Excuse Our Absence…

I so often think about our blog. I want sometimes so badly to share every single thing but I’ve been very compelled recently to take a step back and appreciate life and everything it has to offer. So it meant taking a break from the blog and lots of other things and reflecting.

September 3rd – 8th – I took my mom and Morgan on a cruise. It was an extremely momentous event for us all as none of us had ever taken a cruise.  This was an idea my cousin and I cooked up a little over 8 months ago.  We’d originally booked to just take ourselves (selfish, I know lol) first but we found that with everything that’s been going on and everything our mothers do for us that we would book them too and take them.  Then came her daughter and mine.  So it became a family event and it was full of twist and turns but the entire trip was a success and I’m forever grateful for the experience of sharing that with my mom, my aunt, my cousins, and my daughter first.  We left out of Fort Lauderdale, FL and set sails for the Cayman Islands and Ocho Rios, Jamaica.  Both islands are amazing but I have to admit that the Cayman Islands, won me over fair and square.  Besides visiting these beautiful places, we enjoyed the boat. It was truly, life-changing.  On one of the excursions off the boat, my cousin convinced me to do a “Swimming with the Stingray” activity.  I’m so glad, we went. It was the best experience. Morgan loved it and loves the water and it was so much fun.

Being at sea…reminds of just how small and honestly, insignificant we are in the vast size of this world.  We forgot all too often how big and beautiful the world is. How differences shouldn’t be viewed as weakness or approached with fear but embraced.  I will never be more grateful for life. For my daughter’s life.  It was truly a most precious occasion and I’ll remember it forever.

We are back. Safe and sound and hopefully are moving toward adding new adventures to our life journey and appreciating everything for what it is, along the way.

Peace, Love and Deep Beautiful Blue Seas,

L’Erin & Morgan

Introducing Jezebelle

I’ve had dogs my whole life.  Got my first dog, a schnauzer, I named Sissy Mae (because Sydney – was my close neighbor’s dog) when I was 4 years old.  From there we inherited my grandmother’s dog, Helga after her death and then my aunt’s dog Raisin when my aunt moved and couldn’t keep her. So at one point – we had 3 dogs in the house.  They’ve all since passed away but I adored each one of them.

Then when I was in college, Morgan’s dad and I got our dog – Teddy Graham. Jay hated his name because it sounded so corny but I loved it.  He had a goldish brown hair, so I felt the name fit.

Not too long after I got Teddy and my mom was feeling lonely and got her rat terrier, schnauzer mix – Izzy.  So when I moved home, it was Izzy and Teddy.

Maybe a year later, Jay and I were in New Jersey visiting his family and there was a little silky terrier mix his cousin had that was tied up to a stump.  We’ll country folks and city folks treat their pets very different, so I asked to buy the dog from him to give her a better life.  She was wild as hell and jumped everywhere, but we bonded so quickly.  I refused to leave without her.  Finally, he agreed, and she was mine. I named her Fendi. Morgan’s dad has always had a thing about how if the dog doesn’t immediately bond with him…then he kinda ignores it or doesn’t want to deal with it.  So when we bought Fendi home, I had her checked out and after a clean bill of health, she was introduced to the clan.  Teddy and Izzy – did not bond with her.  She was younger and so she wanted to play all day. They didn’t.

I’d had Fendi almost six months and we were out in the front of our house training her – she saw another dog across the street and during rush hour – she darted across and was hit.

It almost killed me.  I’ve never ever had anything like that happen. Never seen it. Never wanted to experience it.  It really crushed me and I couldn’t stand how it made me feel. I could never replace her – she was – as with all pets – one of a kind.  But a few weeks later – I felt comfortable enough to look for another dog.  This time – a puppy – silky terrier I named Shug Avery (yes from the Color Purple).  I had her for 6 years and I loved her so much. She had her own little personality.

Sadly,  when we went on vacation last month, my mom let her off the leash and she ran.  We never found her.

After a week or two, I’d kinda gotten into a rhythm of not having a pet around. Not having to wake up early, not having to let the dog out or take it for a walk, not buying food, etc. But my mother felt so bad that she was determined to find a new little pet for me.

She found “Jezzie” and she’s actually been a blessing. She adores Morgan…lets her play with her and everything, something Shug couldn’t stand. She would run, every time Morgan was on the floor.

We adopted Jezzie from an organization instead of purchasing her and I’m really happy with that decision.  Adoption is always the best.


She refused to sit still long enough for me to photograph her.

Peace, Love and Pet Adoptions,

L’Erin & Morgan

Sick Day…or something like it

So Tuesday was a mystery.

I usually get home, play with the baby, eat some dinner and try and relax until bedtime.  Relax as a parent to a toddler is impossible and relax being the operative word.

Somewhere around 7pm, a very playful Morgan simply climbed off her little chair and laid on the carpet, falling asleep within in moments.

Now for most, this would be heaven sent. A toddler falling asleep on their own, quick, without a fight, at 7pm. I mean cmon.

My mom noticed the odd behavior first and began to call Morgan’s name, of course, she wasn’t interested in responding.  She mentioned that it’s unusual for Morgan to be sleepy this early.  I say something along the lines of “Everyone gets sleepy, sometimes”…more or less because I’m sleepy all the damn time.

After the comment, I started to think about it and no, Morgan simply falling asleep at 7pm was not normal. I get up, I pick her up, I call her name, I stare at her and she doesn’t even flinch. No this isn’t a seizure.

I continue to hold her and semi wake her up and she simply opens her eyes every time and falls right back to sleep.

This isn’t normal.

There is an immediate feeling of unease. Maybe-just maybe this is the long-awaited and dreaded beginning of a shunt malfunction.  I was starting to freak out.

Her dad, who was going to work at 2am, simply concurs with my original thought which was that she’s just sleepy.  He thinks letting her sleep is a good idea, while i continue to have a panic attack thinking of every single scenario in which this isn’t just about being sleepy. My mom and I go over every possibility.

Did she have a hard day?
Did she eat something she shouldn’t?
NO…well wait… she was crawling on the carpet earlier. The shag style carpet we have, in which everything hides in it.

I decide we are going to make an ER visit. This idea is short lived.

The facts are… I have no idea what’s wrong with her and so when they ask…what would I say…”She’s sleepy” and then pay $5000 for a shunt MRI again so soon and test for them to say…your right Ma’m…she’s just sleepy.  When they ask about her other symptoms, what would I say? “She doesn’t have any currently”

So I decide to do the shunt check…which is looking for symptoms of a malfunction.

She’s lethargic…yes
She’s holding her head or saying her head hurts…no
She’s crying in pain…no
She’s throwing up violently…no

So currently I have nothing. 1 symptom and nothing else.

I eventually try a bottle and some water and she kinda wakes up for that. Drinks some milk and seems to be refreshed.  We play around for a minute and then….



She goes right back to sleep like nothing happened.

I don’t do throw up. I hate it. I rush to shower.

When I get out, I check her temp and it’s low 96.7. That’s no good.
I put her in the crib and continue to monitor her, all along thinking that the next symptom of a shunt malfunction will start.

Luckily…it never does.

I check on her all night. Check her temp constantly and…Boom

8am the next morning…she’s back to normal.

Mommy had to take a sick day because Morgan had a sick day.

She’s all good. Thank god.

IMG_2699 2

Peace, Love and No Malfunctions,

L’Erin and Baby Morgan


Protecting Her…

Every mother…parent…guardian has an instinct to protect and guard their child. Recently my anxiety has been on hyperdrive when it comes to my feelings around wanting to protect Morgan from everything. And I’m really struggling with it.  I took a little break again from the blog because well…I’m human and I have a million things going on. I’ve been trying to write to finish my book and I’m struggling with that. Been trying to live and I’m struggling with that. Struggling with love/relationships, motherhood, financially…I mean I’m struggling on my little slow moving struggle bus and it hasn’t been fun.

Every morning while at work during the week, I read online the daily “headlines” and various articles. Everday there is an article about a child abduction, child murder, child abuse, child incest, child rape, child killing or something related to something extremely negative when it comes to children. I mean the shit is disheartening. It’s terrifying and if you don’t have children, you probably aren’t paying many of these articles any mind. I know I never did before I had Morgan. But since I’ve become a mother, I mean my attention to things related to children is on hyperdrive.

I’ve read horrible articles about school administrators smacking or beating kids, I’ve read about babysitters kicking or throwing kids around rooms, I’ve read about a mothers boyfriend torturing and killing a 7-year-old boy because he thought he liked boys and made the mistake of mentioning it,(I mean he was 7) – it broke my heart. I’ve read about mothers committing “mercy” killings of her children because they wanted to put their ailing kid out of misery. I’ve read about a newborn being raped by an uncle, and dying from the trauma. I watched a video of a caregiver to a special needs child, slap the child over and over and over again because he couldn’t speak and therefore couldn’t tell his parents (luckily they installed cameras without telling her). You name it and I’ve seen it.

A recently watch “A Quiet Place” and the entire movie is about two parents protecting their kids.  Emily Blunt mentions in the movie “Who are we if we can’t protect them”…it resonated with me. Who am I, If I can’t protect Morgan?  Luckily, I have an amazing support system and a babysitter I can trust, but Morgan will be starting school next year and that…has terrified me.  I’ll admit that though we are a year out from her starting – I’ve already cried about it twice.  I fear for her life over all others. I fear that something will happen and she’ll be scared and I won’t be there to protect her. I fear that I’ll miss something that may happen to her and she won’t be able to tell me. There are a million situations in my head and a million of them, I can’t stop from happening.

My bestie – who is a million times more positive thinking than, I am, understands.  See, before I had Morgan, we got into a heated little argument that now years later, I’m having to eat my words about.  The discussion was around her daughter whose was maybe 6 or 7 at the time and allowing her to go to away camp. Now, I went to away camp when I was maybe 12 and it was a great experience. My friend never attended an away camp. My friend was set on not allowing her daughter to attend an away camp or attend sleepovers at friends houses for fear of “the millions of possibilities”. The possibilities of situations as I explained above.  My view (at the time, I wasn’t pregnant – nor thinking about having children) was that, by not allowing her to sleep away, sleepovers overs at other friends houses or attend away camp that she was limiting her. I never considered the negative aspects of the “what if’s”. I didn’t have a child. Didn’t understand. This argument was serious and really made me think about what type of person she was. I figured she was a dingleberry, who was overthinking the whole situation and being mellow dramatic. I dwelled on the idea of why anyone would want to limit their child just because they had been limited. Sleepovers for me were always awesome. Sleepaway camp was amazing (though in hindsight, it was an all FEMALE camp, with all female staff). Before ending this convo, she reminds me that I’ll feel different, once I have a child. I hardcore answer that “I WILL NOT FEEL ANY DIFFERENT”.


I have Morgan.  THE END lol

No, but I have Morgan and my entire world changes.  My heart shifts. My mind changes. My instincts heighten. I’m a mother.  I fear for her life over my own and would give my life in an instant for her.  My protective instincts immediately make me feel like my bestie, who all those years before, I condemned because she was thinking about the “the millions of possibilities”. My bestie, who was always thinking about the safekeeping and wellness of her child. My bestie, who respected my feelings but knew…knew that if I had a child eventually that I would see. My eyes would open and I would see that all people can’t be trusted. She knew that I would feel different and I’m unashamed to say…I do feel different.  It terrifies me to think about Morgan being at an away camp, sleeping over at a friends house with someone’s father or brothers (I may not know).  My mindset changed.

Now, some are probably reading this like “What the hell”. She’s lost it. But that’s ok. It’s a parental thing. A mother thing…maybe?

I want to trust the world we live in but every day, it makes me distrust it a little bit more.  I will continue to keep her close.  Trust only those that I’m completely comfortable with. Protect her…at all cost. Because at the end of the day…it’s my job.

Peace, Love and Protecting,


The Handmaid’s Tale…My Obsession

Ok, so First…If you don’t watch this show. Immediately stop what you are doing, get HULU, if you don’t have it and watch it. It’s the best 45 mins or so of your life. Terrifying but the best.


Before a couple of months ago, I wasn’t even aware of the impressiveness that is this show.  I was bored at work…YES at work…looking for something as background noise in-between assignments and happened to remember my Hulu account (those fuckers had just charged me again and I hadn’t been using it).  I remembered something about the show…but very little. I honestly had no idea what it was even about. I remember that Elisabeth Moss won a Golden Globe for it but I honestly had no idea what show they were even praising her for. I had only seen her on Mad Men…which I never liked.

But I began watching it and within the first 5 mins…I knew I was in love (terrifyingly) but in love with this show.  It’s hard to explain the connection I found with it. It’s realness, actually scared me. The fact that this type of dystopian (but not really) world could exist where woman who are fertile are used as sex pawns and men are in control of everything to the point that older women are housemaids and children are “given” to new families like cattle, with their mothers having no control over them or whatever happens to them or who they are even given too. A world were we as woman are not allowed to read. Have no control over our bodies, or what we eat, do, or anything.  The direction of the show is just amazing. The writing of the storylines, even more captivating. The show is…well…phenomenal.

The show starts off and immediately, I thought it was set in an older period of time. Like the 1800s, by the clothing choices and the way that everyone was speaking “Blessed Be” and “Praise Be” but soon you realize this shit is taking place in current time. Our current time. You eventually get a better understanding of how this happened, whose behind it and why they did it. But the anger grows every episode. The madness becomes more serious. The story is never uplifting or light-hearted but instead, always dark and deep. Sad and dreary.

James Poniewozik  of the NY Times explains it well…

“I hate to say the story is newly relevant, as if it weren’t for three decades. But face it: When you have a president who talks about women as if they were squeeze toys, who implied a tough female journalist was on her period, whose administration gathered a room full of male politicians to discuss women’s health coverage — well, the viral marketing takes care of itself. Gilead is a tyranny of nostalgia, a rape culture that denounces the previous society — ours — for degrading women with pornography. It controls women by elevating them, fetishizing motherhood, praising femininity, but defining it in terms of service to men and children.”

The show is full of emotion and I believe that’s why I’m a fan. It brings all these feelings of feminity, motherhood, the sacrifices of being a woman, sexuality, racism, colorism, anxiety and emotional distress all to the forefront and I’m hooked.

I had to go hard for my show. Check it out!

Blessed Be the Fruit…


Something about Motherhood


There is something about Motherhood.
It’s in the dirty diapers and spills on her clothes after just dressing her.
It’s in the late nights and early mornings.
It’s her.
It’s clipping her tiny little fingernails and toenails.
It’s her choice of things to like and dislike.
It’s in the exhausted moments of my day.
It’s the watching her sleep. Making sure she’s breathing.
It’s the going into stores, only to get one thing but buying her everything.
It’s the love my mom and dad give her.
It’s in the smile on her face the minute I say her name.
It’s the tight hugs she gives her dad. Because well…she’s a daddy’s girl.
It’s in the times where I want to give up but can’t because she needs me.
It’s the feeling of being needed.
It’s her.
It’s her wildly beautiful natural hair.
It’s the love she exudes.
It’s in the moment of needing just five minutes of peace, which is hard to come by.
It’s in the days where she gets to swim in her pool.
It’s in the fact that she made it…the fact that she stayed and is here.
It’s the hugs and kisses – just because.
It’s in how she says Ma and Mama.
It’s the silly laugh she makes.
It’s in my need to protect her…from everything. Even though, I know I can’t. I will never stop trying.
It’s the faces she makes when she hears me come in the door after a long day.
It’s her eyes. Her absolutely beautiful eyes.
It’s the way she bites the nipple and smiles when I take it from her.
It’s in those temper tantrums…that I secretly love.
It’s the love, I have for her. So unconditional.
It’s the fact that she’s mine.
It’s her.
It’s in those moments that I realize how lucky I am to be able to experience Motherhood.


Admissions and Acceptance of My Own Mental Health (with some ramblings)

I use to say all the time, that life was “Weird”…but it was really because I was feeling “Weird”. “Weird” became my safe word. A word even into adulthood, I use to describe how I feel when I’m feeling off.  Most will never understand, but it’s a word that describes exactly how I’m feeling because that…that feeling is hard to put into words.  Overall, there it is in the back of my mind and stomach and heart…feelings. And man do I have some feelings.  I’ve often felt that my whole life has revolved around how I’m feeling and the way I’m feeling, for the most part, has guided my decisions in life. Now it’s true, the feelings have guided me but they’ve also hindered me. So I start another deeply personal post by saying that with the feelings…has come some admissions and revelations, especially recently.

I’ve often reflected after a traumatic event (mine or others) about how serious and important mental health is.  Mental Health…I mean even saying it sounds serious. It’s always been right after a school shooting or upon hearing of a crime where an innocent lost their life, the Orange dude running the country doing something even more racist than the day before or a friend telling me about a cheating boyfriend or girlfriend or a family member passing away or one of 10 million other things that this…again feeling comes over me.  That one…I call “Worry”. Worry has never been my friend. Never something I could shake but instead driven me to sleepless nights, which developed into my Insomnia, which developed into my paranoia, which developed into a serious case of PTSD.  Now, I’m sure reading this…you’ll question, how a situation like the ones described which seamlessly, has nothing to do with me can or could ripple effect into all of that, but man…worry is my arch nemesis. Worry has created another friend…I call her stress. I’ll talk about her later.

With my friend Worry, I make comments about the mental health of the shooter.  What they were thinking, why they did it, how’d they pick their targets? Then after a death, I almost always feel a moment of intense sadness, even if I didn’t know them, well because, life has ended for someone and I think and worry about those close to them and how they are dealing. How it must feel and when I’ve lost someone close, how I got thru. Now thinking about this death, makes me think about my own death or death of one of my parents.

When I had Morgan prematurely, I spiraled.  No one knows how deep that hole went, except me and I refuse to share that piece of me with anyone.  But I will say this…disappointment in my body, body shaming, PTSD, worrying, stressing, crying, mental breakdowns alone, seething anger, fear, pure happiness and then some joy…rocked my entire world for 1 whole year.  I smiled…I looked normal but inside…I could have jumped off a bridge from how shitty, I was feeling. How shitty I felt for what my little one had to endure. Having to watch it all was a tremendous heartbreak for me. With her and her NICU stay and everything attached to that…my PTSD became absolutely unbearable at times once she was home.

(I will share one story of my PTSD so that anyone who doubts me…may understand)
While in the NICU, the babies are all hooked up to monitors.  These monitors become LIFE in the NICU. One sound, one buzz, one red light versus a green one, could mean life or a code. No one wants a code.  I became obsessed with watching the monitors…and if you are unsure of your neonatal lingo, like what a “Brady” is and what a “desat” is or an  “episodes” then click the link to learn. But those words, those became my life. Anyway…Every baby in a neonatal intensive care unit is monitored on something called a cardiopulmonary monitor. Basically, this is a system that consists of wires with electrodes that stick to the baby; two on either side of the chest, and one on the lower abdomen. These electrodes are attached by wires and detect every activity of the heart and transmit it to the monitor where it is recorded and displayed as a waveform on the screen. The system also measures the baby’s respiratory rate, (how fast the breathing is), the oxygen saturation (O2 sat) within the blood, (measured by a probe that is either attached to the hand or foot) and also measure the baby’s blood pressure; either by cuff reading or by a real-time reading through the artery in the umbilicus, (UAC) wrist, or foot. An arterial reading is translated into a waveform that can be seen on the monitor. From the minute Morgan was hooked up, I learned every single term related to that monitor. One of the things that drove me insane, and I mean literally insane is if the monitor alerted the Nurses and I that Morgan was having a “Brady”…Bradycardia is the slowing of the heart. When a baby’s heart begins to slow, there is decreased blood flow to the lungs and oxygen to the tissues drops. Bradycardia in a premature baby is defined as a heart rate lower than 100 beats per minute. So it would beep and beep and beep until someone would check her and usually that took only a second or two but for me…every beep was panic. The feelings of “Is this it”…”Is this the last time”…”Did her heart stop”…those questions would pop in my mind every single time that monitor beeped. This went on for 137 days. Morgans entire stay. I would come home in between my all day visits and try and nap but what was happening to me was indescribable. I would be in a very light sleep (I couldn’t sleep hard anymore – too afraid that I would miss a call from the NICU) and though I was home…I would hear the beep and immediately jump up. Disoriented…I would realize I was home and that was it. Nap over and back to the hospital I would go.  This happened almost every day.  I refused to speak on it because I didn’t want anyone thinking I was crazy but I swear…the sound of the monitor was ingrained in me.  Finally, when Morgan came home, she was attached at night to another type of heart and respiratory monitor that basically did the exact same thing. But this beep…was LOUD. SO LOUD that it woke everyone up, every time it beeped and honestly, it always beeped because she would move around and knock the probe off or it got stuck to her clothes. But the sound…the beep…the connection to what that sound meant…made me paranoid. I couldn’t sleep. I was on constant alert. Constantly checking on her.  I didn’t sleep fully again until she was almost a year old.

I still sometimes hear that beep…It wakes me up…and then I remember…she’s fine. No monitor. Hasn’t been on it in years…But the PTSD from the NICU, from the monitor, from the experience, has stuck with me…even 3 years later.

Again, worry takes over and controls, everything…my mental health specifically.

But it was never until I was dealing with my own personal worries and feelings on things that I would take a second to think about the state of my own mental health and I realized that you have to take a moment and really dig deep and admit that you aren’t Exempt from issues of your own. Then the worrying I was doing about the shooters and Mr. Orange and death and everything else made me have this…”Oprah”….”Ahah” moment.

It’s no joke when people say that Mental Health is one of those “suffer in silence” issues. So many people never tell anyone they are dealing with things for fear of judgment and ridicule. I’m just now learning that…honesty and acknowledgment are ok.  They are the hardest to do especially on your own. But I finally had to sit and admit it to myself that what I was feeling and going thru in my own little personal hell was ok now…because I finally realized what was going on with me. I realized that admitting it to others was ok but would take time and that I didn’t have to share unless I wanted too. 

But I’m in all honesty, I didn’t really want too.  I didn’t want to admit it or say it out loud or feel it.  I was comfortable saying it to myself but not to anyone…at first. I’ve never been shy to admit that I don’t focus on myself like I worry about everyone else. No one was looking out for me so I would have to finally do it.


I will admit…at 31, my issues are so much deeper now. My fears, my emotional state, everything is deeper. But one thing I love, is therapy! The power behind therapy is just that…therapeutic. People around me are the type folks that say unknowingly “Why would anyone pay to talk to some stranger…it’s crazy” but they don’t know that at one point, I’d been in therapy as a teen and then again a few years ago. I would leave work at lunch and go to my sessions and I kept that secret for almost the entire two years I was going with the exception of one person knowing.  Regardless, those “Why pay a stranger” folks don’t know how “those stranger folks” have saved lives, saved sanity, helped us feel normal, made us overcome, etc.  I may not have even been here, if I hadn’t gone to therapy as a teen…I was a whole mess with all the things going on with my parents and relationship drama and teen shit. So I bow down to counselors and therapist cause I know the struggle. I know that without them…some of us wouldn’t even be here.


This whole post was for me to get some important things off my chest and admit…It’s been apart of my realization period, self reflection period and self awareness period. So…as if you couldn’t tell by the topic and stories above but I’ve suffered silently from depression off and on for years and anxiety for even longer. When I say I’ve suffered, no one would believe by my exterior that I was suffering but all along…it’s been there. Eating at me. Depression…Man I remember when my doctor first threw it on me and I was so loud yelling in the office…”I DO NOT HAVE DEPRESSION, AINT NOBODY DEPRESSED IN HERE”…but that was my cover up! That was my exterior cover. My interior was breathing a sigh of relief that someone understood and put a name to what was wrong. Put a name to all the icky, I felt. Put all the things I described above in to two words.

Years before…I’d done the same annoying outburst about anxiety. But calmed down quicker because my anxiety was damn near killing me. I wasn’t sleeping. I was scared all the time. I was eating everything in sight because that was the only self soothing I knew . But when I walked out with enough information to fill a binder on what I’d been diagnosed with…I felt such a huge weight lift off me. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety with Acute Social Anxiety and Panic Disorder. The shit was a whole mouthful! But I own it today and when I say that it fits…it fits! 

I’m socially awkward in every situation. I hate crowds but I hate close and personal interactions with people also…especially people I dislike or don’t know. My facial expressions and body language give it all away. I immediately turn rude or become extremely quiet and walk off.  I usually feel shitty alone but at least then, I’m not uncomfortable. As I’ve gotten older, I refuse to put myself in situations that will cause me to freak out or make others look at me like I’m a freak.

Self Esteem and Insecurity has been the issue most of my life. It’s so deep that I’m still not even comfortable with letting everyone know about why that is. It’s gotten better but there is still so much work to do. 

Here’s why I never say anything…

Being a Black Woman…

I personally feel like I am suppose to be a pillar of strength and the epitome of being unaffected but (affected) by things like “Mental Health” issues because well as I’ve heard other Black Women say “We just don’t deal with that type of shit…that’s a white thing”…Well as I’ve learned and already knew…it’s not a white thing or a black thing…it’s a human thing. It affects millions and it’s not defined by color. 


I’m the type of person that isn’t easily embarrassed by much but I must say being open with those around me about my suffering hasnt been easy.  I still hide a lot from even the closest of people to me.  Shit, no one could understand my inner tickings…I don’t even know all of them.

Trust & Respect 

I rarely trust anyone enough.  I also respect my own privacy and my own heart and mind that I don’t want to explain things to someone – who won’t really understand because they aren’t suffering like me.  I’ve tried and it ends badly and only makes me feel worse.

Don’t forget…

That what many fail to realize when it comes to mental health and illnesses like depression is that management is a lifelong process. The first step is recognizing the problem. The second step is finding a way to deal with it. And the third step is maintenance and in that order.

I hope that someone reads this and feels…Freed. Feels like they aren’t alone. Because…they aren’t alone.

Peace, Love and Ain’t Nobody on this Earth Perfect,


(P.S. – I found these amazing pictures online about different mental health issues and I just had to post them. They aren’t mine but I’m also not sure who the artist is…Whoever they are…THESE ARE PHENOMENAL.)

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