Please Come Back.

“At least she’s not on the street.”

That’s about the extent of the solace I’ve found, following half a week playing at what felt like a Gone Girl-level cat-and-mouse search for someone very close to me.

Fuck substance abuse.  Fuck mental illness.  Fuck unhealthy coping mechanisms.  Fuck societal stigma.  Fuck low self-esteem.  Fuck the constant self-questioning inexplicably inherent to being a female in a male-driven world.

Fuck a culture that shies away from honest discourse about all the above.

I have no idea what comes next.  I’m torn between a desperate desire to control the situation and get this person the help that they need, and an acceptance that this is bigger than me and may now be out of my hands.

There is only so much we can do for others, if they won’t do even the most basic work for themselves.
It all starts with self-love.  Happiness that is internally derived and spreads outward from there — not the other way around.
All I have right now is gratitudes & silver linings.  Holding tight.



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