Where I am tracing back a habit to its origins, to find it was an act of self-loathing born from disastrous life and a traumatic relationship.
2026 is the year of farewells. What I did not expect was that losing things, the medication, the nicotine, the woman who made me who I am, would force me to finally look at what was left standing.
He left twenty thousand pounds of debt and a hollow ground beneath my feet.
I traced my bloodline all the way back, through my mother, my grandmother, and every woman before them who was handed a child and no tools to raise one. I carry them all. I have decided I will be the last in the line. Nobody comes after me.
When therapy strips away every story you built to survive, you are left standing over the body of your former self, and the hardest part is not the grief. It is the recognition.