Trapped inside

She never thought of herself as capable. Everyone else insisted that she was, but inside she felt like a small motherless child. And when disasters struck, as disasters do, the adult part of her disappeared. Then she really was motherless again. How does a child navigate life? she asked herself. They scream for attention. She did not scream; she cried. But just got ignored. Nobody likes a person who cries.

She was alone. Forever alone. The loneliness was so profound she thought it made up her entire being. It took over. A small, lonely, motherless child cries to itself. But that does not accomplish anything. It was, however, a pattern she was caught in. It was like being caught in a giant spider’s web, like a fly not being able to tear itself away from it.

It was a sad life. Nobody really knew her. They all just looked on the outside and saw the fake smile. Heard the ”I’m fine, thanks”, and nobody cared to take a peek inside. But she was trapped on the inside and could not come out.

Inspired by The Daily Post:  Capable

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A vicious killer

My body and soul protest – together – in a demonstration against the great demon, alcohol. And no, I’m not the alcoholic. I have a family member who is.

I’m a teetotaller myself. Every little cell in my body, every brain cell and every little inch of my immeasurable soul absolut detest alcohol. I hate the stuff. It’s a vicious killer and a destroyer of families.

I made a cardinal error in trying to forget the hellish year back then. In order to survive at the time, I put the lid on the dustbin, hoping all those feelings would stay there. Stay away from me. I made another one in thinking I could go to an open meeting at AA with my family member. What on earth possessed me?

It was – and it still is and will be for a long time – a flash-back from that year I spent at the bottom of a black pit. Now the pit follows me wherever I go, and it is constantly trying to devour me. And I let it. There’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have the strength to deal with it. I don’t even want to. At the moment I wish I was dead. Or at least that I could turn back the clock.

Tick, tock… tick, tock…

Inspired by The Daily Post:  Protest

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My Chaotic Life

My life has always been chaotic, I think, and maybe that has formed me into the chaotic person that I am today. Most days it does not bother me much. On the contrary, I think that chaos inspires creativity. It is when you see two things lying together, which are not really supposed to be together that sparks ideas. Sometimes even a few hours of fireworks inside your head. On such an occasion, if I find myself without pens and  paper I will go truly mad. The ideas come even faster than you can write the down, but if you don’t even put them down on paper, all of them will get lost. And you will go mad. Or sad. And dangerous to know. It’s like trying to put the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together. If a lot of pieces are missing it just will not work.

Chaos lives next door to God, the Father of all Creation, but many people Believe that chaos is actually quite close to hell. Not so. Hell for me would be a white house with white furniture, wiped clean of all existence of life. I cannot imagine anything that would be more aggravating to me. I need to be surrounded by books, papers, words, beads, pieces of cloth etc etc. Table tops should be covered in post, Magazines and so forth. If they are not, the house is dead. Creativity is dead. Only boredom lives.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Chaotic

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Figuring out

”You’re just saying that to disagree with me.” The mother looked at her daughter as if trying to discipline a child.

Elise is over fifty and has rarely agreed with her mother on anything. The danger of growing up with a mother who tried to dictate her every thought was that she did, in fact not really know why she liked a particular piece of clothing, whether it was because she genuinely like it or whether she just liked it because she knew her mother would hate it. She is, in fact, still figuring out who she is.

For years she had dressed the way her mother would, but everything looked frumpy on her because she was way too young for that kinds of clothes. She was still trying to figure herself out, who she was, what her taste in clothes were, whether she was as prejudiced as her mother or not. At least she knew that she liked green; it had been her favourite colour ever since she was a kid. She had saved her weekly allowance and bought herself a pea-green top, which her mother had hated. But she had loved it and grieved when she outgrew it.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Disagree

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His crumbling life

”What are you doing? You’re risking Everything. You’re even jeopardizing you’re marriage!” Don stared at his friend who had started gambling online. He knew that Billy had had problems with gambling before. In real casinos. But these online casinos were so much more accessible. They were everywhere where there was a computer or a mobile phone. For the life of him Don could not understand how theses things could be legal. It was like robbing people.

Billy was a recovering alcoholic. He had been in rehab more than once. His wife had stood by him, even when his drinking had turned into gambling. But that was then. She was much stronger now, and they were low on money again now due to Billy’s unemployment. Don did not think she would be as understanding now if Billy gambled away the rest of their money. Or worse, if he got himself in debt.

Billy was not only addicted to gambling, he was the eternal optimist. ”I will win next time”, was what he kept saying to Don. ”Just one more time and I’ll make it.” But he did not, and his life came crumbling down upon him, as if shaken by a horrible earthquake. Only he himself was the earthquake. He had great potential for destruction.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Jeopardize

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Exhausted

It should have felt as pure luxury to have the whole house to herself. She knew she longed for it when the kids were there. They were rather demanding and noisy. She loved them to bits of course, but that made her no less tired. When they had finally fallen asleep – they looked like angels – she would slump onto the couch in front of the telly. It was all she could manage. She slept through most of the programmes, and sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night, wondering why she was not in her bed. It was never long untill one or both of the kids called for mummy and joined her in bed.

Her aching body and soul longed for alone time, but when her little darlings were with their daddy and it finally came, she found herself completely unable to enjoy it. She was too tired, working two jobs, and when she had time to think, her conscience conjured up guilty thoughts that just would not leave her alone. Had she done the right thing? Was she doing the right thing? Was she a good enough parent? Her brain bombarded her with thoughts and unanswerable questions in a never-ending stream.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Luxury

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Her safe haven

She had found a sanctuary in him. There was no other way to describe it. He was her safe haven. He totally accepted her the way she was, without wanting to change anything about her. He was actually even okay with things that bothered her, like her overweight and her crying fits. It was a completely new experience for her. She had never met anyone before who had not wanted to alter or even exterminate parts of her. All the times she had heard that she had bad taste in clothes and makeup, or that she was bad at maths, weighed heavily on her shoulders. She only just about managed to carry that burden every day without falling over. There had been no balance in her life. No yin and yang. Only the black without the little white spot in it.

Even though she loved every minute of their time together, she found it difficult to adjust to being wholeheartedly accepted. She just was not used to it, and somehow it make her criticise herself all the more harshly, her belief being that if someone loved her and totally accepted her, she had to be perfect to earn that love. That was what she had been led to believe earlier on in life. Had he come too late to rescue her or was there still time? She did not know. Only time would tell. Sometimes it made her think about all those videos on Youtube where you saw dogs who had been rescued. She certainly felt like one of those sick,  flee ridden dog, but it gave her hope because they were mostly able to adapt to their new situation. And they could learn to trust again.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Sanctuary

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