Embracing Life’s New Chapter

The Reality of the Void: When Absence Thinks It’s a Superpower

It is a beautiful morning here in Tucson. I put some light jazz on the Echo while I sit on the patio this morning before work, enjoying my morning coffee before most of the world wakes up. There is a distinct kind of magic in these early hours—the air is still crisp, the desert is quiet, and I can just be. On the patio, the birds are incredibly active today, loudly using their little voices to greet the day. I was watching them scatter across the yard and realized I need to buy them some bird seed; I think this time around we are going to get them a premium mix of seeds to keep them happy and singing.

Before sitting down to catch my breath, I tackled my usual early chores. I’ve already cleaned the ferrets’ room, scrubbed out Peppermint the cat’s litter pan, and taken care of the normal morning routine stuff for my three dogs—Chloe, Winston, and Kona—and the rest of the ferret crew, Blue, Jasmine, Alfie, and Mimzie. Getting my hands moving and keeping their space fresh is therapeutic. It’s all part of the normal morning routine as I slowly, deliberately, come back to living my life and reclaiming my peace.

Yesterday, I got the call that my mom’s remains are on their way to me, and that hit me hard again. It stops you dead in your tracks. To think that our entire lives we worry about the grind—working, paying bills, rushing through life, losing weight, building families, and accumulating things—only to end up possibly passing away alone and ending up in a black box or an urn. That part threw me to my absolute core: eight pounds. How does an entire lifetime of laughter, struggles, memories, and presence reduce down to just eight pounds?

It forces you to look at the world with painfully clear vision. Our physical belongings don’t go with us. When the dust settles, they either get picked apart by what I call the “vultures”—the people who suddenly appear out of the woodwork wanting things for themselves—or they just get discarded and taken to the dump. And the money? If it isn’t explicitly left to family members, the government steps right in, freezes the bank accounts, and claims it for themselves. I have learned so much from the stark, unvarnished experience of Mom’s passing, and it has permanently shifted my perspective. There are things I want to do differently now, and things I am already doing differently to ensure my life is lived on my own terms, surrounded only by what truly matters.

I am doing the absolute best I can to process all of this. The truth is, I was completely rushed to get her final arrangements done, forced to sprint through a deeply sacred moment just because it made my sister happy. But that rush is over. Now, I finally have the time and the space to actually start processing this grief. I am giving myself full permission to feel every single shade of it. There are times where I will be absolutely pissed, times where I will break down and cry, times where I will laugh my ass off at the absurdity of life, and times where I will just want to scream and go completely amuck through a rollercoaster of raw emotions and feelings. I refuse to perform grief to make others comfortable. I am going to talk about it, face it, and feel it; I cannot and will not just forget about it or pretend the cruel, abusive words hurled my way never happened.

Right now, I am genuinely struggling with the thought of spreading her ashes. It’s a heavy decision, and I’m not rushing it. When I am finally ready to do it, I want it to be in an undeniably beautiful place—a permanent sanctuary where I know I am not moving from, so I can always go, sit quietly, and be with her. Not that I can’t sit and connect with her right now, of course. Even without her physically here in the room, she is deeply woven into the fabric of who I am, and I carry her with me every single day. But once her remains arrive tomorrow, it feels like she will be home with me just a little bit more.

Through all of this, I am learning that blood family and DNA are absolutely not everything. Sharing a bloodline does not automatically grant someone a soul, a conscience, or a permanent place at your table. In fact, we’ve all seen people try to rebrand their own toxic, empty behavior. They cannot handle the reality of their own internal bankruptcy, so they create a loud, theatrical fiction to overcompensate. In a recent, almost comical display of delusion, my sister actually went out of her way to have an image created of herself, complete with superhero armor, dark purple energy blasts, and the title “THE VOID” stamped across her chest.

It is the ultimate hallmark of a narcissist: taking a label that actually defines their absolute lack of substance, empathy, and human connection, and trying to twist it into a badge of edgy honor. She wants to look like a fierce, formidable comic-book character controlling dark, supernatural forces, because looking into a real mirror—and facing the reality of being a cruel, small, and deeply insecure person—is simply too terrifying for her ego. She spent actual time and energy commissioning a digital fantasy costume to trick the world into thinking she is a powerhouse, entirely missing the irony that she chose a title that literally confirms she is completely empty inside.

She sent me a text saying, “The next time you are lonely don’t reach out to me.” I had to laugh out loud last night at that remark. The sheer, staggering God complex it takes to genuinely believe that I would ever attempt to reach out to her in a moment of vulnerability. AS IF!!! First of all, I haven’t felt lonely in a very long time. Secondly, if that time ever did come, she is the absolute last entity on this earth I would ever contact.

When you really dissect it, her behavior is a textbook psychological defense mechanism. Toxic, narcissistic individuals cannot handle the reality of their own emptiness, so they build a grandiose fantasy to mask it. She took a label meant to describe her absolute lack of substance and tried to turn it into an identity, a weapon, a literal costume. She commissioned an AI image to paint herself as a cosmic “super heroine” controlling dark forces, because facing the mirror—facing the fact that she is simply a cruel, small person who abandoned her family when it mattered most—is too much for her fragile ego to bear. She is playing dress-up with the word “Void” because she thinks it sounds edgy, powerful, and untouchable. But let’s pull back the curtain on this AI-generated fantasy and talk about what a void actually is in the real, scientific world. Because far from being a badge of honor or a symbol of strength, it is the ultimate definition of complete insignificance.

The Scientific Truth About a Void

In physics and the natural world, a void isn’t a powerful entity. It is defined entirely by what it lacks:

• Total Emptiness: By definition, a void is a space entirely devoid of matter. It contains absolutely nothing. It has no substance, no weight, no backbone, and no structure.
• An Absolute Zero: In thermodynamics, a perfect vacuum or void has no heat, no energy, and can sustain no life. It cannot create, it cannot love, and it cannot grow; it can only exist as a cold, hollow lack of something else.
• A Cosmic Inconsequence: In astronomy, “supervoids” are vast spaces between galaxies that contain little to no dark matter or stars. They aren’t terrifying black holes that pull things in with gravitational power; they are simply the vast, boring stretches of nothingness where nothing happens. They are the background noise of the universe—unimportant and entirely ignored.

The True Meaning in Life

When I call her The Void, it isn’t a tribute to some fierce, comic-book persona. It is a literal, scientific description of her place in my life.

Calling someone a void means they are an utter, complete blank space. It means they have no real meaning, no positive impact, and no substance whatsoever. They don’t contribute to the warmth, the love, or the safety of a family; they just take up physical space in the world and breathe air that would be better used by literally anyone else. It is a profoundly sad, pathetic state of human existence to realize you are simply a pocket of nothingness to the very people who should have mattered most to you.

It was never meant to be a funny joke or a cute little moniker, yet her twisted ego went completely out of its way to turn it into a theatrical “super heroine” identity. It is truly sick, demented, twisted, and demonic. It reveals a level of narcissistic, psychopathic, and sociopathic behavior that borders on completely unhinged. When you have to invent a digitized, fictional world where you wield cosmic lightning just to hide the fact that you failed as a sister and a human being in the real world, you are deeply unwell.

Honestly? I feel pity for her. I really do. It must be exhausting to constantly run from your own hollow core. She is frantically trying to wrap herself in a loud fantasy of cosmic power because, deep down in the dark, she knows exactly how empty, cold, and utterly insignificant her reality truly is. She is screaming for attention, trying to manifest importance out of a vacuum, while the rest of us are out here actually living, healing, and building real, substantial lives.

The Bridge is Ash and the Chapter is Closed

I am thankful that I have a phenomenal tribe of beautiful, supportive women whom I talk to daily, which is why I don’t get lonely. This past weekend, I put myself out there to say hello to people and greet them with smiles, and the energy was awesome. The world reflects back the light you put into it—something a void could never understand. I even met with my manager yesterday who told me I am a great asset to the company and a great part of her team—and I’ve only been there since March! Real recognition, real connection, and real worth.

So please, do not flatter yourself by telling me, “when you are lonely don’t contact me.” No honey, don’t you worry for a single second—I will never, ever contact you again. You can take your own words of “fuck off” and go do exactly that to yourself. I never needed you in my life to be honest. I used to subscribe to the old fairy tale that blood family and DNA were everything, but this entire experience has shattered that illusion. Blood is just biology; it doesn’t guarantee loyalty, respect, or love. Now that mom has passed, the final, fragile thread keeping us connected is gone. I have absolutely no reason to hold onto the exhausting thought of having a sister in your state, and I am entirely relieved of the burden of ever trying to make amends with you again.

Let me make one thing unequivocally, crystal clear: she is no longer in my life. That door is not just shut—it is locked, bolted, and the key has been melted down and thrown away. That fucking bridge is burned to the ground, the ashes have been scattered to the desert wind, and it will never, ever be rebuilt. There is a profound freedom in finally walking away from genetic obligation. I can say with absolute certainty that I want to be a much better person than she, mom, and most of the family ever were. Their path was paved with manipulation and abuse, and I choose a path of peace, authenticity, and real joy. I was much better off when I didn’t have any of them in my life, and returning to that separation feels like waking up from a long nightmare.

So to The Void, your family, or your little circle of friends watching and whispering from the sidelines: keep playing dress-up with your pathetic comic-book graphics. Keep manufacturing your digital illusions of grandeur. By the way, just in case you think you can control the narrative, let it be known that I kept every single text message. I have every single exchange between you and mom, you and me, and mom and me. They are all completely saved, securely backed up, timestamped, and cataloged. Go ahead and try to twist reality to make it look like you were the one who was treated wrong. Try to play the victim to whoever will listen. I have the receipts. Trust me, those messages are not pretty—there are no sunshines, lollipops, or rainbows in those threads. They are quite gross, entirely toxic, and honestly, it is the sheer ugliness of those exact exchanges that drives me to be a much better, kinder, and truer person than you could ever dream of being.

You wanted to be a void? Congratulations. You got your wish. You are officially nothing to me, and you have no place in my world ever again.

A Note to My Beautiful Readers: Finding the Light

Lastly, I want to say a heartfelt thank you, and a gentle apology, to the beautiful souls out there who are reading this and seeing my raw fury come out in a post. Grief isn’t pretty. It isn’t a neat, organized line, and it certainly doesn’t always wear a polite smile. Sometimes, healing requires an absolute explosion of truth. I desperately needed to write this today, to lay it all bare, and purge this toxicity entirely out of my system. Now that I finally have the quiet time and space to process the massive weight of losing my mom, getting these things out is how I clear the air. It’s how I sweep away the debris so I can actually breathe.

Exposing the darkness is just the first step in reclaiming the light. Writing this was the final closure I needed to leave the past exactly where it belongs—in the rearview mirror.

As I sit here on my patio, finishing my coffee while the Tucson sun begins to warm the desert, the anger is already melting away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I am looking forward, not back. I am choosing to focus on the beautiful, vibrant reality of my life today. I am choosing my incredible tribe of women who lift me up every single day. I am choosing my hard work, my amazing team, my music, and the beautiful, chaotic love of my eight furbabies.

The void is gone, and in its place is a life that is full, genuine, and completely mine. Thank you for walking this path with me, for letting me be real, and for standing with me in the light. Here’s to fresh starts, burned bridges, and a beautiful day ahead.