Category Archives: writing workshop

trying.

Past. Present. Future.

Past. Present. Future.

I broke. I am broken. I will break?

I shattered. I am shattered. I will shatter?

I cut. I am wounded. I will heal. (but I have no hope of that….)

Oh. I was hopeful. I hoped. I am hoping. I will hope.

except…I’m not.

I struggled. I struggle. I will struggle.

Yes. That. Because that is what the world feels like, like being bound too tightly while being shattered inside a muffling cocoon.

I fight at this world at these bonds I look for my glimpses of freedom through the cocoon – a mummy. I am a Mummy – ha – in more than one sense.

I cannot remember a free time now, a time where I could breathe, a time I was not restrained by this weight of binding tape so tight. I can’t look back on that girl that was or the girl that is to be or the woman that may come one day and hope that I make it through becaus e of this.

I am alone, alone and isolated wrapped and muffled world of compulsion and restriction and so so so so so many rules, rules for all my life rules made by my mind, by other, by the world I was brought into by the world my thoughts adapted to and they bind so tightly.

I won’t ever escape.

Never fear I’ve given up on the hope of that now. existance is what it is. it just is. I function. I feel . I laugh . I cry sometimes. I seldom scream anymore – they echo in my head empty …empty like the words that used to come so freely, empty like a glass a cup a good day.

I try. I really, really try. I do. I am I pull and move and yank and try to work my fingers free but the wont move anymore.

I see the light and the shadows and I cannot imagine ever being free or what free feels like.

So. I was restrained. I am restrained. I will be restrained.

Three words that conjugate the same.

Three words that show my world so perfectly.

The unchanging binds and wraps.

I hope no more.

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Speed of sound.

I keep expecting contact. A letter, an email, a text message. Some form of something. And it never comes.

I keep expecting some to see me as me and treat me as though I exist. I beginning to realise that it is only a very special few who will ever do this.

I keep expecting some to be as open and true with me as I am with them.

I keep expecting to matter. To count. To be more than an insignificant little bit of carbon. Easily dusted off and pushed past without even a second thought.

I keep expecting some to understand.

I keep expecting some to care. To not just believe whichever cardboard cutout version of me they have in their heads to hate.

And I am realising I am massively naive.

But I would rather be naive and hurt as much as I do and as often as I do, be hurt by those who should know better and damaged irreparably time and time again than to those that.

Because that is where all of my hope and faith and truth lies. In who I know I am. In the reasons I understand.

And in truth I am as special and worthy of love and respect and belief as any other person.

It’s just finding the ones that see this too that’s the hard part.

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If Josie can be brave so can I

 

I lost myself somewhere. And I can never quite work out where. I stare out at the midnight blue sky waiting for the storm and try to find the seams and cracks in my reality.

I can see the days, the early days years ago – a weekend of beach and music, of new and alive.I can feel the colours spreading plum brush and blue as the sky across the bones of my hand.

So fragile.

Fragile as I am, as I am truly when I’m not trying so damn hard to just stop the world, stop life from destroying me.

And I’m so tired of losing that girl that brave stuck solid young ancient wise funny girl that gets caught in the shuffle of pain and fear.

Who draws the broken, draws the damaged and hurt, draws pain to her by an almost magnetic force.

But see, she can’t take it anymore. So somewhere I lost her, somewhere she ran and didn’t look back. Somewhere she is dancing and laughing loved and held.

And some days I find her through tears, through breakdown, and I realise that she is damaged far more than I ever realised and I should never have let that happen.

I need to start living as me and loving the dark blue night. I’m scared of the pain, but really, could it be much worse than life un lived?

***********************************

Maybe someone else can tell me the prompt I used? I’m not sure….

 

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The scrambling wheel of the mind – writing workshop

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My depression – My wall – Not a “nice” read – may trigger

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She.

There are moments when she looks through me,

when a simple glance brings pure truth,

pupils growing with the hidden seen.

She dashes through the corners of my glances,

white and wraith like,

clinging to me still.

She dances through my dreams,

through the pages,

through the words that characters speak.

She is scared by my reality,

She longs for a different and new world,

One safe and held,

one loved and warm.

Yet she clings still,

she still whispers through my mind,

still holds my hand in the mirror,

amazing me.

And I am scared that one day,

one day the glances, moments, clarity will stop,

the dancing and whispering will spin to a halt,

her half heard melody,

like the radio from next door,

will be forever unplugged.

And I don’t think I’d make it through that, truth be told.

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Realising Something Needs to Change…..

I wrote this, then I took it down, now I’m putting it back up because my reasons for taking it down weren’t right…

Realising Something Needs To Change.

or Why I Will Be Saving Money on Texting and Not Going Out This Saturday.

I know that you used to actually talk to me,

I know that it wasn’t just the same things you said the last time we scrambled to a meeting ,

instant coffee and listening to me ramble about my life,

before the same potted version of yours I got the time before.

and the time before that.

I know that you used to want to spend time with me,

actively,

during some of my darkest spiral staircase days,

during times when I was most lost,

yet still you talked to me of you,

of your plans and aspirations,

of idle things, of moments, of life.

True life not the pre-packaged this is what I’m doing postcard sized

shared in gasps of time between tired and busy.

You used to be tired and busy too, but I used to have a place then.

And now I don’t.

You have so many others to share the moments with, the observations, the true you

I get the greeting card to the great aunt version while I pour my words out to you

the pain and fear and it dissapears into you like a sponge,

and the same words come back;

“you need more friends”

and I’m never sure if this is a “i’m done, leave me alone”,

or “stop talking to me”,

or if it is genuine concern but either way,

yes, I do need them, and I wanted them to start with you.

But I could vanish from your frame of reference without leaving a space to be filled.

and I don’t want to need where I am un-needed.

I thought things would be different,

you would be gald to have me, have us back in your world,

but it is a struggle for you to even see me,

let alone two children who see you as family,

there is no space for us in your Brave New World of being.

We don’t fit into gasps of time.

We are messy and needy and fall apart in an untimely manner

and we, I especially, want to know you,

not the you that you would put in a Christmas letter,

all the parts I used to know.

The life bits, the just rambly talking about nothing that friends do,

the everything is too red,

the realising how serious this time is but others who’ve known me far less time have far more time for me in this than you.

There is no space for me.

And as much as that hurts I should have realised long ago.

I never expected to walk back into your world,

but I thought maybe you would still have some place for me,

but even the friend gaps are sutured shut.

For me I will take it,

but younger? they don’t understand how family stops and you were, always were.

Now you don’t want that – can you explain it to them please?

communication is a stretch

actually seeing me so difficult.

And I don’t know why.

I don’t know what we did – because it is a we – two children who were so looking forward to having their friend back

and who don’t.

I guess you were how you were because of how you felt, then, but I can only see that now.

We won’t leave a hole,

No gap to be filled,

No loss to your world really,

and saying anything else would be futile.

You listen, you listen, you never suggest.

Thats how I know, no hole will be left.

**********

And I can’t pretend that doesn’t hurt, but I guess more hurt is irrelivant now really isn’t it, given where I am. Just for my babies I would have wished a more generous spirit – more joy, more something. And you know what- if I have it all wrong – tell me, but not just that, tell them, my two confused babies.

This is not saying you haven’t been there – you have, occasionally, and you care , when you can. I guess I just remember the person I used to know and how they used to be and I was silly to expect you to be anything like that really wasn’t I. I don’t belong in your world. Not as a Close friend. Not really.

I just miss one of my best, most caring friends.

So this is the change I’m making.

I’m telling you this is how it looks – this is how it feels.

You are not a bad friend. Just a friend who won’t miss the extra person in his life. A friend who doesn’t want to be close to a lonely 10 and 8 year old. But you really should have made that clear before. See silly me I had visions of you actually wanting to hang out with them. Or actually wanting to spend time with me that I didn’t request.

But you don’t.

And if you ever want to tell me why, please do.

Because I miss my friend so much.

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