💚 Journal Entry- Reflection on Living Fragmented 💚

Dear Journal,

Some days, I feel like a collection of unfinished stories stitched together by memories I only half-remember. 

I wake up and try to find myself in the mirror, but sometimes I can’t tell which version of me is looking back. 

There’s a quiet kind of panic in that —knowing I’ve lived moments I don’t recall, said words I didn’t mean, felt emotions I can’t explain. 

I keep trying to hold onto time, but it slips away in strange ways. Hours vanish, whole conversations fade into static, and I’m left retracing my steps through a maze I built but don’t remember designing. 

I scroll through texts and photos, looking for evidence of where I’ve been — proof that I was really there. Some days, it feels like I’m watching my own life from the outside. 

My body moves,my mouth speaks, but my heart is somewhere else, lost in a place I can’t reach. 

People tell me I seem fine, that I’m strong, that I handle everything so well. 

If only they knew how hard it is just to stay here.There’s an exhaustion that comes with constantly trying to glue yourself together. 

Smiling when you’re confused. Functioning when your mind feels split into fragments. 

You start to fear your own reflection — because it changes, and you can’t explain why. 

Still, I find little things that pull me back. My daughters’ faces in old photos. 

The smell of rain. A song that makes something inside me pause and remember who I am — or at least who I was. 

Those moments are my lifelines. They remind me I’m not completely gone, even when I feel like a ghost in my own story. 

I’m learning to be patient with myself, even when I don’t understand what’s happening inside my head. 

I write notes to my future self. I leave reminders of love and hope tucked away where I’ll find them later — because sometimes, the person who wakes up tomorrow will need them more than I do today. 

I’m not sure what healing looks like for someone like me, but I know it’s not giving up. 

It’s showing up again and again, even when it feels like I’ve lost my map. 

It’s piecing myself together with grace, even when the edges don’t quite fit. 

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe surviving the confusion — and still finding beauty in the mess — is its own kind of miracle.