Monthly Archives: December 2010

The Awakening

This is unedited and incomplete.

I don’t know why you bother with all this shit, you know.  You’ll never amount to anything anyway.”

Mandy glared at her father as he walked away from her.  He was always saying stuff like this, always tell her how useless she was and how she was good-for-nothing, and would never do anything with her life.  She had learnt that reacting in any way to his assertions would result in a pounding that would have her trying to hide bruises for the next two weeks.  Of course, not hiding the bruises well enough, and raising the suspicions of neighbours or teachers would result in another belting in order to teach her a lesson.

Most of the time Mandy accepted what her father told her, and assumed that he was speaking the truth, but for some reason, she was now finding this harder to do.  It was also becoming more difficult to lay still and quiet on the nights that he came to her bed…

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The Past and Present

Dear Quondam,

There are some things I need to say to you.  Words I should have said a long time ago, but never had the courage to say.  Things that have lain between us for nearly twenty years, left unsaid and festering.  Now the scab has been removed from the wound in my heart, and it is time to clean out the mess, including what has been left by these unspoken words.

I think you now know that our time together was doomed from the start.  Right from the very beginning, in fact years before we met, our future had been destroyed by the things that had been taken by force from me as a child, by someone who was meant to protect me.  I was not whole, even at our first meeting, so our feelings for each other never had a hope of blossoming into anything more than nameless, shapeless forms that were destined to remain unidentified and unexplored.

Oh, we tried to make things work, I know that, but neither of us had the knowledge, experience or skills to understand that our problems were not really ours.  The problems that we had, well ninety-nine percent of them anyway, were rooted in all the secrets I carried with me.  In all the fears I tried to keep buried, all the nightmares I never told you about, and my constant expectation that the world would end without warning if you became to close to me emotionally.

Thanks to our ignorance, when we parted I did not feel the slightest twinge of sadness and regret.  To be honest, I didn’t feel anything, not even indifference.  I just carried on and tackled the challenges that came my way to the best of my abilities.  I never regretted or begrudged our time together, but I didn’t dwell on our past or fantasise about a reunion either.

Almost two decades later I am feeling somewhat overwhelmed and confused.  All the feelings that I never identified or acknowledged are now pouring out of my inner core.  With each conversation that we have, I am not only flooded with memories, but with the unacknowledged feelings that go with them.  Did I really feel all of this at the time?  Or am I now creating fantasies of what should have been?

It is hard to know if these feelings were there in the past or not.  I would like to think that they were.  It would be nice to think that the unconscious parts of ourselves did know that we truly cared for each other, even if our conscious minds didn’t care less.

When I talk to you now, I feel like you know who I really am.  I feel as though I can tell you anything and you will not judge me, nor will you feel any differently about me after listening to what I have to say. I feel as though I can turn to you when the chips are down and that you will be there to pick me up.  I feel as though we are connected on a soul level, and that no matter what we do, that connection will only ever get stronger not weaker.  I feel like we have wasted too many years not speaking, not caring, and not listening.  I feel tempted to make up for lost time.

On the other hand, I know that things will never change.  We will never be anything more than what we are right now – but there isn’t a name for whatever we are.  We’re not lovers, but we have been.  We’re not friends, but we could have been.  We’re not family, but we should have been.

I will never recover the things that were stolen from me, I know that now, but I am learning that I can live without them.  I wish I had learnt it sooner, so that we could have benefited from an amazing opportunity to build a life together.

The final thing I want to say right now is “Thank You”, and I look forward to talking to you again soon.

Yours in memory,

Au Courant

They Told Me To Write

This is all I have written in the last 24 hours.  It’s not much, but it is at least something.  This piece is not finished, and as always, it is unedited.

They told me to write, so I did.  That’s how I came to be here, sitting on Death Row, waiting for them to take my life.

I can almost see you scratching your head, wondering how on earth the simple act of writing could lead to Death Row.  There’s probably a dozen different scenarios running through your mind right now, but I’ll bet you ten quid that none of them are as far-fetched as the truth.

It all started twenty years ago.  I was a witness in a trial and I had to speak the truth about my past.  Half-way through my cross-examination, my voice faltered at first, and then died completely.  I became mute, trapped inside my body, alone with my thoughts, and unable to communicate without the aid of the written word…….

Doubts

Immobilized by doubt

It seems like forever since I wrote anything.  I have been under the weather, and that has been my excuse for the last two weeks, but if I am honest, my lack of writing is due to a completely different reason.  I seem to have lost confidence in my writing.

Every time I go to write, I am plagued by endless doubts  – does what I write make sense, my grammar isn’t correct, my use of punctuation is often not correct, why would anyone want to read this stuff anyway?

Today I decided to write anyway.  So what if it doesn’t make sense, and who cares if all my doubts are true?  Isn’t my love of writing the most important thing?

I’m not going to ask any more questions for fear that it will send me off on another battle with my writing insecurities.

I’m off to write instead.