A world without your love is the world I find myself dwelling in. The lights were turned off when you closed your eyes forever. Alone here in the darkness I wait for you in my dreams. In anticipation seeing your beautiful face. Longing to hear your soft voice whisper those beautiful three words “I Love You”. I live in this world cold cruel and dead without your kind touch, without your encouragement. I don’t want to stay in this world without you anymore. I want to be where you are, dancing in your light. I want to stay in this light embraced in your loving arms within your unconditional love only a mother can give.
This short is inspired by my Mother who was special tough lady. Every year on my birthday she would say “And what does this St. Patty Day girl want for birthday dinner?” The answer is always the same; fried chicken, mashed potatoes, string beans and yellow cake with chocolate icing. Wanting and getting are two different things in our household. I always ended up getting corn beef, cabbage, cornbread and Carmel cake. My mother knew I’m not a fan of corn beef and cabbage. I use to get so angry with her but now I wish I could have that dinner one more time with her smile. My mother who bravery is unmatched. Who had the courage to stand tall in a world that try to make her small. She’s one of a kind.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and yet as I stand here looking at the mess in the mirror I beg to differ. I’m not a beauty nor do I feel pretty. What I see is quite the opposite. I see ugly, useless, dirty person with no future. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as the actress that grace the silver screen. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as those models who are splashed on the cover of sports magazines. I wish I can be pretty, as pretty as the girl sitting across from me on the bus. I wish I had better eyes to see what you see a beautiful girl.
Just recently a really good friend of mine well more like a champion informed me that our thirty year high school reunion is happening this August. He asked if I was plan on going. I paused then responded with I don’t know. It’s always difficult task going back to high school. I can imagine it’s a tough time for most but for me it was my living hell nightmarish prison that I thought I would never escape. The anxiety of getting to school was a nightmare. I spent four years with a bunch of miserable assholes who pride themselves on being assholes becoming the target of many vicious attacks. My four years were spent dodging bullets, ducking hand grenades and digging deep trenches to hide in. Why on earth would I want to volunteer to spend one evening reliving that?
Mommy please take my hand, hold it tight. I’m scared I won’t live through the night. These voices speak to me tell me to do things I don’t want to do. Their force, the powerful voices commends me to tell you this truth. I don’t want to live anymore. My behavior has caused so much pain. I don’t want you to cry anymore, but these powerful voices I can’t ignore anymore. If you can just sleep here tonight and hold me tight maybe they will go away.
I sit here in my favorite red chair drinking my blueberry coffee from my favorite cup staring out the open window as the cool breeze hit my face, my thoughts speaking to me what seem to be in foreign languages. Trying to control and pin down my thinking is a process that is hard especially when my thoughts are all over the place. Sometimes I fear I’m losing grip on reality my mind is playing the ultimate role head-lining act of some cornball carnival,the main attraction of some freakish side-show.
“Ladies and Gents step right up to this here attraction watch how this manic-depressive handles a meltdown.“
The rain falls gently touching the skin of the naked earth. The trees stripped of their leaves exposing their bare bark. Nature enjoying the gentle rain fall like a woman taking a long hot shower. Soaked, the tall green grass shiver in the brisk cool winter breeze and I alone with my thoughts watching as mother nature give us a show taking center stage delighting us with her beauty. So overwhelmed, I can’t help but to feel small in this equation as I am too naked.
“I’m going to Grandma and to Grandpa’s too. I’m going to Grandma wondering what to do. I’m going to Grandma please meet me there and I shall be all so happy apond thanksgiving day. We shall have coffee so shall we. We shall have pumpkin and tea, we shall everything all so nice when we get to Grandma’s house.”
A song sang through generations of Carroll’s family in honor of the women who shaped our lives. This short story is inspired by the love of the one woman who is the glue of our family. Through her guidence, faith and dispiline she taught us respect and love. What way to honor my Grandma on Valentine’s day then sharing a memory of love.
Feeling a little tested today. I must say at the start of a long week our community took a huge blow. A well-known and liked celebrity Kristoff St. John passed by suicide. He and his son who also committed suicide suffered from mental illness. It’s always sad to see someone lose a battle whether from a disease like cancer or in this case mental illness it’s just really a defeat. I truly feel terribly sad for his family and those left behind. This blog isn’t about that this blog is about dealing with people with a nasty heart. I am in a situation at work where I deal with people who has a nasty heart. The leader and her minions “The She-Devil” and her “hell hounds” love to push boundaries, pour gasoline on the fire and wanting so badly to pull the trigger. She embodies misery but not only that the best way to give description is she’s the devil. There’s too much pain and aggravation in this world to deal with people of this nature. It’s like your standing on solid ground then the ground crumbles disappearing before your feet. Your looking down into this sink-hole staring at these devilish red eyes. Then hearing that sadistic laugh as she sick her hounds. Seeing those rotten rabbit-dog eyes, preparing for the worst you wondering how did you get here. This is a crash course lesson on how people can so petty.
Today I had an interesting conversation about recovering from my meltdown. I call my little manic depression “My Chum” and I showcase what my Chum does. If you follow me, you know I speak openly about my disorder. The conversation I had I was asked an unusual question. Sitting here drinking my coffee waiting for my banana nut bread I was asked when my Chum comes for a visit what do I carry in purse? I’m like Homer said what? Dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to say. For once I had no clever comeback or no witty remark. I have never been asked that. I got to thinking what do I carry in my purse when dealing with my Chum? This is the topic of today’s blog post.
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