Day 231: Cognitive Fracture

Day 231: Cognitive Fracture

“Focus is like water—I hold it gently, but still it seeps away.”

—One Step Collective

Some days, it feels like my brain is made of static—thoughts scatter before they land, sentences break apart mid-flight. I hear someone talking. I even respond. But the words? They don’t stay.

It’s not laziness. It’s not disinterest.

It’s damage.

From years of addiction. From ADHD that went unchecked for too long. From six months of isolation, trapped in an RV with nothing but my thoughts, trying to outrun a silence that got louder with time.

Today, I stared at the same sentence ten times and couldn’t tell you what it said. I sat with a book in my lap, eyes moving but comprehension gone. I’m trying—trying so hard—to finish something I’ve been chasing for two decades. But my brain won’t sit still. And then comes the shame. The self-doubt. The voice that says maybe I’m just not built for this.

But that ember inside—the one this image captures—still glows.

Dim, maybe. Flickering, sure. But alive.

This isn’t about winning. This is about not disappearing.

It’s about letting the fractured, scattered version of me still take up space.

It’s about survival when no one sees the battle.

I’ve been through this before—during the drugs, during the fall, during the loneliest nights. And I’m still here.

So I remind myself:

It’s not that I’m not trying.

It’s that my mind is tired—but my spirit isn’t done.

Because I’m still here.

Still showing up.

Still trying.

And somehow, I’m still writing my way out.

One Step. One Punch. One Round. 🌹

—Your Fellow Traveler