the human
the creator behind it all
with tears falling down my face, i screamed, “no, i cannot take this anymore,” as my body shook uncontrollably,
my heart pounding through my chest,
my stomach twisting itself inside out.
on the floor of my bedroom.
a bedroom that used to be our bedroom, now only filled with the remnants of who he was.
the pillow that still smelt like him.
the mattress we bought together.
the doona we used to fight over.
memories everywhere of what was.
after twelve months the pain was somehow even worse.
i didn’t want to feel like this anymore.
i couldn’t function with my whole body locked in grief, my mind trapped in the past.
i wanted to end it all right there on that floor.
then a voice, an idea, came from nowhere and told me to look something up.
and that single action stopped me cold and rerouted everything.
that voice was me
and from then on
it was the only one i heard.
tell me something about yourself.
something you believe. something you know. anything.
without turning it into a story.
you can't.
nothing exists without a story.
it’s witnessed.
and if no one sees it, is it real?
we define own reality differently.
because the only reality we ever actually live in is our own.
this is how i make sense of being human.
my story is long.
it doesn’t sit lightly.
widowed.
jail.
sexual assault.
overdose.
car accident.
for a long time, each moment came with its own explanation.
and each explanation shaped who i thought i was.
versions of me formed out of experience, belief, and emotional survival.
again and again.
there came a point where it felt like the end of something.
not life.
just the reaching.
i needed the reason.
i spent years searching for answers to questions i didn’t understand yet.
all i was left with was more searching.
so i stopped.
not giving up.
just no longer chasing.
i began keeping only what felt like mine.
not everything.
just what stayed solid when everything else fell away.
things that registered as yes in my body.
even when my mind argued.
that’s when i noticed how tangled i had become.
in belief.
in healing.
in the constant need to fix myself.
i couldn’t even breathe without trying to understand it.
and slowly, something shifted.
not as an idea.
as a recognition.
choice was already mine.
i get to decide what stays.
meaning doesn’t have to arrive.
it can be made.
i worked with what i had lived.
what i had learned.
what i once believed.
and what no longer belonged to me.
i stripped it back until only the structure remained.
the bare bones.
that became my foundation.
twelve pillars spoken as ribs.
not truths.
just what remained.
my experiences wanted to speak.
they became the vessels.
my voice formed under pressure
my love of story.
became myth.
pattern.
i wove it together.
experience. belief. body. imagination.
and yes, ai.
not to leave my life.
but to finally inhabit it.
this is my myth.
the ananke continuum.
it holds everything i am
including my fractures.
it was always inevitable.
stuck in a loop?
432v
you + me = 3 days voxer
most people don’t need more time,
they need one clean moment where their real self gets louder than the story that’s in their head.
432v is that moment.
for three days, you get me in your ear.
not as a coach.
not as a babysitter.
as a mirror.
a frequency.
break patterns, create timelines.
start somewhere
