about

I’m Steve. British by passport, damaged by experience, and inconveniently still alive. This is the space between therapy sessions. It’s a place for messy thoughts, haunted memories, and the occasional moment of clarity that feels almost like progress. It’s not pretty. But it’s honest.

It’s less “live, laugh, love” and more “survive, spiral, overshare.” My coping mechanisms include writing, self-deprecating humour, and pretending everything’s fine until it explodes in paragraph form.

Survivor of childhood abuse, champion over-discloser, and full-time curator of mental clutter. I write because I don’t know what else to do with the screaming, and apparently shouting into the void is cheaper than private healthcare.

Expect open wounds, inappropriate humour, and emotional whiplash. If you’re looking for healing wrapped in Pinterest quotes and yoga metaphors, you’ve come to the wrong cave. This is for the ones who are still crawling through it, one disassociated paragraph at a time.

Tea helps. But not much.