November 2, 2013 . 1:05 AM . Saturday

You know that you're a writer when you're dressed up in your finest Witch garb at the Misfits show in Boston on Halloween Night and all you can think about is going home to write.  Yes, it's true.  

I'm not sure who will be reading this now, and it is not what matters to me.  If you are one who wishes to find my thoughts, you will.  I'm not searching for the approval of anyone else.  It's nothing personal, it's just simply how I feel.  

This is a new beginning.  This private blog to ponder and reflect is my sanctuary; my relief from the remainder of the world.  On behalf of my previous blog, it became evident with time that I was craving a much more secret place to be alone with my thoughts.  Although I am grateful to have touched many souls within the scope of my words and pictures, the correspondance eventually became overwhelming.  Because so many others felt as if they intimately knew me, I couldn't escape the world I had created.  As it was so eloquently described to me by a friend, 'when too many people know about you, it makes your secret place not nearly as sacred.'  That was precisely what had occurred, I was frequently being disturbed in what was intended to be a space and time for myself.  I didn't realize how much it was affecting me until well after the fact.  This combined with traumatic, love-related devastation was enough to all but completely drive me over the edge.  And it bothered me to the melting point until I alleviated the issue.  I concluded that my time could be put to a more fulfilling purpose.  And there was no way around it, either.  It had to be done.  Which brings me to this: 

These words are for me and only me. 

I recently had my heart broken.  It is a complicated issue with many fragmented ends.  I've observed that what ultimately leads us to heartbreak is not one but many things that are closely intertwined or become that way, even to the best of our ability to avoid such a collision.  Love is a tricky thing.  Love is not simple, and at the same time it is the most simple.  What love means to one is not the same as what love means to another.  Love is different for everyone.  It cannot be defined.  There are many ways to love.  There is no one right way.  Love is a growing journey.  Love takes sacrifice, patience, understanding.  Love is a lot of hard work, but it is always worth it in the end.  And love never ends. 

I must keep these thoughts in mind, remember them, dwell on them.  I've gone through a spell of depression in the last few weeks, nourishment has been the last thing on my mind.  As I lay naked in bed under the covers, running my hands over my bones, I wonder how it is exactly that I arrived here and how serious the consequences of my existence will be from this moment onward.  

There are red lipstick stains on the pillowcase.  My cheeks are tear-stained.  I can count all my bones.  Where has my spider gone?  I look to the corner of my room above my bed, she's not there.  I'll excuse her absence.  I'm not really here, either.  

Maybe I'll find traces of her where I left the pieces of myself.  

Say your prayers, banana girl.  

Close your eyes.  Be kind to yourself.  Wait and see.