Breathe, babe. What’s broken can always be fixed. Take my hand, love—you’re never alone. Breathe. Even when your mind is a battlefield and every breath feels like war, I will breathe with you. I may not be much, but for you—I will be bulletproof. Breathe.
-MC
This is for the ones who see through the demons. The ones who love fiercely, even when the world calls them foolish. The ones who stand in the storm, holding on when everyone else has let go.
To those who fight battles no one else can see, who carry wounds that don’t always show. To those who have been called crazy for believing, for staying, for refusing to give up. I see you. You are not alone.
Loving someone through the darkness is a weight that can break even the strongest souls. It’s questioning your own sanity, screaming into silence, standing in the fire because walking away would burn even more. It’s knowing that sometimes, the only thing keeping them here is you.
And for those still fighting—when it hurts too much to keep going, but it hurts more to let go—remember this: You are strength. You are light. You are beauty through the scars.
Not all angels have wings. Some just refuse to give up.
Angels Without Wings
I have fought. I am still fighting. We are fighting—for healing, for love, for the life we still believe is possible. I've fallen more times than I can count, and I've looked into the darkness and wanted to let it take me. Everything—logic, life, the world—has told me to walk away. But something won’t let me. Love? Maybe. Some say it’s the devil’s work, keeping me bound to a war I should surrender. But love isn’t always light and easy..
Sometimes, love is standing in the wreckage, frantically looking for something to grab onto. And when you find nothing, screaming into the darkness that has slowly become your friend. Because the love born in the darkness is different from the love born in the light. Those who have loved in the dark are truly fearless—because every move risks facing the unknown. Because every step forward risks falling deeper. And still, we move.
He is not a bad person. The truth is, he’s one of the most deeply beautiful souls I’ve ever known. He has a heart bigger than most and has sacrificed his freedom—willingly—to protect me more than once. But he is also deeply wounded. Broken in ways that aren’t always visible. Misunderstood in a world that doesn't know what to do with people like him.
He was failed—by those who should have loved him, by systems that claimed they would help, and by a society quicker to punish than to understand.
Yes, he fed his addiction by dragging me under with him. And yes, there are scars on me that will never fully disappear. But even at the peak of his storm, I saw him—really saw him—fighting through it, trying to protect me from the very part of himself that terrified him most.
Tears streaming down his face, hands shaking, signing "I'm sorry"—not because he got caught, but because he couldn’t stop it.
Even as I begged him to run—knowing he'd be taken back to the one place that haunted him most—he stood firm. He fought every instinct to disappear, because he knew that once he was gone, we were safe. And that mattered more to him than his own freedom.
That kind of courage, even buried in pain, deserves to be seen.
Mental health is still seen as taboo. But why? Why is it easier for society to condemn than to understand? Why do we silence the stories that need the most compassion?
We don’t hide broken bones—so why do we hide broken minds?
So for now, we wait. The boys and I. We are here. Breathing. Holding space for a future that hasn’t arrived yet. They were promised adventures on the coast, salty air and crashing waves. And we’ll get there— but not without him.
And yes—every photo on this page is real. That’s us. It’s not always bad. It’s not always good. But it’s real.
Love doesn’t live in black and white. It lives in the gray. In the moments between the storms. In the stillness after chaos. In the choice to keep believing when everyone else has walked away.
This is our love. This is our fight. This is our chaos. And we’re still here—breathing
