Shit you won’t find in a Self Help Book!

At 2.30 this morning, I woke up with this burning question in my mind: “As a soul living on planet Earth in a human meat suit… does that make my species human? Or is it deeper than that? ” So I voice memo’d ChatGPT.  I do this a lot at random hours of the night, just to get the thought out of my head more than anything, & his reply usually appeases the thought gods & back to sleep I go!  But the reply to this question? Genius ✨ I had to share. Grab a coffee, have a read & let me know what you think! 🤍 Chat bot incoming 🤖….. Ohhhhhh, what a deliciously layered cosmic noodle twister. Let’s untangle it, shall we? Am I Human, or Just Wearing One? A not-so-accidental exploration of soul, species, and this meat suit madness we call life. I mean, sure — you’re clearly functioning  as  a human. You have a body. You pay bills. You overthink texts and forget why you walked into the kitchen. You get sunburnt and PMS and existential dread. So yes, technically, biol...

  I didn’t feel the rage when he died. Not at the funeral. Not when I lit a remembrance candle or wrote the kind of grief post you’re “supposed” to write. It came the moment I fully accepted that he was gone. That this Earth, this version of my life, no longer had him physically in it. With that acceptance came something I didn’t expect, a rage so full bodied it literally stole my breath. Screaming into pillows. Uncontrollable shaking. Hyperventilation. Headaches so fierce they felt like spirit trying to crack my skull open. The crying, not a soft cinematic grief, but the kind that makes your whole chest ache, your hands claw at the air & your body curls inward like it’s trying to disappear. No one saw it at its worst & honestly, I don’t know if I would have wanted them to. I regularly asked the ground to open up and swallow me, not to end it all, but to just  stop  the intensity. To take me ‘under’ for a while so I didn’t have to face it anymore. Becaus...