words-from-may-blog

[words-from-may-blog]

Short freewrite

Great. God. Generous. Gentle. Gift. Golden. Grand. Guardian. Groovy. His name starts with G and it is no surprise that all those words do too. He is great at everything he does. I look up to him as a god. I’ve never met anyone so generous with the love they give out, or so gentle with my body, mind, and heart. He’s the gift I never knew I needed so badly. He’s a golden child. He is grand in every way. He is my guardian. He is beyond groovy. I don’t know who to thank for him, but I owe them my entire soul.

[words-from-may-blog]

Technical Difficulties...

So my internet on my laptop has been in and out the past couple days so I’ve had a hard time posting and missed freewrite Friday! D: Luckily everything is in order now (hopefully) and I can do a freewrite... Sunday. whoops

[words-from-may-blog]

Spilled some ink

I'm really starting to worry. She says she's doing fine, but she always says that. I don't believe her at all. She has this look in her eyes that she gets when she's not well. They become dark. They go from blue to grey, and it scares me. She's been coughing a lot more too. She coughs in the mornings a lot to dislodge everything that got trapped in her lungs while she was sleeping, but sometimes she wakes me up coughing in the middle of the night. It a ragged, hoarse cough. It does not sound good. She must be doing it in her sleep because she says she doesn't cough at night. Sometimes I'll hear her lungs make terrible noises while she's asleep. Once I'm pretty sure she stopped breathing completely, right when I was about to wake her she coughed and rolled over.

I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. She doesn't like when I pester her but she never would have even gone to her doctor today if I hadn't been on her case about it. I don't want her to think I doubt her, but I don't want her to get sick again either.

I try not to worry. I've never experienced before what she's lived through her entire life. I don't know how bad it can be, but I guess I don't know how easy it can be either. Maybe I worry too much.

I waited for her to finally finish writing and go to sleep tonight before I got up and started milling around and writing. I don't do this whole journal thing, but she does it all the time and says it really helps her ease her nerves. I figured maybe it's time I try. She nestled into my arms and squirmed around a bit, trying to get comfortable, but she's been so exhausted she fell asleep almost immediately. I lay and held her for a bit, thinking of what comes next. Thinking too much probably. When she sleeps I rub my hands over the risen bumpy scars on her arms and legs. She hates them, thinks they make her look ugly. I think they make her look strong. She doesn't believe that and jerks away every time I touch them as if my fingers were hot iron.

[words-from-may-blog]

Clacie’s eye roll was practically audible as she started praying, and for once Ashe wasn’t focusing on everything but the words. This was the opposite of every fancy family dinner he had ever been to. There he was, across the street from Arby’s, listening to Clacie ask God something about saving Buster, about not letting it be his time, about her understanding of the weight of the situation, the mistakes he had made, the mistakes they had all made, but her undying faith and God’s undying forgiveness. Slowly, Ashe looked down at his empty hand, shifted his phone to his shoulder, and folded both hands in his lap. He closed his eyes and focused on his best friend’s voice even as his mind drifted anywhere but. He seemed to be thinking of everything at once and he opened his eyes briefly to look out his chipped windshield where the moonlight was shining down on the hood of his truck. He watched the light bounce off of any reflective surface and blur through the dirt on the windshield and for a moment he saw something he knew he would never be able to explain or even understand. He saw someone, but it was no person, no face, no fed up worker exiting Arby’s to tell him to get out of here, it was something - someone - divine… and when he blinked, it was gone. before he knew it he heard Clacie say “Amen” and without thinking, he said the same.

A new piece

[words-from-may-blog]

Teaser ;)

Wake up, take a pill to smile. Sit down, take a pill to eat. Leave the house, take a pill to focus. Come home, take a pill to sleep. Lie down, take a pill to wake up. Repeat. That was the daily routine for Nellie Lamont prior to meeting him. After working with him for only a single week she felt like she never needed another pill again. She learned to wake up to see him, smile at him, focus on him, and sleep beside him. Medication had become obsolete, and he took its place.

And then he was gone.

It happened quickly, not just him leaving, but everything. Everything about him. Everything from the first time she saw him to the last. The first time she saw him, she hated him, and the last... she needed him more than oxygen. --- 17-year-old Nellie had met and fell for the man of her dreams - and nightmares - volunteering over the summer. She's young, naive, childish, and unfit in every way to be with a guy like Dillon... and yet something about draws her in. Even as the ugliest side of him rears its head she finds it impossible to leave. How could she? They say it's best to try your luck with the devil you know, rather than the one you don't.

And Nellie was anything but lucky...

[words-from-may-blog]

Invasion of the Bodysnatchers - 2

 I think the worst part about being sick is the loss of dignity, the loss of self. Most things I suffer with are easily bearable and I often white-knuckle my way through my episodes rather than bother with medications. I think sometimes that makes me look strong. Keeping up the outside fight keeps up a facade of strength, bravery, and resilience. I do a remarkable job of hiding the battles I lose, mostly for fear of being seen the same way I feel. Sick. Weak.

Aches and pains are quickly adaptable; our species has a talent for growing to withstand our conditions, and any rashes I may experience typically come in short spurts. Irritable bowels, as embarrassing as they are, can be solved with a dose of Imodium. Fatigue can be slept away. My physical battles are nothing outside of my ability to fight and often are not even let on to those around me. It is only the internal struggles that penetrate through my defenses and bring me crashing down every time.

It's the smallest things, like not being able to keep up with the hustle and bustle of the world or sleeping through important events that encourage me to stay in bed and not even try to get up. There's a unique feeling of weakness and incapability that comes with the lost abilities on days with heavy pain that make me want to give up entirely, and there are some days I glance in my mirror only to see a zombie staring back at me. The body I dress up and the face I paint for special occasions hide behind the purgatory holding me captive. Painted lips fade to dry, cracked skin. Bright eyes pale and deepen under exhaustion. My beloved figure bloats and contorts into an all too familiar hellscape.

There were times I feared I came off as vain and prideful of my body and my looks, and occasionally I still feel this way. For a while, I was even learning the art of Belly Dancing because the way my body moved and danced was so mesmerizing and fun to watch and perform, but on some days that pride is sucked from me entirely. I slip out of my sweatpants and T-shirt and watch the grotesque figure in front of me feel its body, run hands over its scars, marks, and rashes, and wonder what happened to its beauty. I look away. The monster is too disgusting to watch, and I only return my gaze to the mirror once the monster has clothed itself again.

I went through an active phase where I was eating well, jogging, hiking, and camping any time the weather allowed. I owned my body and everything it did was on my command, but then it revolted. Sometimes it doesn't allow me out of bed, sometimes it stiffens and creaks when I ask it to move, sometimes - most shameful of all - it doesn't allow me to leave my bathroom, forcing out whatever nutrients I offer it like a toddler throwing a tantrum. As of late, my body seems to own me, rather than the other way around.

These things have varying effects on me. Sometimes it's very strange, as you would expect to react similarly every time you get sick. There are times I get angry and vengeful, and times I become depressed and feel like giving up. Sometimes I am filled with spite and rage that I take out on my body or on those around me, pushing people away and then getting angry with them for leaving. I am a strong believer that one can grieve for not only those which they've lost, but that which they've lost. So occasionally I justify my adverse reactions by comparing them to stages of grief, grieving for my lost ableism much like one would grieve for a lost loved one.

Not all hope is lost, however, for I still have my good days alongside the bad, and thanks to these bad days, my days of health feel all the more lovely. I have my days in which all I want to do is stay inside and sleep, but I also have days with pep in my step where I go outside and run, I clean the house, I hang out with friends. Even in my darkest hours, I know somewhere deep down that things are bound to look up. The world is always changing, I am always changing, and that is a beautiful combination with the potential to lead to healthier days, better medicine, and a stronger sense of self. My body owns itself now, but in time I will own it again. In time I will grow, I will heal, and I will get better. In time.  

[words-from-may-blog]

When I think of you, what you almost turned me into, I feel as though I'm breathing molasses. It coats my nose and throat and takes up every space in my lungs that air belongs. Yet as I choke all I can taste is a sweet sugary syrup.

Words on paper one day

[words-from-may-blog]

Just a daily reminder from one of my favorite authors.

[words-from-may-blog]

Invasion of the Bodysnatchers - 1

Writer's note: Through almost all of my life I have been living with an autoimmune disorder, and the plethora of symptoms that accompany it. I wrote this piece for a high school creative writing class to gain momentum and visibility. It's split in three parts: The past, The present, and The future. I do not crave sympathy from this piece, but understanding. Understand my struggles (and that of others) understand the ferocity with which I fight my battles. If you are ill as well, take this as inspiration. This is the past.

I was never a particularly healthy kid in my early years (I wouldn't say I was particularly a sick kid) but I had a less than perfect health that declined over time. My skin was always questionable and often my biggest, if not only, source of suffering as a child. When I was very small I would occasionally break out in hives that would cover expanses of my body and build upon each other. They came with stress, they came with sickness, and sometimes they came with no reason straight out of the blue. They burned and itched and soon I had dubbed these flare-ups "The Itchies."

It wasn't until years later that I was told "The Itchies" were really flares of something called "vasculitis," an autoimmune disease in which my body's T-cells would mistake my healthy tissue for intruders or illnesses and attack them just like your body's immune system would attack, kill, and ultimately keep you safe from harmful viruses or bacterium. With proper diagnosis, then came proper treatments in turn. We stopped treating these flare-ups with creams and lotions made for hives (which actually worsened my condition) and started treating them with prescription ointments and medications specially tailored for treating vasculitis in children. A few years passed and by the time I was well integrated into my elementary school, it had gone into remission - meaning flare-ups and symptoms had stopped or slowed down. I can't tell you the exact year that this happened as the whole process seemed so gradual that I didn't even notice it happening until it was over.

Those couple years after remission were quite possibly the most blissful years of my life, and quite possibly the most blissful my life would ever be again. In that time I had nearly forgotten what it was like to even be sick. I lived a healthy life and things were truly looking up... little did I know that that which goes up must always come back down.

I could pity myself for being in the state that I am in now, I could wallow in grief and sadness - and sometimes I do just that - but I also feel I could be grateful for the memories I have from before I got here. It's easy to forget those memories, but also so tragically important to hold onto.

I don't remember my healthful years well, this has become such a reality that I can hardly imagine any different. The most obvious would be my skin sensitivities or lack thereof. Clear skin, the ability to use any beauty or bath and body product my heart desired, and the ability to stay outside for hours without developing a sun rash are some things I miss.

Another thing I remember would be the energy. I could go on for hours and hours on anything without pause. While I was never a particularly active child I was known to spend as much time as I had on whatever I put my mind to. I never lost my train of thought, got lost in brain fog, became sleepy, or had trouble focusing. I could churn out drawings and short stories in under a day at times.

My stomach was much less sensitive back then too. Just thinking back on things I used to do and eat makes me nauseous now. I had always loved sweets and would binge them any chance I got. Milkshakes especially. I liked my milkshakes super thick and super sweet. A special treat was when my mom would let me get a box of ice cream sandwiches from the store as this always meant that when we got home we would be blending them up with some milk for a one-of-a-kind chocolatey treat. Fudge was another favorite that now makes my stomach turn. Syrup, Oreo cookies, and chocolate of any kind are favorites that have since been moved to the "in great moderation" list.

As a child, I often enjoyed sitting with my legs folded back and splayed out like a "W." On very good health days I can still catch myself doing it on occasion but never for long. I think one of the most potent things that affect me still today is when I try to cross my legs and sit back in my seat in class. Shifting weight distribution seems like such a small inconvenience until it becomes something you have to so regularly.

When I was young my mother would often chase me out the door with a coat in hand, demanding I wear it in chilly weather. My response was always, truthfully, "I'm not cold." Now, 10 blue fingers and tingling toes later, it seems as though the cold has found a way to seep deep into my bones where I can never escape it. My bed houses dozens of heavy blankets to lessen the shivers... until I awake soaked in sweat, fighting off a fever no medicine can tame.

Reminiscing on my healthiest years sometimes makes me sad and sometimes makes me disappointed in my current state. However, it's these memories that keep me holding out. If it weren't for the knowledge of how good things could be, I would have no drive to fight for anything better. The knowledge of the good leads to hopes for the great.

[words-from-may-blog]

Wishing For Lavender

This was my first completed story I published on social media! I found it on an old account recently and was surprised by how many people seemed to enjoy it... here’s what I’ve since edited and posted on wattpad!

~~~

We were close. They say it's great to have your best friend as a girlfriend. And it was, it was wonderful. I couldn't think of a better girlfriend. I loved her. Her green eyes and the way the lit up every time I told a cheesy joke or even said something stupid, brightened my world every time I saw them. The way she put up with all my garbage was astounding... I wasn't the perfect girlfriend. But she was. She would go for walks with me in the park, she would watch Marvel movies with me even though I knew she wasn't into superheroes, she would hold my hand in public. She always had that adorable smile, and when she was sad I would do anything to bring that smile back. When we would hug it was always one of those long comforting hugs that you never wanted to end. After we moved in with each other and I'd have a bad day at work she'd make mac n' cheese when I got home. She was a great cook. Lavender was the best, she was my best friend, my girlfriend, and my whole world.

One of my best memories with her was the day we went to the fair.  We rode the roundup - my favorite - and after we went to play the game where you shoot at the ducks with the targets on them. She gave the man three dollars but wasn't a very good shot. She really had her eyes on this stuffed panda and when she only hit enough ducks to win a finger puppet she looked at me with those big green eyes. I couldn't help but laugh and give the man three more dollars. I had grown up shooting things with my dad and I hit almost all the ducks, enough for the giant panda. The thing was almost as big as Lavender but she carried it the whole way through the fair. We shared a bucket of popcorn and one of those cotton candies on a stick. When we got back in the car she was still smiling that adorable smile like she had been all night "Thank you Blaire" She told me and kissed my cheek. We had our first kiss that evening in my car. I knew then, as cheesy as it sounds, that she wasn't just my first kiss... but my last as well.

There was also the time that we rolled down the hill in the park. Or the time we went sled riding and I crashed into a tree. Or the time I taught her how to catch tadpoles. That was another good memory. She had grown up in the city, I had grown up in the country. When she moved so we could be closer the wildlife amazed her. I always thought she would be afraid of bugs and dirt but she wasn't. She was fascinated. I took her on a walk through the woods to a pond behind my house where we found a giant group of tadpoles. I showed her how you have to scoop them up quick or they would get away. It was so much fun watching her giggle at the way they flopped around in her hands.

I was so glad I had her, and I couldn't imagine life without her...which can explain why I reacted the way I did after learning that I would never see her again.

That day was a day I will never forget. She was upset about a fight between her and her best friend. Honestly, I'm still not sure what happened, or what was said that night. I tried to comfort her as best I could but I guess she just wanted to be alone, she told me that she was gonna go take a drive to calm down. I should have stopped her, I knew it was a bad idea...but I didn't say anything. I just hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. It wasn't until later that night that a policeman came to my door and told me the news. I don't know what a 'normal' person was supposed to do when their loved one is in an accident but obviously it's not what I did.

I suppose a normal person would have broken down and drove to the hospital and waited outside the ICU, obeying "family only" rules until further notice. However, that's not what I did. I broke down, I drove like a mad woman to get to the hospital. And when they told me I wasn't allowed in the ICU I shook my head and told them they didn't understand, that I needed inside, but they wouldn't let me in. I tried to push my way in, I told them she didn't have any family here, I told them I was her soon-to-be fiancee, I kicked, I screamed, I did whatever I could but they wouldn't let me inside, they wouldn't let me see her. I can still see it, the whole scene, I can still remember everything I was feeling, I remember looking through the window at her, I remember the things I was thinking, I remember the voices in my head laughing at me, taunting me, telling I would never get inside. I remember screaming curses to those doctors in every language I knew, I remember how I got thrown out of the hospital.

I remember how after I got thrown out I stopped trying to be strong, I remember getting in my car and slamming my head onto the steering wheel and staring at my shoes, thinking about her. Telling myself she'd be okay and not for an instant believing myself. I broke down, I cried, I drove home and threw anything that would make noise, I broke a picture of her and her friend, none of this would have happened if it wasn't for that bitch. I lay down on the couch and cried until the tears quit coming. Until my eyes were red, swollen, and puffy.

A few days went by, I visited the hospital every day but it wasn't until day 3 that they let me see her. I guess they felt bad for me, they told me that she wouldn't make it through the night and I had the right to spend a few hours with her. They let me inside and I sat by her bed. I could feel the warm tears welling up in my eyes but I just brushed them away, I would be strong for her. I held her hand and looked at her. she had tubes everywhere, up her nose, in her mouth. I felt queasy seeing her like that. My "Iron Stomach" as she called it did somersaults. I heard the monitor beeping slower. I gently squeezed her hand and put my head down next to hers’ "Please don't" I whispered "You have to live" I told her, "I have a ring back at the house. It's supposed to be yours and... I just need you to make it through this...please" I had been planning to propose for a week and I thought telling her would give her more strength. I, on the other hand, couldn't stay strong even for her. The tears had spilled over and dripped down my cheeks. I kissed her forehead, and then her cheek. Just as I did I heard it...the long beep that seemed so much louder than it really was. I looked up at the straight red line "No..." I whispered "NO!" I shouted "NO!! LAVENDER DON'T! DON'T DO THIS!!! LAVENDER PLEASE!!!!" I shouted, doctors came in the room and pushed me aside to perform CPR but there was nothing to be done. She was gone. I guess that's when I really lost it, when they told me they couldn't save her.

I left, I went home, I ran inside and collapsed to the floor, I screamed. I couldn't cry anymore so I just screamed, I screamed until my voice hurt...and then I kept screaming. I never moved from my spot on the living room floor. It was then that I guess I 'went crazy'. I don't know what I had done, it's all just a fuzzy memory that's too dense with pain and anger to even see the actions. Someone must have called the cops and that's when I snapped out of it. When the paramedics came in and got me onto a stretcher. Even after that point I don't remember much. Blood...I remember lots of blood....and pain, every part of body stung...but my body was numb and cold at the same time. I had never felt something like that. The doctors loaded me up in an ambulance and took me to the hospital.

They took my clothes. My jewelry. My privacy. They locked me up in a white, frustratingly plain room and went back to business as usual. Everyone there seemed... way too happy. They bandaged me up and every day when the nurse came to check on me she would bring a bag of candy and ask me a bunch of questions:

"How are you feeling today?"

"Do you feel like you might harm yourself?"

"Do you feel any better than you did before?"

"Would you like some candy?"

And I would always give the same answers:

"I feel terrible"

"What do you think?"

"Not particularly"

"No, I just want you crazy people to leave me alone and let me go home."

I guess my answers didn't do much as far as getting them to let me go home. The nurse would do the same thing every day and I could feel myself slowly getting worse. I kept thinking about Lavender. I blamed myself, I blamed that friend of hers, I blamed the driver that hit her. But most of all I just missed her. I stopped eating, not on purpose I just lost my apatite, I didn't do much. The nurses eventually found out that I liked to draw so they gave me some notepads and markers... I pleaded for pencils but looking back I see why I wasn't permitted to have one. I drew pictures of Lavender. I wrote her name, I drew her picture..it was so nice to see her face again... I wrote the phrases she said. When the nurses found it they took it from me. They told me I should stop obsessing over her. They said they understood that I missed her but they told me that I was thinking about her too much...there was one nurse though, the one that always tried to give me candy, she would give me a notepad when she brought my lunch. She said that they were wrong, she told me that I seemed happier when I had the notepad, but she had to take it away every day when she came to get the food I didn't eat.

I'm not sure how long I was locked up in there, it could have been a week, maybe a month? But it felt like forever. They had stopped asking me questions for a while but when the nurse came in one day the questions were different:

"What is your favorite color?"

"Lavender" I said.

"What about your favorite flower?" "Lavender"

She shook her head and wrote some stuff down on a clipboard "Okay, Blaire, honey...can you tell me if you had one wish what you would wish for? Take as long as you need, I can-"

"Lavender" I interrupted quickly, I didn't have to think, I wanted to see Lavender, I wanted to hold her again, I wanted to smell her perfume, I wanted her to grab my hands and dance around the kitchen with me when her favorite song came on the radio while we were cooking.

The nurse left and shut the door behind her, leaving me alone. I leaned back and curled up in my bed, then I heard a familiar voice.

"You look awful."

I looked around for a moment, and tentatively spoke up "Huh?" I asked quietly... I hoped to a God I didn't believe in that the voices weren't coming back.

"Sorry, but I'm serious, you REALLY look bad, what's wrong?" The voice sounded like Lavender's...but it couldn't be. I looked around more and that's when I saw her, standing in the corner of the room.

"...Lavender?" I asked quietly.

She giggled "Of course! What's the matter with you? And why are you here?" She asked curiously, gesturing to the room I was in I just sat there in silence for a few seconds...I didn't know what to say.

"I...I don't know" I just lied after a few minutes. She laughed and started to say something but stopped herself "I have to go," She said "Someones coming"

A door creaking open causing me to stop talking and spin my head around to whoever it was that was entering...it was the nurse.

"So your doctor says you are good to go...I just have to ask you some more questions..." She said reluctantly, looking like she couldn't believe her own words.

"How are you today?" I waved my hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.

"Do you feel you might harm yourself?" She asked I thought for a moment then shook my head slowly "I don't think so..." I answered.

"Do you feel any better today than other days?" "Actually...a little bit...yeah." I said.

She offered me some candy again and I shook my head. She nodded and left the room, coming back holding my old clothes, I got up and grabbed my clothes. I think that was the fastest I had ever gotten dressed. They took me home since I didn't have my car. I walked inside and plopped down on the couch. At that time I didn't know what exactly I was feeling. Happy? Maybe confused?

"What's wrong?" Lavender's voice asked me again.

"Everything..." I said "I just spent a month in a mental hospital...You died...and now I'm back home and everything is exactly the same as I left it...it just feels wrong" I said slowly. Everything slowly got back to normal, I cleaned the house and I even got a new picture frame for the picture I broke of Lavender and her friend.

I started to actually believe that I would be okay again. I started to believe that I was actually seeing Lavender each day, or at least her spirit. We would have full-length conversations and she made me laugh...just like the good old days. She taught me how to make some of the foods she always made. I was glad to have her back, honestly having her back may have been the only thing that got me back to normal. She never did hear me talking about proposing to her so I didn't say anything, there was no way we could get married now anyway. But still, having her around made things better. 'I love her so much.' I thought to myself at least once a day.

And then I woke up, hugging that giant stuffed panda. I ran downstairs "Lavender!" I called "I just had the craziest dream!" But when I reached the bottom of the steps I found the living room was a mess, and on the floor was that picture of Lavender and her best friend that I had broken.

"No," I said to myself "Lavender!?" I called again, I ran outside only to see that the car was still was gone, I quickly checked the messages on the phone. The only message was the one the hospital left telling me I was permitted to come to see Lavender, that she wasn't going to make it through the night. It had been recorded two days ago. I felt hot tears roll down my face "Lavender no..." I whispered. I shouted and ran back inside, collapsing into a ball on the living room floor

"What do you wish for?" A memory echoed in my head "Lavender" I whispered, "I wish for Lavender".  

[words-from-may-blog]

Welcome!

I am an aspiring writer hoping to one day be able to say I am published. I have a Wattpad too (wordswithmay) and am thinking about getting an instagram. I’ll post stories and snippets of stories and maybe other things I’m not sure what all will come of this blog quite yet! Enjoy, thanks for checking me out!