14 years ago
Sat Nov 07 2009, 01:30am
The following thing I wrote by putting pen to paper (or fingers-to-keyboard :P) without having any idea what I was going to write or where I was going with it. It's kind of like a diary entry, although it's only mildly inspired by my life and what I'm feeling right now. It's really random and poorly written, so I have no idea what I could do with it. It's from the perspective of a person (perhaps a mental patient :P) to a psychiatrist or therapist...or something.
Here's the Situation
It was a day like any other day; actually, it was a day like every other day. Every other day was exactly the same. That’s how you know something’s wrong, when every day is exactly the same. Every day is full of the same emotions, they just come at different times and in different concentrations, but they still come eventually. Do you want me to list those emotions? I can. They’re not happy, or at least not all of them are. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren’t. Where was I? Listing the emotions of everday? Is that where I left you? Am I confusing you? Yeah, welcome to my life. It’s confusing to me too.
Alrighty then, back to my emotions. Well there’s panic-stricken. That’s an emotion, right? Although, I’m sure there’s a better way to describe it. A better word. Something that would make me sound more affluent, more educated. You know, it takes a college education to teach someone that they’re dumb. Or at least, that’s all I’ve gathered from it for the past three years. Maybe I should start over, tell you about myself.
My name is Kathleen. I used to think it was a pretty unique name, but then I came to college and met about one hundred other Kathleens. I learned I had an ordinary name. I also soon found out I was an ordinary girl. I’m getting ahead of myself, back to the name. It means “pure.†That’s a pretty apt description of me. I’m sure if you asked any senior citizen, they’d tell you a pure girl was a good girl. If you asked anyone in their twenties, like I am, they’d tell you a pure girl was a boring girl. Yup. Once again, my name suits me.
Let me warn you, I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no business telling anyone my story. No one wants to read about an ordinary, boring, pure girl. I wouldn’t want to read about someone like that. I like to read science fiction and fantasy. An imaginary world is far more interesting than reality. I’d much rather live inside my mind than where I live right now. A lot of people would call that strange…or crazy. I can’t say I disagree. I isolate myself, stare off in space, living unimaginable fantasies inside my mind.
Suffice it to say, I need to get out more often. I get that a lot, and I certainly don’t disagree. It just takes so much effort to drag myself out of my imagination, I’d rather just let people think I’m a loner. They’re not completely wrong, but they could never be completely right because I don’t let them know enough about me to find out one way or another if I prefer their company to my isolation. Even my best friends don’t know me very well. I call them my best friends, but when I really think about our friendship, I wouldn’t be that lost without it. If they died, I’d probably only be upset for a little while. Isn’t that nuts? Someone shouldn’t be so indifferent about their friends, but I can’t make myself care. Sometimes it’s better to numb myself to everything than to risk getting hurt.
Oh geez, back to that whole emotions conundrum again. I mentioned panic-stricken. I’ve been panicky my whole life. In high school I was even medicated for it. I loved it, the way I felt when I was medicated. All I did was sleep the world away; I never felt sad or alone or happy or content. I just felt tired. Many mornings on the way to school, I imagined myself running the car off the road, mostly because I was so damn tired. The thought didn’t frighten me; it was just another thing I was indifferent to. After about six months my mother took me off the medication. I could make it through the day with only a 3 hour nap. Most people would say that I was still sleeping too much for a sixteen year old girl. They’d be right. Did you know excessive fatigue is a sign of clinical depression? I’ve learned throughout the years not to let myself nap; napping leads to more and more napping; and napping is a sign of depression. The more you sleep, the more people think you’re depressed. The more people think you’re depressed, the more depressed you feel. The more depressed you feel, the more you nap. It was a vicious cycle.
For the first time in the longest time, I haven’t been napping. I can’t say I’m not depressed. Although I’m not saying I am depressed. I’m saying that I don’t know what I am; and once again, here comes that panic.
I don’t know who or what I am. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, or who I’m meant to be. I only have one more year before I’m supposed to figure it out; and I know less about myself now than I knew when I first entered college. What the hell am I doing with my life?
For years and years and years, I wanted to be a physician. It breaks my heart to admit it, especially to myself, but I’m just not smart enough to be a doctor. My grades aren’t good enough to get into medical school. I haven’t worked hard enough. The past three years have been spent trying to achieve a goal that I couldn’t achieve even if I hadn’t given up.
Did I mention that I’ve given up before now? I can’t even remember, I’ve been rambling so much. That’s what a panic-stricken mind will do; it rambles. It confuses also; that shouldn’t surprise you. I wish I knew when I first gave up. I can’t pinpoint an exact place in time; I only recently realized it had even happened at all. My grades were the first piece of evidence. My indifference to my less-than-stellar grades were the next. I’m waiting to find the third, and hopefully final, proof of my failure.
That leads us to my present identity crisis. I’ve spent the last three years studying science, all the while someone in the back of my mind has been screaming to me that that’s not what I’m good at. I really suck at science, but put me in an English course or teach me world history, and I could recite every piece of information right back at you. I’m sure there are a lot of fields that merge science and English, or science and history; but none of those things interest me. I want a challenge, which is why I chose to study science in the first place. That was, obviously, a mistake.
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m lost, and I have been for as along as I can remember, but I’ve only recently realized the sorry state that I’m in. I need someone to tell me what to do; to offer advice, encouragement. Actually, if you could slap the confusion and panic out of me, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.
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Forgive the rambling, that's just what my brain feels like right now :-?
Mystic Ward
14 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
Wow!. I really like that. its expressive and funny and sad and everything. WTG
It think it is an excellent piece of showing how one thought connects to another and soon we find ourselves on a tangent and have to get back on track. :)
Wow, that's great, Aoife! :D It's got everything - humor, irony, wistfulness, numbness, etc. It really takes you through a range of emotions. You've got a very unique voice, as well. Very well written. I love it. :nod:
It's so creative! and funny and emotional. Just by the style of the narration i get a sense of the character. good work
I loved it Aoife: the style, the tone, everything. :D It's really easy to relate to as well.
Oh wow! I'm so surprised (and thrilled) that people like it. Maybe from now on when I write I should just start typing without having any idea where I'm going. :D
Mystic Ward
14 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
I do that all the time Aoife and I'm often quite surprised at what comes out...only I write everything longhand.
The Burial
Bury the pain of loss away.
Bury it deeper, darker, beneath dense clay.
Cover it with silt and sand
in a cave filled by tides moving land.
Offer it to the moon, for strength in return.
Bury the burn
and feel nothing instead.
Walk as if you still lie asleep in your unmade bed.
Replace red, swollen eyes with a mask.
Quench your thirst, casque after casque, to keep
it buried, dark and deep.
Smile to cover it up, keep it a secret.
Let no one know because nobody knows.
Pain is fleeting, but
Eternal for moments at a time.
Bury it, dark and deep, and
Place a shell necklace upon the grave.
Cover her with crashing wave.
I really liked that poe Aoife. As the other's have said you have a really individual style of writing.
Mystic Guilden
13 years ago
Mystic Guilden
Mage
I absolutely loved your 'rambling' at the top of this page. The multiple threads of thought colliding and separating in loops makes the piece seems so muddled and anxious, yet you can understand every line you read. I don't know if you intended that, but it's very well done either way.
I also love the imagery and ideas in The Burial. Having been in that position helps to understand where you are coming from, but at the same time the message is so well written metaphorically, that even if you hadn't lost someone, you would still understand the feelings behind it :)
13 years ago
Fri Feb 18 2011, 11:12am
Sorry I have neglected Writersmerge for so long!! [act]huggles thread[/act]
This semester at uni I'm in a creative writing class (which is exciting and utterly terrifying at the same time), and our first big assignment is to write a 10-12 page short story. I have no idea what I want to write about, so I chose the rambling piece "Here's the Situation" at the top of this page to use as inspiration. Could I possibly have some advice either on where to take it or what needs improvement? (This is just the opening, for now)
[ligne][/ligne]
I hurriedly entered the elevator in the decaying building downtown. I was running late, like always. I got off on the third floor, and rushed down the hall, opening the door labeled “William Walters, MD FACP†in gold letters that were folding off the glass at the edges. I walked up to the front desk.
“Hi Jeanine, sorry I’m a bit late,†I gasped out.
The older woman looked at me with a forced smile, “No problem, you can go ahead back, Karen.â€
I ducked my head and walked down the hall to Dr. Walters’ office; the door was open. I peaked my head in timidly, “Dr. Walters?â€
The elderly man looked up from the stack of files on his desk, quickly glancing at his watch, “Ah, Karen, yes. Come right in, have a seat.â€
I closed the door before crossing the room to sit on the worn green chair, and I smiled hesitantly.
Dr. Walters leaned back in the chair behind his desk, peering at me through his large-framed classes. “How have you been since we last talked?â€
“Fine.†That wasn’t exactly true. It had been two weeks since I had last been to see him.
He nodded his head, “Good, and who else have you seen in that time?â€
“Um,†I started. I always got this question, but I never thought about the answer beforehand. I also never started racking my brain for the answer before and undignified “um†escaped my mouth. I stared up at the ceiling while thinking.
“Rhoda,†my therapist, “Dr. Morgan,†my general physician, “Dr. Francesca,†one of my oncologists. I stopped listing names and glanced at Dr. Walters’ face, looking down as we made eye contact.
“Just those three?â€
“Yes, sir.â€
Mystic Ward
13 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
Interesting start. Very well written and makes me want more. I loved my creative writing class last year and I learned heaps.
12 years ago
Mon May 09 2011, 01:09pm
I don't know if any of you remember this crazy poem from the first page:
We sit on our shabby porch
and lie about the truth
I forgive the inviting evening,
But not the disease
That slowly destroyed my love
for our summer house
But never my love for you
The strong man who had broken down
The cold years forgive nothing
Doctors, wards, me, you
What was, is sorry
But we live, saving you together
Dancing where I wanted, I laughed simply in the wind
But I ended up revising it for my creative writing class as follows:
"Into the Wind"
Together we rock back
and forth over the creaking floorboards.
The shabby porch railings are warped;
the blue paint is cracked and feels
smooth atop the splintery grain.
I try not to notice the shallow air you breathe.
I try to pretend you’re not getting sicker.
The inviting evening closes in, and a
mask covers your pain, your expression.
The cold years take everything,
pinch and prod at our youth,
and leave nothing for us to share.
I try to wish it all away.
I try to forget yesterday.
I try to forget the doctors and their forced empathy.
I try to forget the blinding hospital wards.
You were leaning on me.
I was clutching at you.
Neither of us had the strength to break down,
To wound the other with our grief.
But we live,
Saving you together.
Last night after awakening the memory of when
I stumbled walking down the aisle towards you,
I leapt off the porch and spun circles in our yard.
Your smile and the light of your eyes
Encouraged me, kept me spinning faster.
Dancing where I wanted I
Laughed simply into the wind.