abuse

I am entitled to feel what I feel.

The brushing of elbows.
The lingering touch of legs,
thighs, feet.
Hands wandering—not always with intent,
just searching for shared connection,
for touch,
platonic or romantic or something unnamed.

It’s funny—
being grown-ass adults
and feeling like we’re back in middle school.
No canoodling.
No blankets shared.
No relationships to be explored.

Rules hovering where curiosity lives.

Is it okay to be a cliché
when clichés exist for a reason?

Is it okay to blur the line
between friend and lover
when you love your friends this much—
quirks, warts, histories, and all?

We lean into each other
emotionally and physically,
the weight of the world
stacked on our shoulders,
our minds,
our hearts.

We can’t—
and won’t—
carry it alone anymore.

But maybe,
maybe we could carry it together.

Sharing the load.
As friends.
Or something more.

It’s funny—
the wondering,
the wishing,
the wanting,
the yearning.

Sharing pieces of yourself
knowing you may never see each other again,
at least not soon.
Distance stretching like a quiet ache.

And still—
making plans.
Dreams.
Wishes.
Plans, and more plans.

Clinging to the feeling
of being loved
without shame or judgment,
even as you offer up
the most shame-soaked pieces of yourself.

To be authentic
is to love
and to be loved.

And I love my friends.

Sometimes very hard.
Sometimes too hard.

But that’s okay.

#MentalHealth #ADHD #MightyPoets #MightyTogether #IfYouFeelHopeless #Trauma
#PTSD #Anxiety #Addiction