The Door

A free writing piece on love, hate, and addiction.

It was easier, in the beginning. Seeing the door there, unopened. No turning handle, no swing of the hinges. I wasn’t sitting here, back then. Waiting.

I was running around, evading bath time. I was watching a movie, curled up against Mom’s legs. “It’s a late night at work,” I’m sure she told me.

The late nights at work weren’t as late as they are now.

I was chasing my siblings up the stairs. I was braiding my hair. I was learning to shave in the…



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Trained counselor turned barista, on a mission to abandon the perfectionism engrained within me and find joy and wellness, inside and out. ig: @analeemyra