Excerpt from, "Diaries of a Borderline"
"They’ll lead her to what she seeks.
They have to . . .
She stitches her ribs with roses and sunbeams.
She stands in courage."
We’ve all had that moment, holding ourselves together in the dark, hoping someone will notice the quiet way we’re breaking. When I look at this excerpt now, I don’t see roses first. I see ribs. the vault where breath shakes, the altar where the heart whispers, the place life hides when the world forgets to be gentle. My ribs were once where everything shattered. They carried grief too heavy for a child, monsters disguised as comfort, and a mother who taught me to perfect disappearing. Shadow makes a religion out of that. But a softer voice lived beneath it — not innocent, just tired, asking why I kept crawling back to endings that never wanted me alive. That voice was my younger self, tugging at my ribs like: “Please… not like this. Not again.” It took years to learn the difference between breaking and falling apart while still reaching for the pieces. Breaking surrenders you to the dark. Falling apart is the first rebellion. Courage isn’t loud. It’s the quiet decision to stay one more breath. Stitching my ribs was never about beauty. It was resurrection. roses for the pain I survived, sunbeams for the breath I kept choosing even on nights I couldn’t feel the dawn. If your ribs ache reading this: you don’t have to be ready. You just have to not disappear.