Thread the Needle

Authenticity. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the word, gargling, swishing it around in my mouth and spitting it out. If I only show you the photoshopped, concealed, makeup pretty me you’ll never understand the underbelly. The crunchy grit, rawness hidden beneath. The really good stuff, the honest kind that matters. Most days I can only see how my illness defines me. Every single piece that’s been stolen, the immeasurable, inexplicable