Just Another Writer Writing

Today has kind of sucked. It was my last day at a job I really enjoyed, I've been in near constant pain since about 10:30am either in my stomach or legs/hips/feet/toes (thank you, Eve), and for some unknown reason I let myself start talking about the one topic that is immensely triggering for me. Literally, the one topic that has made me want to self harm whenever I think too long about it. I would like nothing more than to take my fingernails and scratch until I see blood. But I won't. Because it's so not worth it. And I'll tell myself this again and again until I believe it. I admitted something to myself tonight that I almost hate myself for. Because I can't even attempt to pretend that I'm being over dramatic or that I don't mean it. Because I do mean it. But that doesn't mean I don't regret it, that it doesn't make me more sad than I can describe. As the year is ready to close, why have I decided to focus on the past? Why have I decid

I decided to write down my dream. Write down exactly how I would plan for my life to turn out, if I were given the chance. After all, you can't go after what you want unless you know what it is, right? To start with, I'd like to graduate before I am 25 with a degree in theatre. Sometime, maybe before or maybe after I graduate, I'd like to mary my best friend. A man who shares my passions and convictions and with whom I could build a relationship founded on unconditional love and devotion. I guess you could call me a romantic, but why should a marriage be anything different? I'd want at least two children, twins, and at least one a girl. I'd keep them safe from every harm I could-including those this world does not see as harmful. There is this old theatre in Branson Missouri. At least, I think it's a theatre. From the front it looks just like a huge mansion, but from the back you can tell that it is so much more. I'd want to call it mine. To start a theatre

So I found a coppy of a short story that I wrote last year, and I have decided that I am going to re-write it because I don't exacly like how it ends. But I have decided to share it :) So, here is "blood or bond"   I sat cross legged on my bed, looking through my mom’s old cheer scrap-book, the day my dad came in to deliver the news that changed my life forever…for the second time. “Hey baby.” He said. “We need to talk.” I closed the book, thankful for a distraction. “What’s up dad?” “The trial’s over.” “What do you mean the trial is over? I check it every year, it hadn’t started yet!” I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. “It started about a month ago. After four years of investigation, the trial only took a month.” He sat down beside me, and shook his head. “When will we get to see her?” I asked excitedly. “Soon, very soon. I’ve been talking with the people who were protecting her, and they say we should move and get a new start in another state, as another way to

Last night I started writing. After about an hour, this is what I had. I think I like it!! Lol I was sitting at my vanity when she appeared in the mirror behind me. "You look beautiful." She whispered, a smile parting her lips. "You came." I looked up and smiled at her in the mirror. "Did you think I would miss helping you get ready for your prom?" She pulled a curler out of my hair and watched as the small curl fell to my shoulders. "I started to. You weren't around when I was picking out a dress." "You know I don't do department stores. I knew you would make a good choice." She continued removing the curlers and I started on my makeup. "Do you think he will like this?" I asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "If he doesn't, then he doesn't know what he's missing." "Ohh, I'm so nervous! Think he'll ask me tonight?" She laughed and put her arms around me. "Patience baby, pa

(This one will probably be short) Second part of writing prompt from Writers Write "Write about the taste of happiness" Happiness is a sweet. The kind you can get addicted to, and want for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It melts in your mouth, and fills you with warmth. It can do more for improving your day than a cup of hot coffee, though some would say coffee is the taste of happiness. Happiness tastes different from anything else in the world, and sometimes we can let ourselves go too long without truly tasting it. But sometimes, we taste it daily, in the little things. Children playing, laughing with friends, a hug from mom or dad. We can taste happiness wherever we are, whatever we are doing. All we have to do, it's look for it.

Daily Prompt from Writers Write "Write about the color of pain" Pain is an awful color, one that has no beauty in it. Some would say it's black, but I disagree. Black is a melodramatic, yet still beautiful portrayal of pain. We use black as a way to show our pain, let others see. But in reality, it is not the true color. Pain is an ugly color; a mixture of sorrow, heartbreak, betrayal, and lost love. It is not a color that anyone would chose to paint with, no in fact it is the color you get when you mix all the paints together on the canvas. The color that shows up as you try to cover mistake after mistake, memory after memory, until all that is left is covered in the ugly, awful, painful color and you have no choice but to pick up another canvas and start anew. But you can't. Because in this life, we are each given only one canvas, so try as you might to cover it up, it's always there. Always beneath the picture that could be beautiful, if it had been painted fir

Ok, so the other day I was in a bit of a funk, feeling really down for verious reasons. So I got on Pinterest. And I saw a few pins, and decided I would try something. Write as much as I could using one, and then move to the next one, being they were all somewhat related, and this is what came from it. It's not necessarily happy, actually it's probably more angry. But here is is. It doesn't have a name. Sorry. "We have anxiety. This is a very real thing that most people don't understand or even recognize. We have a chemical imbalance in our brains, much like a diabetic has a chemical imbalance in their body. We did not ask for this illness, just as the diabetic did not ask for theirs. Yet somehow society has deemed it acceptable to stigmatize us for ours-calling us crazy-while showing compassion for the other. Some would say that's it's wrong to compare the struggles we face due to our illness to those of the people battling cancer, or diabetes, or a heart