✍️ Fragments of Me — Entry 0: Naming the Battles

Most people don’t know the full story of me. They see pieces—forgetfulness, exhaustion, scattered thoughts, missed appointments—and they think that’s all there is. What they don’t see is the weight of the diagnoses I carry, the names that explain why my life feels like a war inside my own skin.

I’ve lived with parts of myself that don’t always agree, voices that pull me in different directions, memories that slip through cracks I can’t seal. It’s not laziness. It’s not carelessness. It’s the reality of a mind that doesn’t move in straight lines.

There are other battles too—depression that drags me under, anxiety that keeps me wired even when I’m exhausted, trauma that echoes louder than I want it to. These diagnoses aren’t excuses. They’re explanations. They’re the language for what I’ve been surviving all along.

I’m sharing this because silence has kept me misunderstood. People assume I don’t care, when the truth is I care so much it breaks me. People assume I’m unreliable, when the truth is I’m fighting wars they can’t see.

This isn’t about labels. It’s about honesty. It’s about saying: yes, I have mental health diagnoses. Yes, they shape my life. And yes, I’m still here, still trying, still writing.

If you’ve ever felt broken by your own mind, or judged for battles no one else can see, know this—you’re not alone. My fragments are mine, but the fight to be understood is something we share.

✍️ Fragments of Me — Entry 1: The War of My Parts

I wake up already tired. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix—the kind that comes from being pulled apart from the inside. My parts are loud today. One is rushing, demanding, making lists. Another is quiet, hiding, curling into corners. Another is angry, another is numb, another is trying to hold it all together.

They all think they’re helping. They all think they’re right. And maybe they are. But they’re pulling me in opposite directions, and I’m the rope in the middle, fraying.

People see the aftermath. They see me forget things—appointments, errands, conversations I swore I’d remember. They see me scatter-brained, inconsistent, unreliable. They say I don’t care. But I do. I care so much it hurts. I just don’t know which part of me made the promise, and which part of me is supposed to keep it.

I’m exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I feel like I’m breaking.

And that’s not all. I miss my girls so deeply it feels like a physical ache. I carry that grief every second. I’m still trying to heal from relationships that left me bleeding—men who claimed to love me but only taught me pain. I let people in who said they cared, and they hurt me. I’m still trying to understand why I allowed it.

Sobriety is hard. Every day is a fight. And the world doesn’t make it easier. I’m more than qualified for jobs I’ll never get because of my record. Warrants. Labels. Stigma. It’s like dragging a boulder uphill while everyone else gets a paved road.

I cry more than I admit. Every minute, every hour, every day. I feel alone. I feel scared. And I feel like the only thing connecting all the parts of me is pain.

I’m numb to everything else.

But I’m still here. Still writing. Still trying.

This is the war of my parts. And this is only the beginning.

Fragments of Me — A Journey Begins

Fragments of Me is my raw, unfiltered I guess we can call- series about the battles I fight both inside and out.  

It’s about the exhaustion of being pulled in different directions by the parts of myself, the heartbreak of missing my girls, the pain of love that wounds, the struggle of sobriety, and the weight of stigma that keeps pushing me back.  

This series isn’t polished—it’s honest. It’s the fragments of my life, stitched together by pain and resilience that has shaped me towards becoming the woman I am  today, and I am always going to hope that even shattered pieces can catch the light. I will most-likely bounce back and forth between topics at times sharing my experiences in different ways that hopefully open new perspectives on those topics often considered to be sensitive, overlooked or simply not talked about at all. I am human. I have made MANY mistakes in my life- some were unintentional but there have been many that were made intentionally even knowing I'd face some sort of retribution, consequence or some type of chain reaction that potientionaly can erupt leaving me a huge mess, unnecessary financial problems, legal problems or it usually ruins close relationships/friendships. Living thru the consequences  of those choices I have made often leads me into a manic episode until i am ready to crash out. By me sharing the voices and parts of myself that I feel needs to be seen or heard has been an amazing form of therapy for me. If you or anyone you may know can relate to this "series"  i am sharing with everyone please share my space here with them! 

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Not everyone will approve and not everyone will back me completely in relation of some of the stories im going to share and 

If you’ve ever felt broken, unseen, or exhausted by your own battles, you may find yourself here too. Fragments of Me is not about answers—it’s about truth, survival, and the courage to keep walking forward.