Sections

Let me show you the rooms inside the wound.
Every corner here was carved by something you tried to forget.
Every page is a threshold.
Every piece, an invitation to stand where it hurts and not look away.

Quick List:

• Daily Wounds (Free)
  A short, sharp poem every day.
  Not polished. Not precious. Just the truth your nervous system couldn’t say out loud.

• Camp Jung (Paid)
  A shadow work thriller drops every full moon.
  Dark fiction. Deep metaphor. Psychological horror with purpose.

• Conscious Divided (Paid)
  Shadow and Ego go to war inside iconic minds.
  Fictional and historical figures seen through the lens of their unraveling.

• Shadow Journals (Paid)
  A bi-weekly, 30-day prompt series that confronts one wound at a time:
  Shame. Anger. Inner Child. Control. Fear of Abandonment. Emotional Armor.

This isn’t for scrolling.
It’s for staying.
For letting the words bruise in the right places.
For meeting the self you abandoned to survive.

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A short poem. Every day.

Some will cut.
Some will name what you’ve never dared to say aloud.
These aren’t affirmations.
They’re incisions,
small truths carved into soft places,
where the light rarely reaches,
but the ache always lives.

Perfect if:
You crave daily resonance.
You read to feel seen before the day begins, or when it finally breaks you open.
You want words that don’t fix you,
just stand beside you in the dark.

A monthly shadow work thriller, released every full moon.

Think: Jungian fiction, emotional horror, and soul-mirror storytelling.
These aren’t just stories.
They’re descents,
tales of undoing, of identities cracking at the seams,
of what it means to look inward and find something staring back.

Part catharsis. Part confrontation.
Every tale is a wound you’re meant to witness.

Perfect if:
You crave depth.
You like your truths unsettling, wrapped in haunting, human skin.
You’ve ever seen yourself in a character who’s breaking,
and calling that breaking holy.

Ego and Shadow,
debating inside fictional and historical minds.

What happens when you split a character open,
peel back their public mask,
and listen to the war underneath?

This is the answer.
It’s philosophy.
It’s psychology.
It’s inner monologue therapy, tangled in tension and truth.
A chorus of voices fighting for control in the quietest corners of the soul.

Perfect if:
You crave character studies and moral contradictions.
You like your minds messy, your questions unresolvable.
You’ve argued with yourself, and lost, then questioned who won.

The shifts. The behind-the-scenes. The subtle earthquakes.

This is where I speak plainly
about the tremors inside the work,
the quiet evolutions inside me,
and the invisible ways this space is reshaping you, too.

These aren’t announcements.
They’re ruptures.
The moments between what was and what’s becoming.

Perfect if:
You want to feel the pulse behind the pages.
You like knowing what’s coming before it arrives.
You don’t just read the words, you trace where they were born.

I grew up learning that silence was safer.

That softness kept the peace.
That being liked meant being less.

So I folded my voice
into small, polite shapes,
until I forgot what it sounded like.

But pain keeps its own record.
And eventually,
it started writing back.

This is the story of how I disappeared.
And how the writing brought me home.
Not a victory lap.
A reckoning.

Perfect if:
You want to know the voice behind the wounds.
You’ve been quiet so long you forgot you were still here.
You’re looking for something honest enough to hurt and heal.

Delivered bi-weekly, but only to Paid Subscribers.

Each one is a descent into a single emotional wound,
shame, anger, fear, abandonment, control…
not to analyze it, but to meet it,
day after day, without flinching.

Thirty prompts.
Thirty chances to sit with what you’ve buried.
This isn’t content.
It isn’t fluff.
It’s a mirror that doesn’t blink.
A daily reckoning dressed as a journal.
A quiet ritual for the parts of you that never got closure.

Perfect if:
You don’t want comfort, you want confrontation.
You crave structure but not softness.
You’re ready to write the things you swore you wouldn’t say out loud.

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These are the rooms.
You choose which doors to open.
You choose how deep you go.

No map. No promise of light at the end.
Only this:
what you find here will not lie to you.

Stay as long as you need.
Come back when you’re ready.
The wound remembers the way.

And if you’re ready to go deeper…
where the essays cut sharper,
where the stories don’t look away,
where the shadow journals ask what you’ve never dared to answer…

join as a paid member.
Not for perks. Not for polish.
For the work that waits behind the next door.

P.S. When the descent leaves you raw, when you need something gentler to steady your breath…
Healing Thoughts is waiting at the doorway.
Daily reflections. Quiet reckonings.
Not to fix you. Just to sit beside you while you catch your breath.