Humanity
Dissociation, Chaos and love in my mind.
Day 1 This book is about my life, I will be writing this book as I would talk in real life, so sometimes it may be hard to follow, so challenge is on you if you can keep up or not. My life has been full of ups and downs, right now I can mainly just remember the downs, but I am working through this with my therapist. I will not be writing my name or the names involved in my life, so the characters in my book will be names I have made up,I am not about to get sued for telling my story. lol! If you are still up to the challenge to follow along with my mind. Welcome to my life.
By Ashley Richardson4 years ago in Confessions
Turning Split Soles
Backstory - When I was younger, I did ballet and ice skated. After a year or so of learning both, my parents had me choose between the two. At the young age of 5 I choose to continue in ice skating. For a long time I would look back on that decision and regret the choice, because the adult in me wanted to be a professional ballerina, or at least some modified version of that. It haunted me for a long time, I held resentment and dreamed of the life I had thrown away as a child. Melodrama followed me, as I dreamt of this opportunity that had been taken away from me. It took giving birth to my daughter and enrolling her in ballet to realize how ridiculous I had been. My parents wanted me to pursue one thing and excel in it, I got it now, as a parent, I understood what they did. I may have been young but I was given the choice, it was MY choice, and I CHOOSE to skate.
By C.Z. Munu 4 years ago in Confessions
Brill
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all on the stage. They weren't only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there; she was part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week--so as not to be late for the performance--and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!" The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress--are ye?" And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; "Yes, I have been an actress for a long time." The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill--a something, what was it?--not sadness--no, not sadness--a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches--they would come in with a kind of accompaniment--something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful--moving...And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we understand, she thought--though what they understood she didn't know. Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen. "No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't." "But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?" asked the boy. "Why does she come here at all--who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?" "It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting." "Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: "Tell me, ma petite chere--" "No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet." ... On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker's. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present--a surprise--something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way. But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room--her room like a cupboard--and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.
By Ram4 years ago in Confessions
San Francisco Extremes
The night heat is heavy and brutal. The beer cold. I pull a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and toss it on the bar. Market street is heaving with people. In the sky, lightning zips up clouds, but no rain is falling. The air is burning, ash covering cars. I think of the firefighters north of here. What they would give for a rest and a cold beer.
By harry hogg4 years ago in Confessions
If You Let Fear Control You, It'll Bring The Worst Out Of You
A great mistake we make during self-reflection is, trying to understand our emotions separately. It's true that when we feel angry as an example, it's hard not to just let that anger get the best out of us. Thus, once the damages have been done, we solely focus on our anger.
By Rabih4 years ago in Confessions
Not Your Average Rant
I told myself I wasn’t going to sit down and write tonight. However, my mind is going chaotically wild, and I can’t stop it. The first strain of thoughts has to do with COVID. I know. I know. “We don’t talk about COVID.”. But why? Have you become so worried about what others think? Or is it because you still believe that it is fake? Or that it is a more aggressive version of the flu? No matter what you think of COVID, why is it that we can’t talk about it? Someone will jump down your throat about what you think about it if we do. Don’t get me started on masks. The amount of dirty looks I receive for wearing one is ridiculous. They don’t know why I wear it, yet they can’t control their expressions. I don’t wear it because I am not vaccinated, and I don’t wear it because I am freshly vaccinated. Quite honestly, I don’t feel like it is anyone’s business.
By E.G.4 years ago in Confessions
Death and Taxes
Take care of your own room; change your own ways of being. Take baby steps AWAY from the adults and PLEASE once and for all, abandon the species in its larval state, and embrace evolution towards becoming creatures no longer held captive by the laws of physics, or politics, or identity or gender. Make this day the beginning of an open story that you write, instead of passively colluding in a fictional character with your given name and apparent body, a fictional identity assembled by the expectations and needs of others. The greatest possible freedom you can ever have is the freedom to realise that you can be anybody, ANY-BODY, and any character, any identity, any creativity that you truly desire. The only limit to what we can become is the limit language puts upon us in its service of control. All hail the PANDROGYNE messenger of a possible New Way On. — Genesis P-Orridge
By James Garside4 years ago in Confessions
Shattered
After hitting my 30's I feel my life has fractured into several pieces of my self. I am a mother of 4 kids and married to my best friends who very recently became blind in 2020. a traumatic accident with a handgun took his sight leaving him blind for life. When I was younger I felt I could take on the world now, I feel shattered in this place. I never truly felt I belonged in this timeline to begin with. But even more now than ever. with all that's gone wrong in my life and all the struggle's I've over come. Stronger I may have become but at the same time I've become distant to the world and how its shaped its self for the worst I think any ways. When Covid hit in 2020 the world became so greedy, cold, and anti-social to everyone. the more I get up in the mornings the more I don't even want to try any more. Making friends is even harder to accomplish not only for me and my husband but for our kids too. Although I'm strong and egger the world is so hard to be more than successful. For years I have been trying at my dreams to bust and keep falling in the cycles of what's and whys. Watching others lie through success and I cant' even succeed in honesty. All I truly want to do is succeed in this life and give my children a chance to dream too. I have goals in my life to not only give to my children but for my husband as well to try and give him a second chance in life. It is so hard to achieve these even with all the resources out their and hard work. I have been trying so hard that in the middle of it I am so stressed that I'm never doing enough for my family. Being so shattered in this life it's like putting a broken mirror back together piece by piece. What I am trying to do is reflecting back at me in away I feel is empty or meaningless. As a parent and a caregiver to my blind husband life is a challenge but I don't regret my choices to stand by his side. I am just lost in this situation and just thinking to my self why's and how's in my current situation. Will it ever be enough or will this feeling of the broken feeling will ever lift up. Will my goals ever be an achievement, will they ever be enough, will they have a good meaning to my life's goals to give more to my family. I watch people around me being able to achieve their dreams and find what their looking for. Its like my family cant find away out what feels like a curse. Never giving up is one my biggest strengths but at times I feel I'm going to snap and brake down and cry because its never ending in the disappointments of this life. The world is becoming a dark whole of hateful people that don't seem to show remorse, sympathy, or help to those who really actually need it. It all just seems so dark and depressing along with isolated. Sorry for complaining about this world but i know some where I'm not the only person that sees this world going down the dark path. I am certain I'm not the only family struggling in a place that feels so empty and divided out from class to class, high or low or even by your ways of living.
By Megan Geren4 years ago in Confessions
Thankful for Growing Up on the Move.
My how school has changed over the years. Twenty years is a lot of time for change to take place, and it should continue to grow and move forward. There is one thing I hope never changes, and that is teachers. Teachers help shape the world in ways some people never even realized. We all have at least one someone we can say helped shape us into the humans we are today. Someone who showed us an interest we didn't even know we had, someone who cared enough to hear us out, and help raise us up. This someone could be a family member, family-friend, or sometimes even a complete stranger. Often this someone is an amazing teacher.
By Niecee May4 years ago in Confessions
How life is
Honestly, life sucks, I was going to write something too personal that happened recently, but I decided not to, because it is too recent honestly, and every time I think of what happened I just want to cry and hate myself more for what happened. So, I am going to put this put this out there; you don't know what happens behind closed doors, and when someone shows no interest in talking to you or being around you then you shouldn't continue to talk to them or be around them, they have their reasons.
By Audrey DeLong4 years ago in Confessions
It’s Okay to Not Be Okay
Black people: It’s okay to not be okay. She’s a strong black woman. That’s something you always hear when you see a successful black woman in public or a woman who has had to overcome trauma and come out relatively okay. “Strong”. Like we’re superhuman or something. Like we wear capes all day long or are masked crusaders coming to save people at night. While that all sounds lovely and perhaps a new character for DC or Marvel to delve into, it’s not the truth. Like, at all.
By Tee Richardson 4 years ago in Confessions
