Short Story #3

It is not often that I come down to earth. In all honesty I don’t think I ever have. I am always spinning and whirling through the cosmos, kissing the moon every night and the sun every morning. I don’t come down to earth, I just graze the atmosphere. Slowing… slowing… stopped. For this blink of an eye, an insignificant second I am not caught up in my celestial party but instead I am observing life on earth in all of it’s glories and miseries.

Once I stopped above a forest somewhere. I don’t know the time, or location, only that it was a forest. It seemed to exist outside of the normal realm of existence just as I do. While paused I bore witness to the hatching of three bird eggs in their nest. The baby birds had decided that they were ready to meet their strange little world and so had freed themselves from their shells.  I whispered about it to the stars that night. I swear that they burnt a little brighter.

That was one of the earths glories.

But where there is happiness there must be misery also, for how else are you to appreciate happiness? The misery I witnessed was somewhere very barren. Lots of mud, no sun, and not an awful lot of comfort to be seen on any of the faces I was inspecting. Once more I’m unable to tell you of the time or location. All I can tell you is the look on the adult faces, or rather the lack of expression. The blankness reminded me of the black holes that I must avoid in my bliss. Hundreds of people somehow plastered with nothing. Babies squirming, and small children drawing in the mud and clutching their clothes tight to their shoulders. It made my stomach twist up very tight. For a long time afterwards I couldn’t attach myself to any shooting stars or comets. Instead I hovered over the bad place and silently hoped for their troubles to end.

There have been cities full of rioting, crowds of mourners, parades, weddings. So much pain. It should drive me away, it does most. But the endurance of the people I see is fascinating to me. I’ve never stayed in one place for longer than a day on earth, I have no concept of love or struggle, pain or joy, anger or mischievousness. In some ways the people of earth are much more volatile than any supernova.

Creators and Jobs

I’m a big believer in doing what you want to do and what will make you happy. Unfortunately nowadays it’s impossible to survive on twenty bucks here, and ten bucks there. So that makes it difficult for those of us who begin to suffocate at the mere thought of having some boring office job.

Of course this is all our fault because we’re entitled millennials who have no work ethic 😉

Continue reading “Creators and Jobs”

Patchwork People

Does it ever seem like parts of your personality don’t match up to your life and/or experiences? Like the random splash of colour on a monochromatic scheme (didn’t mean for that to be so dark) or kind of like you’re made up of patchwork traits that come from your alternate selves.

I think of these traits as snippets from my ‘parallel existences’ if you will. The five other lives that I feel I should have had, as they’d make more sense and match up better with my personality. Continue reading “Patchwork People”

Writers Block????

I haven’t been able to write (and finish) anything creative in so so long. Not only is it frustrating, it’s also really upsetting. I’ve always been first and foremost a writer, it’s like one of my defining personality traits. But the metaphorical well of ideas has dried up.

Nothing quite like being a writer without anything to write about huh? Like trying to climb a flight of stairs when the first ten steps are missing. Continue reading “Writers Block????”

To My 10 Year Old Self

It is your eighteenth birthday in half an hour, that milestone you’ve been waiting your whole life for just because you were told that you should. In a few months, little me, your life is going to get very difficult. I won’t lie to you. It’ll get seemingly impossible for a long time. But as all of those things have already happened to me, I have to reassure you that you are much much stronger than you believe, even if nobody else ever tells you that. Your Continue reading “To My 10 Year Old Self”

On Anxiety

 

I have had severe anxiety since I was 11. It wasn’t diagnosed officially until I was sixteen, and got given medication for it just after my seventeenth birthday. The only reason I was approved for medication was because my anxiety was affecting my concentration in school; not because it was cripplingly debilitating and limited my ability to function as a human being.

“According to the DSM 5, a panic attack is characterized by four or more of the following symptoms: Continue reading “On Anxiety”

Short story #2- Amelia

 

 

Amelia

Something has occurred to me, as I sit in my room on my ward in this hospital. I know nothing sensible could possibly occur to me but I need to get this off my chest. You see Amelia, I don’t actually know if I’m seeing things or not. I hear things, and I feel things, whispers and ghostly touches skimming across the back of my neck, like spiders. I think I see things. They tell me I don’t, but then who was moving things in the attic?

You understand Amelia. I’m not crazy. I swear it. I would Continue reading “Short story #2- Amelia”

There Is A Difference.

Little rant.

When I say that I’m tired, and you say “So am I, deal with it” you are failing to understand that tired as a normal healthy person, and tired as a chronically ill person, are two totally different things. We are experiencing two entirely different types of ‘tired’.

No matter how  little sleep you say you got it is not the same thing. Stop trying to insist that you might possibly understand the type of exhaustion that comes with unending illnesses, and be grateful that you don’t experience it. “I’m sure it’s not that bad” or “You’re exaggerating” or “How can you be tired you haven’t done anything particularly hard all day” are the most irritating things to hear, because you don’t know and you probably won’t. So shut up. Just zip it.

You don’t experience the constant temperature fluctuations, the side effects of medication,  the constant monitoring of your condition(s), the close to useless immune system, or the side effects of the condition itself.

Don’t talk about something that you don’t understand.

Bittersweet

 

Just a short story

I could write an entire novel about how much I loved him, about how it seems that a bittersweet memory stings just a little more than a plain bitter thought. Bittersweet memories lodge themselves in your brain, letting you remember the sweetness, but never without the accompanying ache. He and I will be carrying around each other’s stories forever, and I can’t help but wonder if he will still spare me a thought when he’s seventy. I know I will remember Continue reading “Bittersweet”