Hello everyone out there! I hope everyone has had a safe and blessed month, as we are approaching the next one on the list—hello July! I hope everyone stays safe with the 4th of July coming up soon. What are your plans for that weekend? I’m not sure what I will get into at this time. I’ll probably stay at home and watch our neighbors set off fireworks. This will be our cat’s first 4th of July with us, so we’re hoping he can handle the sound. Our family was mentioning maybe having a cookout where we could set them off at her house, but we don’t know just yet. However, I wanted to say hello and check in with my community family out there. I hope to hear from any of you anytime!

I think I’m addicted to nicotine—
that high feeling it gives you,
that bliss,
that feeling where you’re floating—
your soul floating outside your body,
looking down at you,
watching you try to cope with slowly losing yourself,
as it floats farther away—
all by just making that loss more severe,
or, we may say, more desperately needed.

You think nic provides you with comfort,
since, as the smoke fills your lungs,
it feels like a warm hug—
by the lungs, straight to the heart.
It feels like that hug you eagerly craved as a child but never got the chance to receive.

So, you try your hardest now
to make up for all the hugs to the heart you never got to have,
to make up for the loneliness you felt as a child,
to make up for everything you used to try to do to yourself
in the middle of the night,
all alone in your room.

As the smoke fills your lungs
and the nic starts to hit—
affecting your consciousness and logic—
you feel detached.
At peace.
At least for a little while.
And as you watch your soul swim away from you slowly,
outside your body,
swimming farther and farther,
swimming faster and faster,
the more you smoke—
the higher you feel and get.

All you want is to see that soul gone.
Disappeared.
Dead.
In reality, that’s all you’ve longed for,
yearned for,
since you turned nine.
And through not being able to kill yourself—
kill your soul—
you enjoy losing yourself,
losing your soul,
for at least a few cigs a day.

Call this addiction.
Call this drug obsession.
Call this anything you want.
But I’d like to call it survival.
Because without nic,
death would’ve had its hands engraved in my soul,
refusing to let go,
clutching my body,
and reaching for my soul,
a long time ago.

I wouldn’t be here now.
I would’ve been dead—
unalived by the same hands—my own—
the same ones that used to cut and burn my body every single night,
thinking it was the only way I could feel something, other than numb.

So is it better to smoke or to die?
Is it better to smoke your life away,
trying to survive it,
or to kill yourself,
having given up on it without even a trial?

My question is:
Do we call this Addiction or Survival?
Do we call this person addicted to drugs or desperate to survive?
And who are we to judge someone,
for only ever trying to hang on,
to the loose pins of their soul
to their body?
Who are we to judge?
Addiction is survival
Survival is addiction
As unbelievable as that sounds, one can’t exist without the other.
And again who are we to judge?

Dear Vapor,
It’s now been 22 years and you are still with me everyday holding down my anixety. My question is why are you still holding power over me all these years. My family and peers have been telling me give it up you don’t need it anymore you will feel so much better if you finally depart with it. I have even though the same thing cause of my financial budget cause you don’t understand how much you keep breaking my bank everyday I look for you in different varities but I can’t stay away. What’s your secret? I know you’re not good for me but I just don’t know how to say I’m ready to put you down for good. I’ve been looking into different options to finally have the courage to let you go but I feel that I don’t have the strength to finally put you down. I don’t know what to do or it I ever will be ready.

We may not do scratch-offs,
or play the “Pick 5”.
But every addict is a gambler,
Gambling with their lives.

There’s no chips involved,
No minimum bet.
We play with our souls,
We wage our regret.

Will this be the bag,
that gets you high?
Or is this the time,
you finally die?

Time with your loved ones,
is in the pot.
Maybe you’ll win,
with this next shot!

A free trip to jail,
for the rest of your life!
Just take a chance,
and roll the dice!

Your family will leave,
unless you end this charade.
Ten to one?
I like those odds!

So we take another hit,
we do another line.
“I bet they won’t leave,
just like last time.”

Will I get an empty bag?
Will the rocks be salt?
Even if you lose,
It’s never your fault.

The game was rigged!
The dealer’s a liar!
It’s all on them,
if you don’t get higher.

Whether its cards in your hand,
or a needle in your vein,
we all find something,
that takes away the pain.

There are no winners,
when you play with drugs and booze.
But gamblers don’t gamble to win,
Gamblers gamble to lose.

“The Gamble”
-Matty Jablonsky

Hello everyone in the Unsealed community! I just wanted to check in and say hello. I hope you’re all doing well, and I wish all the dads a wonderful Father’s Day weekend.

Today is going alright so far. My husband is playing games on his PlayStation, and my cat is hiding in a cool spot, lounging on a pair of shoes. As for me, I’ve been cleaning out my laptop, sticking to my usual coffee routine this morning, and deciding whether to work on some more projects or take a break today.

With the heat wave we’ve been enduring this month, I could use a break. Anyway, I hope everyone stays safe this weekend and takes care!

In the bustling city of Huntington, Amanda had always felt like an outsider, a piece that never quite fit into the puzzle of life. Surviving a tumultuous childhood marked by trauma, her journey began with the heavy weight of her past. Experiences of abuse and betrayal had woven a complex tapestry of PTSD, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and oppositional defiant disorder into her daily existence.

Amanda was a survivor; her resilience was forged in the fires of her struggles. After each nightmare she faced, she would find herself in therapy, seeking to untangle the knots of her pain. Her therapist, Dr. Lewis, a compassionate and wise woman, became her guiding star. Together, they explored the darkest corners of Amanda’s mind, shedding light on the shadows that loomed large.

One day, while sitting in Dr. Lewis’s office, Amanda recounted a recent episode of overwhelming anxiety that had left her paralyzed. As tears spilled down her cheeks, she expressed the fear of her past overshadowing her future. Dr. Lewis listened intently, then gently encouraged her to turn her pain into power. “You have a story worth telling. Your experiences can inspire others,” she said.

Motivated by their conversation, Amanda decided to channel her emotions into writing. She began to craft a memoir, narrating her struggles with honesty and vulnerability. Words poured from her heart, each sentence a step towards healing. As she wrote, she found solace, and with each chapter, the weight of her past began to lift.

Gradually, she built a community, connecting with others who faced similar battles through support groups. There, Amanda met Carol, a fellow survivor whose laughter was infectious despite her scars. The bond they formed allowed Amanda to glimpse hope in the eyes of another. Through sharing their stories, they discovered the strength of standing together, breaking the silence that had long surrounded them.

Amanda also found comfort in creativity, immersing herself in painting. With every brushstroke, she transformed her chaos into color, creating vibrant images that represented her journey. She titled her pieces “Mosaics of Strength,” each one a testament to resilience and beauty rising from brokenness. Her art caught the attention of a local gallery, leading to her first exhibition, where she showcased both her paintings and readings from her memoir.

On the night of the opening, Amanda stood in front of a gathering of friends, family, and strangers, her heart racing. As she read excerpts from her book, her voice trembled but grew more confident with each word. The audience listened intently, moved by her honesty and courage. By the end, tears glistened in their eyes, and applause erupted, filling the room like a warm embrace.

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, Amanda felt empowered. She understood that healing was not linear, and there would still be difficult days filled with anxiety or depressive episodes. But now, she had a toolkit—therapy, art, and a supportive community to lean on.

As she glanced around the room, she realized that she was not just a survivor of her past; she had become a beacon of hope for others. Amanda learned to embrace her journey, celebrating her survival with every step forward—a mosaic of strength, uniquely beautiful in its imperfections. With a heart full of hope and a voice to share, she reminded others that it’s okay to seek help, to share their stories, and to believe in the possibility of brighter days.

Hello, writing community. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m a single mother of three kids: two daughters, aged 15 and 10, and a son who would have turned 3 this year, but sadly, he passed away four years ago.

Since I got remarried in 2022, I haven’t accomplished much in my life. I’ve been trying to re-enter the workforce after losing my most recent job due to medical issues and not having a car at the moment. I’ve recently been looking for work-from-home jobs because I’ve been advised that, given my current circumstances, I can only pursue positions that allow me to work at a desk or from home.

I am capable of doing computer work, cleaning houses, babysitting, or caring for pets. However, without a car, it has been challenging to find jobs elsewhere.

Currently, I receive a disability check and live with several conditions, including ADHD, PTSD, ODD, BPD, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. Additionally, I suffer from IBS, GERD, gastritis, sciatica, stress fractures, COPD, bradycardia, and sinus arrhythmia. My life can be complicated, but I do my best to function daily, even though I’m 35 and not as active as I would like to be.
I’m now back in the world, looking for something new. If you’d like to get to know me or comment on my material, feel free to message me anytime.

Hello Unsealed Community,
I just joined this writing platform and to be honest I am not sure what I should say for my introduction. I am socially awkward so interacting with people is very hard for me. Writing is different though. I feel more at ease when I write and can express myself better than I ever could with spoken words. I always loved to write ever since I was little; it is my safe space. Because of this I have been looking for ways to improve my writing and I stumbled upon this community. I have always wanted to find people who loved what I loved. Being homeschooled for most of my life, it was difficult to interact with other people, much less find a group that enjoyed what I enjoyed. So I spent a lot of time by myself with my writing. With that being said, I am truly grateful that I found this community. I hope I can build my writing skills here, as well as meet lots of people and hear all their different stories.

As Springtime starts to approach,
I feel such a relief of frozeness.
I feel such relief of stillness.
Springtime for me is a time to feel alive.
Feel free.
It’s a time to let warm sensations caress the body.
Springtime is about growth.
About planting those asparagus seeds and watching what comes from those tiny seeds.
From what once was tiny to what will be extraordinary.
Springtime is like a crayon.
Soft.
Gentle.
Full of creativity.
Full of color.
Full of brightness.
Springtime is like a crayon.
Leaving your mark on what once was to something beautiful.
To something magical.
For some, Springtime can be a time of transformation.
A time to use their personal napkin to cleanup what was to make room for what will be.
As Springtime starts to approach, I leave winter with this…
“Thank you for the lessons.
I’m ready for the homework.
I’m ready to put the frost bites of my past in the freezer of yesterday & open the fridge of growth for today.”

** 3 word prompt poem: Asparagus. Crayon
Napkin **

Unsealers,

I seem to have a difficult time finding the right words to begin an introduction about who I am because I am still trying to figure that out for myself. I do know that I have a story to tell, and I feel incredibly grateful to have stumbled upon this community where I finally have an opportunity to start doing that for the first time in my life.
Starting at a young age, I had a craving for the fast life. I entered into the throws of addiction shortly after my age became double digits, I was gifted with a laundry list of mental health diagnosis at age 25 including but not limited to type 1 bipolar, C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression; and in turn I have landed myself in some fairly… less than ideal circumstances due to those facts. All in all my intentions are mostly pure, but I have a tendency to take red flags and mistake them for a carnival, and I seem to try every wrong thing first before I finally get life figured out. Some of the shit I have gotten myself into has changed me forever, some of it makes for a hilarious story, and some of it can still bring me to tears just by thinking about it. All of it has brought me to where I am today. I have experienced child birth, divorce (not once but twice), multiple types of abuse (both on the giving and receiving end), homelessness, prostitution, incarceration, and the list goes on. It will be interesting to see going forward how this all eventually gets out on paper, but I appreciate every one of you that are about to guide me through making that happen. I would love to get to know you all, and I am looking forward to reading what each of you has to say.

XOXO, kendy

You can see us on street corners
Or down the dark alleys
We are hardly a sight for sore eyes
We are dirty and vacant
With ripped clothes and sad faces
We wear this as our new disguise.
See some time ago
We were regular people
Until something in life got us down
Whether it heartbreak or money
Family or lack of
There’s something we needed to drown
The voices in our heads
That tell us we aren’t worth shit
Or The memories we just can’t move on from
Maybe it’s trauma or sadness
Or just basic madness
Fill in the blank with your own noun
It ripped us apart
And it spit out the pieces
And robbed us of all we once cherished
We were desperate for relief
So we followed the dragon
We got lost on the way; our souls perished.
Now as is probably Expected
Pretty much textbook
We burn bridges with selfish behavior
Some of us come back
And they find inner peace
And usually they call it their savior
But some of us misfits
The world has forgotten
We’re broken and fucked up
downright dirty and rotten
Someone or something has shattered our hearts
And we know that we’re never the same
So we escape all the pain
With powder or pills
And we find ourselves stuck in this game
We spiral and wander
Away from reality
And further down into the abyss
The people around us
eventually give up
Cause what’s even still there to miss?
We are just scumbags on street corners
Or down the dark alleys
We’re junkies; unfortunate souls
We fucked up, we get it
We don’t need reminded
Please shut up or spark up a bowl

May this find you all in good health and wellness.
Let me introduce myself:

I am AmbitiousBMarie. (Branching off to a new name soon ***NoireRequiem***
Been writing since I was 13.
I’m a former foster youth and I strongly believe writing played a major role in my therapy during that time.
I’m currently located in York,PA
I was born and raised in NYC, Tha Bronx.
I want to bring people on the journey of my life.

We are the ones who hold the history of this World.
We are the true storytelling animals that write through it all.
And I am here to give my part of the story.

So glad to find community online and I hope we all can find solace in each other’s writing journey.