There’s a writing contest about mental illness, and you have to submit two stories; one about the serious struggle, and the other about a funny event that may or may not be related. Crap. I can think of all kinds of serious stories, but nothing that’s ha-ha funny. Maybe work just sucked all the humor out of me.
I’m so excited to leave that job for a while and go do something else. I don’t know why people fear change so much, as it’s the only thing that can keep me going sometimes: the knowledge that however bad the moment is, it won’t last forever. Change is the only constant. I wish it were easier sometimes, but purging the unhealthy is often very painful. Even if habits are incredibly bed for you, they get to be comfortable and familiar.
The pending changes make me feel very hyper. The only reason I’m not bouncing off the walls is because I didn’t sleep. I went to bed at 2:00 and woke up screaming at 3:15 with a horrific nightmare. I try to not be angry or hold grudges- those are two reasons the world is already such a mess. However, I struggle not to have hatred for the men who did such awful damage that I am still having flashbacks years and years later. Do any of them struggle or have these issues? Hell no. It’s a sick world where you can force your dick in an unwilling woman, and then blame it on her. Then you wonder why I’m crazy??? Super frustrating, but I’m channeling all of that emotion into making some waves. Perhaps the judicious use of media can slowly make a difference. Like water wearing away a stone, that’s how it feels. Maybe that will be the title of the first story.
Telling Stories- Tracy Chapman