#01 | in the e.n.d.

in the end

I love words. 

I love writing.

I am obsessed with wonderment and imagination.

maybe that's why I am drawn to fairytales… the allure of the possibility of how I feel the world should be…ironically it’s where my mind would go growing up when “bad things” happened.   “you are is what you see.  just close your eyes 

your world is where you’ll be. hang on just a little longer it’s almost the END.  you’ll be ok….You’ll see.”

As my real name initials spelled my destiny,  maybe the crazy cosmic crystal are  really the truth tellers, and we were insane dening ourselves to become believers?

maybe so. Is the crystals true? like all of us,  was my fate written before me? “THE END”...Erin Nicole Downey. 

I was. And I am. “THE END”…Before I even began I never legally changed my name after I got married. I always put it off, like a gynecologist appt. Which is funny because I was so proud to be a wife. I always told Mark giving me his last name was the greatest gift. 

I always romanticized taking a man’s name. Out of the whole wide world, and all prettiest in all the land, you want me?🥹 I remember telling his parents i would treat thier name with such respect. I was proud to be a Jessup. I loved belonging to a family… being chosen to belong to something I admired and respected. 

But I never got over the fear of proving it in ink because what if he leaves? Then I am no longer me. But I have to live with a forever connection to you.… to not being wanted.

Now, I am branded with a name that no longer wants me. A reminder of “we don’t want you. Go away. You don’t exist” but like a concentration camp number. That’s why these Protection Orders have traumatized me. I've been hurt, abused and bullied my whole life. So to endure 5 years of a malevolent vent stalker… not someone that *wants* you. 

Someone who is angry you are telling them to stop hurting you. HE is an addict. I am his drug. 

My PAIN fulfills you while I’m dying is your high. Is my sacrifice ever enough? When are you done?  

hurt my soul so much. 

I often wondered if that was God's muse for my existence, and why I was always drawn to fairytales and words. Always looking for The End?….or my cross to bear I always loved libraries

enchanted by them. Actually I always felt so inspired by bookstores. walking into a book store always felt like and looked at life as such.. every book is a person and a storySome are happy endings, and favored with 

coffee-stained and crinkled pages, often reminiscent and read over and over

some books are short tales and fables but lessons learned, others started but left unfinished collecting dust, 

myself yet havn’t become friends yet remember a time, subscribed obsessively surrounding myself in dreams and fairytales, 

collecting hopes and wishes like a infidante bucket list fearless and inspired by my towering stacks of pages to turn what used to be my bucket list of fairytales  My existence my library. we all become stories

Some chapters we don't read out loud, because after all… we all become stories in THE END. 

// signed in lipstick — left in silence