The entire holiday break has ruined my normal sleeping schedule. I decided that if I can't sleep I might as well do something productive, so I chose to go through my photo archive to find images to print. I'm terrible at having photos printed, I just don't do it—ever.

It wasn't my brightest idea, cause I went through 2012 and now tears are currently streaming down my face. WEAKSAUCE. (#defensemechanism)

I'm looking at myself smiling in these photos, knowing very well that I was trying my absolute best to keep my shit completely together. I was trying to prove to myself and the world that my marriage would work out. But he was done with me, way before I even realized it.

As the year progressed his smile gradually faded as he posed next to me, photo after photo. I saw less and less of the genuine happiness he used to have, standing next to me. I tried. I tried so fucking hard to hold onto us.

He couldn't.

I'm only crying because I'm looking at myself and I feel for that woman—whose heart fucking broke, whose world fucking shattered. I was way too young and selfless to endure such pain, but I endured it, cause I loved him.

Obviously I came out ok. Dear world, I promise I am ok, my wounds are all closed at this point. But right now I'm experiencing something similar to how some of you might sympathize with me, I empathize for myself—for the younger woman in my photos, who lost all sense of love, trust and security.

The silver lining is that she has no idea… how good will still come into her life, how doors will open, how opportunities and adventure will present themselves. Hell—I'm not even sure what that entails, so lets keep it movin',