Just the way we all do, I am growing older and older. Am I becoming wiser? I am not sure. I am becoming more me though. If my depression taught me something, it is that I am okay the way I am. I am far from being perfect. I am not the most intelligent, the most interesting, the most beautiful woman on Earth, but I am unique and I am me.
My emotions take a strong hold on me. Too strong. I love too deeply. I don’t regret and I don’t hate.
Everyone looking at me sees someone different.
Today, I am 35,5 years old and holding on. I am breathing. I am existing. I am me.
Instead of 26 hours, I spent 40 hours at work this week. And I always had to be there early. Even today I got up at 6am to be part of a conference at work, whereas you will not see me up before 9:30 on a usual Saturday. I am exhausted.
But, I will not complain, because I am also happy. You read that right. The one who is always (or most often) whining, is happy.
I’ve learned to let go. And truthfully, I switched one addiction for another. But that’s okay. Because it makes me smile. I am feeling whole. I am beautiful. I am intelligent. I am funny. I am happy.
How often can I truly say it and mean it? I admit that I am scared to jinx it. And I know that this feeling won’t last forever, but it has been with me for over a week now and I am embracing it. And yes, doubts and low self-esteem tried to spoil it all, but I didn’t allow it.
I am sharing this, simply because I want to show you that not every day is bad. Some days and weeks are really good. And they are even better when we let go of toxic people and embrace our uniqueness.
I ask you to love me. Because I deserve it. Often, I don’t have love for myself. For every quality, I see two flaws. Some days though, some days the qualities have a lot more weight.
Love yourself. Be happy. Allow people to love you. Be daring and step out of your comfort zone. You never know what you might find.
Cathy – the woman who is stepping off her soapbox now. 💜
PS: I am having a week off work. Yay! I need it.
As long as there is a brain in my mind and cum in my balls, I will never forget you ~ anonymous
Welcome to the third and last quote of this challenge. I was nominated by the lovely Paul to share three quotes. I like Paul. Read his blog and you will know why I do. Go! Dive head first into some decent writing. And bring pizza. He likes pizza.
- Thank the person who nominated you
- Post a quote for 3 consecutive days (1 quote each day)
- Nominate 3 new bloggers each day
Now, about my quote: it is crude and raw and raunchy. It lacks respect and at the same time, it promises the addressee to be remembered forever. Romantic. It is not a publicly known quote – it is something that was said to me a while ago; a lifetime ago, that’s why I consciously chose to keep the author of it private. Still, I love it so much, because it has meaning. Of course, it is not a quote you can share with everyone; some people might be disgusted or offended. (If you feel offended, then so be it. I will not apologise at this point in time.)
My last nominees for this challenge are:
I hope you enjoyed this. And for everyone who is disappointed that the quotes I chose were not as deep or touching as they expected them to be, I apologise. It has to do with a tired and detached mind.
Good night and see you soon. Thank you so much for your ongoing support. It means more than I can say.
A new day, but the same old compulsive behavior leads Connor’s routines. The book Thomas brought back is still lying on the coffee table. It is still in the same plastic bag. Still at a perfect angle with the table. Connor starts laundry and cleans his small living space before he takes a shower that is meticulously timed. And then, it happens. Out of the blue, Connor feels paralyzed. There is no way back and no way forth. He is frozen in motion. Numb in his mind. Nothing is askew. Everything is alright. Everything but Connor. For the first time, he realizes that there is a world in front of his door that can’t be filed and organized and that is okay. There are people who don’t need him, no matter how much he wants it to need him. His students don’t need him. This life doesn’t need him. This world doesn’t need him. Connor hasn’t thought about self-harm and suicide in a long while. Now he does, and the thoughts scar him. They are liberating too. What if this numbness is okay? What if the world doesn’t stop if he is not there? And he will not know anyway, will he? Connor’s book is still on the coffee table. Thomas’s text is still unanswered. Cars are still honking outside, and the clouds are still heavy with rain. Connor decides to call in sick and go with the flow. Whatever happens, will happen. If it happens to be music, he will play music. If he is inspired to write, he will write. If he needs more sleep, he will sleep. And if he decides not to wake up, then that is okay too.
He begins listening to music:
and finds his red pen to write:
The world doesn’t end without me. Remember me with a smile.
Connor opens a bottle of pills and runs a bath. It doesn’t matter that he just had a shower. Nothing matters. A bottle of water. He turns the bottle so that the label is pointing to the ceiling when he puts it to his lips. The pills have a bitter taste, and he scrunches his nose. But it is okay. He has a goal in his mind. He will take a bath – oh the cliché, and he will become unconscious. He will fall asleep and never wake up. His plan seems safe. But Connor is a thinker. And he knows that he will die of asphyxiation. It will be agony and not romantic at all. His bed isn’t made, and he hasn’t changed the sheets on his bed in two days. There is dust on the mantelpiece and crumbs on the table. Too many things are left undone. Too many things. But he took the pills, and the water is filling the tub.
If I died, would I be worth saving?
Connor pushes send and climbs into the tub. Wearing his clothes. And shoes. Nothing will ever be the same again.
A/N: parts of this chapter came about after reading this blogpost: https://dtwalsh83.wixsite.com/fourcorneredroom/blog/fcr008-a-careworn-heart It made the words easier to flow)
There is a melody in Connor’s thoughts. There is poetry in his mind. Sitting on a bench in a park, he looks like a painting from a different era. Yes, Connor is art. His legs are stretched far from his body, his ankles crossed. A smile is tugging at his lips. From time to time, it is replaced with a frown. Deeply lost in the book, he doesn’t see the ball that is heading right his way. Lost in a world of giants that need to be defeated, and princes who, after slaying dragons, are allowed to marry the king’s daughter… BAM. The round leather collides with Connor’s head, he loses balance, and a laughable shriek escapes his mouth as the full impact of the ball pushes him off the bench. From up close, the grass that is now grazing his cheek has many different shades of green. An observation he stores away for further pondering at a later moment. Internally, Connor courses himself. People are gathering around him, some are pointing their phones in his direction. His cheeks heat with anger and embarrassment, but no tone leaves his lips. In his peripheral vision, he notices red shoes. Red is an angry color. Every color has an emotion for Connor.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” a voice laced with regret and concern whispers. It is followed by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Connor follows the outstretched arm with his eyes, touching a tender spot on his face with his hand. There will be a bruise on his face. Violet and swollen. He gasps when he sees the face of his helper. “It’s not the first time you hurt me. Please, hurt me again.” Brown eyes widen as they connect with Connor’s blue ones and register the words that were said. “It is you.” People are whispering to each other. They are aware of the connection between the two humans in front of them, but how, or why, or when, remains a mystery. Attention spans are reaching an end. Phones are put away. Heads are shaken, and backs are turned. “Connor, I…” Connor lowers his gaze and takes a deep breath. He flinches at the realization that there is still a physical connection between him and his assailant. He tenses at the realization that there is still an emotional connection between him and Thomas. Thomas, who had left him black and bruised before. “No,” Connor whispers to no one in particular, gets his feet back under him and flees the park. He will not be able to ever come back to his favorite spot again. It is soiled with memories. It is soiled with embarrassment. His only regret is that he left his book behind.
Connor is a young man whose locks look best kissed by a storm. The messy mop of dark hair frames a pale face whose highlights are the eyes. His eyes are like ravens in a blue summer’s sky. Girls like his appearance, but not his eccentric mind. Connor is in good shape. It comes from running all the time. But no matter how far he runs, he can never escape his past. Or his thoughts. Or the cloud that travels above his head. Boys like his appearance, but not his weirdness. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t find a way to fit in with his peers. And so, he spends most of his days in his own company. The silence is loud enough to make him feel less lonely. The silence is loud enough to let him lose his mind. He looks at the clouds in the sky. Not for the first time, he wishes to be as light as a raven to leave his place on earth. At night, Connor dreams of flying away, leaving everything behind. At night, Connor’s mind is free. Lost. Never to be found again.
A couple of days ago, I decided that it was time for me to write again. A novel, something I haven’t written in years. I had a story and characters in my head. I had an outline that was partly based on true events and then, out of the blue, I got sidetracked by a different story. One that is a surprise even for me while I write it. Everything is new, even the narrative voice. It is unexpected but not unwelcome. This short story that demands to be written on the spot is not elaborated, it has no structure and the chapters are so short that the story can’t even be considered to be a short story, and yet, there is something appealing in it. At least I think so. It is posted on my Wattpad account. Life Between Clouds and Feathers But I am wondering if I should share it here too. What do you think? Should I post links to the entire chapters or crosspost the chapters here?
About the title:
Life between clouds and feather came to my mind when I was scrolling through my pictures on my phone. I had a couple of pictures of birds that flew in the sky. In one particular photo, the sky was grey and full of clouds. And somehow, in my mind, a connection between thoughts dark as clouds and thoughts light as feathers was made. My mind works in mysterious ways. That picture was used (and heavily edited) to be the cover of my book. I am quite excited about this. I am not sure if it shows 😉
Thank you for your attention… now I just need to hear your thoughts about the above question: share links or share chapters?
Some days existing is hard. Breathing can become a struggle. Being is exhausting. Getting out of bed feels like an unachievable task.
Yesterday a good friend shared a thought with me, and it made total sense. It is about making ones bed in the morning. Here goes…
As I stated above, some days it is hard to find the strength to get out of bed. Making ones bed becomes an insurmountable task. I never bothered to make the beds. I never even considered it. Until we moved, 3 weeks ago. From the first day we lived in our new home, I made the beds. It felt like the right thing to do. Weird and out of character, and yet… The right thing to do. Now, the thought of my friend: if you make the beds, you have a first achievement of the day. Because it is a mundane task, but you did it. And if you had a bad day, you crawl into a made bed at night and you can fall asleep with the fact in mind that you got up that morning and did something. Making the bed was an achievement.
Now, for most people it doesn’t sound like a lot. If you are in a depression, the smallest things become your biggest achievements. A small task can be an insurmountable mountain. (I used the same words twice in two paragraphs, am I losing my mojo or am I just tired?)
It took me a while to admit to my situation. To address it. To ask for help. To speak about it. But it slowly dawns on me that there is no reason to hide the truth.
I am suffering from depression. And it is okay. I am going to be okay. (She said and hadn’t taken her medication in two weeks.)
I am going to undo my made bed, sleeping. Now… Remember, small things can have a huge meaning.