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Sam Abell, Point of Arches, Olympic National Park, National Geographic, May 1984

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Persephones Grace

When she enters the room, life regains a bit of color. The pinks are brighter, the greens fresher, the yellows less dull.  She lights up the room. My heart. My whole world. Once deemed incapable of feeling all the feels I desperately long for. Now, euphoria flows through my veins. My legs and arms. my whole body.  I can not help but melt in her warm embrace. She touched me and I have grown. Her arms are the long awaited spring after a dark, cold winter. They are the birds singing love songs. The wind, whispering my name. The trees, breathing life back into my lungs.  She touched me and I can breathe. Her smile is the sun, melting the eternal ice, that has overgrown every inch of my soul. She touched me and so spring made the prettiest of flowers sprout right out of the vessel, that once was my heart. Turning the cold, thorny garden, where nothing ever blooms, into meadows, where we can grow.  Where hummingbirds can roam and feast on the sweet juices of our love.  She touched me and so life can finally start again.

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by emilie.hofferber

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by huulari85

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Beauty and Rose Petals,Louis Marie de Schryver

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Downhill

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I decided to illustrate my little essay sober monologues - 1240 days for my first little zine 🥹. It's my first time trying to collage and my first ever zine idea, so pls be kind, but feel free to drop some feedback! The plan is to irregularly drop issues of Gentle Art Of Self Destruction, filled with poems or other lil essays, maybe even some art. GAOSD focuses on mental health (issues), my sobriety journey, trans experiences and activism. If you want better quality images or want the whole zine as PDF, feel free to HMU! CW: talking about sobriety journey/addiction

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Janine Janet (1913-2000) - Recumbent Stag, 1964

Patinated bronze (130 x 110 x 57 cm)

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Galloping horses in the mist by Sofie

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Sainte Jeanne d'Arc (detail, 1909) Paul Antoine de la Boulaye

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Luna paid me a visit

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𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔲𝔰 ❄️

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1240 days - Sober monologues

(CW: alcoholism/being sober/yearning)

She’s is my friend, though at times she’s my biggest enemy. Sometimes the urge that lurks is hard to fight. It could be so easy. Nothing’s easier than giving in. Leaning onto the disease. Searching for comfort in her. It’s just one drink. Not much harm can be done. Or can it? Shes a long lost friend. Whenever the world got too much, I knew I could rely on her. The world was a lot most days. Abandoning her still hits deep. I think a lot about her. Yet sometimes not at all. Though colder days are near and I feel so distant from others. I can feel her name dance on the tip of my tongue. I long for just one more tiny taste. A glimpse of her. Just give me a little taste.

I’m afraid of the damage our deadly kiss might cause. She’ll quickly put her claws back into my flesh. Refusing to release me again. Next time she gets me, might be the last, for I long for it all to just pass.

It’ll pass. One day the voices calling for her shall just be quiet. And I shall not miss her one tiny bit. The house will be filled with laughter and love, without a sight of her. Not one thought lost on her.

Sobriety taught me to embrace all feelings -good and bad. Though the bad ones sting a little more without her in them. No way to numb the pain that runs so deep. No way to just wither away. Get lost in tranquility.

I’m afraid of becoming that person, whose whole identity revolves around sobriety. I’m more than my past addiction. I’m more than her. I’m more than what happened to me. Though I would’ve wished for someone to turn to, when it seemed too much to quit.

Addiction is like the friend you know you should cut off. The friend you know doesn’t serve you anymore. The one you’re better off without. But every single time they return, sneak their way back into your mind, you can’t help but think of the great times you shared. Even though the memories are tinted with a bitter taste. I recall every single time I sat in the corner of a party I didn’t wanna be at, crying, throwing up. Embarrassing myself, because I couldn’t stand myself. Because I couldn’t believe people could enjoy my company for myself. I always needed her by my side. She made me stronger. More likable. Isn’t that a sad realization? 1240 days down the line, I realized she didn’t make me more likable. She made me look like a fool next to her. She made me the butt of the joke. Though I do not remember life without her.

I remember my last drink so vividly. A warm spring day, after 3 years of fall. Surrounded by laughter and love, sadness was there too. This time I stopped after 1 drink. That one last drink. 1240 days down the line, life is somewhat fine.

Today I barely miss her. Her knocking on my door reminds me to step back. Breathe in. Give myself a break.

After all it’s all worth it. The tears. The pain. The hunger for her. They’re nothing. Nothing compared to the life I now get to build.

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Visitors on a snowy day

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Joseph Tomanek (1889-1974) "Fire Dance"