This is 31 | Day 5


Residual sicky feels; plugged ears, runny and blocked nose.


Woke up with unpleasant anxiety and tightness in chest.


Not great.


AshwAgandha concoction day 1.


I thought I’d find you this year. I really did try. I thought I found you once, then again, but it wasn’t you, it was hurt instead.

I found many friends in search of you. Sometimes even mistook them to be true. I found so many friends I almost forgot I was looking for you.


They weren’t you though and some of them weren’t true at all. False friends, false hope, fake love, what a twist. I almost started to think you didn’t exist.


There’s a you-shaped void that no one else can fill. So much time has passed, I wonder whether you’ll be able to fill it anymore; whether I can- whether it can be filled at all.

You see, over the years, disappointment and hope have torn and rebuilt my heart. They’ve left scars in the tissue, like an abstract work of art. A beautiful disaster. A mosaic of heartbreak. They’ve worked together with life to transform the very fibre of my being- and believing.

Between the pieces I’ve lost and given away, I wonder if there’s anything left that will be enough for you to stay. And then there were the pieces taken from me, which I’ve desperately tried to take back.. I think I got most of them, but a lot of them are cracked.

I still hope to find you, though. I can’t bring myself not to.

I am growing tired though. I wonder if you’ll still recognise me. I hope you do.

The weight of the worlds expectations – let alone my own – are getting heavier with each day. I need you. Not to carry the burden; I can handle that. It’s joys I want to share.

Share my life with you. travel the world with you. Share my love with you. love you endlessly. Infinitely.

I can’t wait anymore. I don’t want to wait anymore. I miss you. Love misses you. Love is missing without you. I am missing without you.

Come home, please. Come home to me. Come home and and let me feel love again, or maybe for the first time. Let me love you for the first time, the last time and my lifetime.

Come home to me, my love. I can’t search for you anymore.

Come home to me, my love. I’m waiting at the door.


…and in that moment it felt as though months of self-work and conscious efforts to ‘get better’ were in vain.

The walls she had learned to build to protect herself had come crashing down; burying her under the weight of her own fears and insecurities.

If all it took was a few choice words from the right, wrong person, had she really gotten any better?

Defeated, discouraged and disheartened, she began to feel like any attempts to improve were futile. Something was broken inside her and as much as she tried, she couldn’t help but feel that she was beyond repair.

She felt herself sink into the feeling.

She had lost.

She was lost.