It was a glorious day. They weather was glorious, her hair was glorious. Everything seemed to be radiant. But was it really? Deep down she had a gnawing feeling of inadequacy and ineptitude. Did she really deserve this? Was she good enough? Everyone kept saying so, but her inner critic said otherwise. She was used to listening to herself. Her intuition, where other people were concerned, was almost impeccable.
Here, her inner voice said: ”I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve this.” Her thoughts and her emotions were at war. On a purely intellectual level, she knew she deserved every last bit of the glory, but her emotions listened only to her inner critic and kept pulling her down, down, down. It took her into the black mud of self-deprecating depression, where the sun did not shine and where there was no way out.
Inspired by The Daily Post: Glorious
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
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
”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
Fifty is sort of a horrible number for me. Humiliating. My body is breaking down, and I can’t stand it. I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror these days. My hair used to be my one and only pride, but it’s turning grey now. It’s dry and frizzy and quite impossible. I don’t even have a hairstyle anymore. It all just greying frizz. Dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, mixing with lines of worry. Makeup doesn’t help these days. It just makes things look worse.
Nobody celebrated my fiftieth birthday. There was nothing to celebrate. Something horrible had happened. So horrible I can’t even write it down. I was somewhere else on my birthday. Involuntarily. It definitely wasn’t my choice. I was being denigrated. On my birthday. Let me say no more. For once in my life I was actually going to have a birthday party, not to celebrate but more as a compensation for growing older. But it wasn’t to be. I can’t talk about it, and I will never plan another birthday party. Never. I can’t stand the thought of birthdays. I live 364 days a year. On my birthday I’m dead. Emotionally dead if not physically.
Inspired by The Daily Post: Fifty
”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
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