Write it Out
Pieces written to process emotions, events, and life itself.
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There are no happy mediums, not for me. It’s feast or famine, full throttle or slow crawl—it is life in extremes, and it’s the nature of the bats. Bipolar Disorder, Manic Depressive, Mentally Ill—none of these labels evoke anything positive. Nevertheless, these are the labels in which I live under. I prefer far less psychiatric…
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There are those of us, touched with fire; a fire that rageswithin, threatening to destroy the very mind in which itresides. It leaves behind a chaotic state of a whirling madnesswhich I have become the master of manipulating. There are scars that will never fade, and memories thatwill never free me. Then there is me,…
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The curse of perfectionism laid its heavy hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, counting all the ways I wasn’t good enough. I thought I’d learned not to listen to those whispers, but it appeared I was falling susceptible to them once again. I waited for the feeling to pass. A day or…
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The snow gently falls outside my window as my fingers sit idle on the keyboard. I can’t seem to take my eyes off its falling white powder. By February the snow, while always beautiful, is not all together desirable. Winter drags on and the cold becomes bitter. I miss the warm weather, the rain, and…
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I heard nothing until he spoke my name. His haunting voice echoed in my mind as I attempted to get on with my daily chores. The day was bleak. Black birds of every kind gathered in my yard, their screeching unable to be ignored. Had they come to warn me? Had they come to announce…
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There are days I’m not sure where anything is going. My head is heavy with a fog that makes it hard to think let alone function. It’s something deep—a complete and total exhaustion of both body and mind. It persists and becomes an uneasiness that affects every thought I have. It grabs ahold of my…
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Little towns are notorious for gossip, most people know (or know of) most other people. The rumor mill makes for excitement in a small country town, I suppose. For the most part, I’m the type of person to mind my own business, however; my husband and I have indulged in a bit of town gossip…
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I sat at my desk as the printer produced page after page. My husband walked by, stopped, and picked up the stack of pages. He began reading. I continued to click print. The printer kept printing. He continued to read. Except for the sound of the printer, it was silent, until he spoke. “I thought…
SB LACROIX 