To Be Believed

 She had to survey her surroundings a few times before her brain would begin to register the input from her eyes. There were people around her, a lot of them, who knew her. They were all standing by her, ready to stand up if she needed it. Ready to defend if it was necessary. Ready to risk themselves, or so her scarred mind believed. Because back then, anyone who did try to help her paid a price, as did she. But, that was then, and this was now. She knew that. Or, the small part of her still in touch with logic did. 

Just, ever since then, her connection with that part of herself still in touch with logic had weakened. And sometimes, it was blurry. Sometimes, now felt distant and far away, and then felt way too close for comfort. But right now, she was in it enough to see all of the people around her, even if her scarred mind was reluctant to believe it. She was in it enough to see all of the people, willing to stand by and stand up. Not just willing, but actually doing it. 

She couldn’t help the tiny hint of a smile on her lips, owing to the small part of herself still in touch with logic, at the now army’s worth of strangers standing behind and alongside her. Because that small part of herself knew that even though then still affected her now, it was back then, not now. Even if, because of then, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that this, now, was her reality. Now is what she’d dreamt of. Now is what she’d never thought would happen. To have people around her. To know she wasn’t alone. And to be believed. That was the most impactful. That all of these people stood by her now, because they believed her story, and they believed that what she had subjected to was wrong. To be believed was the first, most important step of all. And to think it had all started with one single stranger. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

This story is part of the Stranger series, which started here. You can find the full collection, together in one place, on Wattpad here.

This story was partially inspired by two incredibly powerful TV spots. A scene on Season 4, episode 7 of Sex Education around the importance of accessibility (more here) and season 14, episode 9 of Grey’s Anatomy, which shows the aftermath of trauma and the impact of others’ support.  

For those who have experienced trauma, know that you are not alone. And for those who know someone who has experienced trauma, remember that simply being believed can be indescribably powerful. 

Waiting In The Sun

They are all here in the sun, waiting for me. Just like I’ve always been told they would be. It’s far better than I could have imagined. Everyone important is here. Everyone who’s ever been important. Everyone. All together. Here in the sun. 

The park is weirdly empty aside from us, but I’m not going to complain. The grass is green, the sky is blue and clear, and the sun is shining bright above us. Oh, and there’s a nice breeze too, so no one gets too warm. 

I can’t help smiling, I’m so happy. When my loved ones notice me, they smile back at me. The ones closest open their arms. Feeling like a giddy child lost in the sheer joy of play, I run toward them. I run faster than I can remember ever running. As if the wind is pushing me along, and my path is downhill, which means my good friend gravity lends a helping hand. It’s like I’m running the last few metres of a race. It’s a wonder I don’t bowl anyone over. 

I emerge from the warm huddle-hug (because everyone had to get in on the action) and look around at all my loved ones. Really everyone is here- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, siblings, parents, friends. All of the people who make me feel safest in the whole entire world. All here. 

I feel tears touch the tip of my eyelashes when I open my eyes, finding I’m not in the park with everyone anymore. Maybe I never was. But I like to think I was there, in a way. I smile as more tears fall, knowing not everyone at the park is here with me in this waking reality. But I know now they’re all there, in the sun at the park. They’ll be there waiting for me. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

For all those who have lost a loved one. They’ll be waiting in the sun for you. 

The Flamingo With Muscles

 Like all flamingos, like all birds, Fred had muscles. Only, he didn’t know it. Instead, he doubted it. How could he not, being the weakest of the flock? Strong birds had muscle. Weak birds? Not so much… 

Fred looked around at the other flamingos, stretching and flapping their wings. But it was when they shot up into the air their muscles were really on display, as they twirled and dipped and did tricks. Fred wanted to wrap his wings around himself so h’d be hidden from view. They were all warming up for the first stage in a competition that would eventually lead to representing the flamingos at a much bigger competition with all the birds. Everyone was expected to try out to represent their kind, but Fred didn’t see the point. He had no chance next to the other flamingos. The other flamingos didn’t have wobbly legs like heated, the other flamingos didn’t shake when someone simply looked at them. No, the other flamingos, unlike Fred, knew how to stand tall and proud. 

Not all flamingos were good at sport, Fred could admit that. But all flamingos, everyone, was good at something. So that meant Fred should have been good at something, right? If there was something that Fred was good at, he didn’t know what it was. 

If Fred had been given a choice, he wouldn’t have bothered wasting his time trying out alongside the other flamingos to represent their flock at the next round. But, he didn’t have that choice, and so, he gave it his best shot. He lined up with the other flamingos and spread his wings wide. Fred paraded along with the rest of them, as if his wings were part of an outfit he’d been asked to model at a runway show. Then, he took his turn to shoot up into the air and show off what he could do in the sky. Not much, was the answer. Fred basically flew around in different ways. He wished he’d been allowed a partner to do this with. Maybe then, they could have synchronised and together made beautiful shapes among the clouds. But, just like almost always, Fred was on his own.

“You do have muscle, Fred,” his mother told him when the tryouts had finished. “ it’s just not the kind of muscle that everyone would expect. It’s similar to the muscle birds have, because it’s not muscle that everyone sees.” 

“Oh yeah?” Fred asked, curious now. “ what kind of muscle is that?” 

Fred’s mother smiled. “It’s the kind of muscle let you do all of what you just did, I’m not talking about physical muscle that allows us to fly or spread our wings and dance the way that we do. The kind of muscle I’m talking about, the kind of muscle you have,  is the kind that helped you do all of that, even when there weren’t that many backing you. Even when you didn’t feel like you had a chance.” She patted his shoulder. “ The kind of muscle you have, Fred, is bravery and courage. It’s not the kind of muscle that everyone has, but it’s important. Because, with your kind of muscle, you can feel the fear and do it anyway.” 

Sympathy for the Devil

 I’m known around town as ‘The Devil’. Not because I’m the daughter of Satan (although I easily could be), but because most of the time, it’s my evil side that shows through and takes the lead. But, what if I told you it’s for good reason? Or, at least, it started out that way…. 

Bad is bad, I hear you scream at me, there is no excuse. I know. But, I had a reason. I’m not trying to excuse what I’ve done. Just provide an explanation of sorts, I suppose. So will you hear me out? Will you take a moment to have a little sympathy for the devil? I won’t beg- that would ruin my rep. But I’ll go on. Stay, if you give even half an F. 

It all started with my little sister. She was my favourite person in the entire universe. My best friend, my playmate, my partner in (innocent) crime- not real crime, mind you. Darkness hadn’t touched me yet, after all. That came later. But, you get what I mean. My little sister  was my everything,  and I would have done anything for her. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place, if you can call it a mess. I don’t know that it is though, not to me. It’s just a different way.  Maybe not the way others agree with, but it’s the way that works for me. As they say, nice guys finish last, right? So, that’s how I found myself making something of a deal with the devil. Or maybe the devil’s delegate? I’m not sure quite how you describe them. But I was little at the time, so cut me a little slack, alright?

When my little sister was only 4 , and I was 10, she was killed. We were playing on the edge of the road, at the end of our driveway when a car swerved out of control and hit my little sister, knocking her dead. That was when I met the reaper. I begged, because I beg in those days, and I was little. The reaper said it didn’t matter, she was gone. But, he could offer me a deal. He could accompany my sister as she passed from this life,  and make sure she got safely to heaven, where she belonged. The reaper told me that while that’s where my sister was supposed to go, there is always a chance for a soul to become lost, or snatched away to the wrong place. That was the last thing I wanted for my little sister. But, with the reaper, well I had to do was shake his hand. Looking back at it now, with the gift of hindsight, it seems obvious that it was too good to be true. That there was something the reaper wasn’t telling me. And I’ve been paying the price ever since. I can only hope my little sister got to where she was supposed to be, in heaven, because I never heard from the reaper ever again after that day.

But since that day, I’ve had devilish whispers in my mind.  They were small at first, quiet, so I had to really concentrate to hear them. But, they were enticing and alluring.  Not to mention darkness had entered my little world when my sister was lost to us, so I was more susceptible to their suggestions. And I seemed to be rewarded. The more I listened to the voices, the stronger they became. They were like friends, they are friends. The only friends I have now, really. Listening to them has led me to find my own power. Because of them, I am strong, tough and in control. No one would even dare take advantage of me now. Not like the reaper did when I was young. The reaper. That’s who I’m gunning for, really.  But I know that I won’t see him again until it’s my time. And when it is, he will be the one who pays. Until then, I’m the devil about town, and I’m ok with that.  

Before the Sun

 It is so freezing, I’m almost certain I’ll be encased in ice within minutes, maybe mere seconds. Being up and at ‘Em before the sun will have that effect, I suppose. But, I also know it’ll be worth it when I get to where I’m going. Besides, what other excuse do I have to get out of the house? Exercise is one of the few legitimate reasons folks are allowed to venture beyond their four walls, and this is definitely exercise. 

When I get to the top of this big hill/ mountain/ cliff structure I’ve been climbing, I take a moment to lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees and panting for air. Then, I straighten up and set about spinning the guitar I’ve carried on my back around so I can play it. I do it slowly, because bringing my instrument with me was a risk. Less so doing at this time of the morning, before the sun. At this time, there’s not a soul around. Not physically close by, anyway. 

There are others out there, though. They’re the reason I’m here with my guitar, out before the sun. We made a promise that they’d be doing the same as me, just in a different place. I close my eyes, imagining mirrored scenes of my two best friends in the world. Almost like our very own music video. My breath hitches in my throat, imagining that possibility. Maybe one day, it’ll be a reality. But for now, we have this. This view, so perfect it’s like someone painted it into existence. This breeze, almost too cold, but starting to grow warmer. I start to run my fingers over the strings and close my eyes so I can lose myself completely in the sound. 

I keep playing for long enough to lose all track of time. It’s not until I sense the darkness start to dissipate that I open my eyes, the strumming automatic. Just enough to see the sun start to poke through just above the ocean beyond. I keep playing as it slowly rises to begin a new day. It’s warmth envelops me, along with the knowledge my friends are experiencing if not the same, then very similar. Even if our specific sunrises are different, the three of us are all under the same sky, standing beneath the same sun. This is why we get up before the sun. For this moment when we are together in different places, our souls connected, tuned into the same song. 

For You

 When it’s just your voice, no one will necessarily have to know it’s you. These words are the ones that ended up convincing her, and they’ve been on a recurrent loop in the back of her mind since she first decided to do this. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be. Being out in front of people, even the thought of it, has always sent her to shaking in her boots. But your voice is so beautiful. It’d almost be a crime not to share it with the world, he’d always told her. 

“I’m sorry you weren’t around to see it, Dad.” She hoped he could hear, just like somehow, it felt like she could hear him. “This is for you. There’s no way otherwise.” She blinked away the wetness on her eyelashes. “You’ve always been the one to make me brave though, huh?” She laughed at the realisation that hit her. “You we’re always the one to make me feel on top of the world. Like I could do anything.” 

Her brother had similar motives for wanting to join her.. “I’m doing this for you, Dad. And for her. Heaven knows I’d do anything for her. We both would, I ‘spouse. Except, you just had to go and leave it to me now, didn’t you?” The rhetorical question came out angry, but he wasn’t sure if he was really angry at all. He couldn’t be. Not at her, the near spitting image of the man who’d raised them. The man they both loved more than anyone else in the whole world. Maybe there was a sliver of annoyance, because he knew he had no choice but to join her. Even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing . But it was only a sliver, because it was her. For her, he’d give it a shot. 

He held her gaze, searching his eyes for a hint of understanding. “For you,” he said simply. “Both of you.”

Be Confident

 I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen. I am without a doubt, completely and utterly enamoured and mesmerised by the performer who stands there, centre stage. I have been since the moment they first appeared. I am in awe, not only of what they’ve done, but also what I’m seeing. Who they are. Technically a woman from what I can tell, but not the classic girly girl type. The person I see in front of me is not wearing a dress, skirt or high heels. Instead they are absolutely dominating in a power suit that perfectly matches that of their partner and a killer hairdo, shaved or tight on the sides with hair piled high on top. It’s kind of old fashioned but androgynously modern at the same time. They are strong and powerful, and I think they know it. 

“What are you watching?” Comes the voice of my best friend Francis, who has just entered the room and sat down on the opposite end of the couch to me. “Luce?” Francis asks. I realise the question is rhetorical when they keep talking without giving me the chance to get so much as a single word in. “ they’re awesome!” 

“Wait.” Finally I turn my eyes away from the screen to look at my friend. “You know them?” 

Francis waves a hand in the air, as if trying to lessen the gravity of this possible fact. “Well I’ve met them.” Francis returns his gaze to Luce’s image, frozen on screen. “Uncle Keys has worked with them before.” 

“Oh. Of course he has,” I say and laugh, trying to cover up my jealousy, but also knowing I’m most likely not doing a very good job. 

“Hey! Keys likes you! I’m sure he’d set something up if we asked.” Francis shrugs. “I can’t blame you. They are pretty damn cool.” 

“Right?” I ask, repressing the urge to bounce up and down in my seat with excitement as I enter fan girl mode. “They just… they’re so…” I pause to think, hoping the right description will somehow appear to me if I give it enough time. “I can’t even put words to it,” I say giving up finally. “They’re just so…” 

“… them?” Francis proffers. 

“Yes!” 

“They ooze confidence, huh?” Francis says, somehow pulling the words directly  from my mind. 

I nod eagerly, then sigh as my gaze drifts back to Luce’s image on the TV. “I wish I could be like them.” 

“What do you mean like them?” Francis shifts in his seat so that we are directly facing each other. His eyes search mine carefully. “It’s like Dr Seuss says, there is no one alive who is youer than you.” 

“Be you, be yourself,” I parrot the mantra Francis and his uncle have been trying to drill into me for years. “I know. I just mean how Luce is so confident in themselves. Not scared or afraid. Just ‘this is me. Fuck anyone who tries to force me to be anything else.’” Francis falls back into the pillows, a rare swear word as shockingly impactful as an unexpected bullet. “That’s what I want. That confidence.” 

“It’s not as easy as just clicking your fingers and saying; ‘be confident!’” Luce tells me with a laugh. “It doesn’t work like that. It takes practice, and time.” They smile. “It’s taken me years to get to where I am now. For years, I felt like biggest fraud. Like someone would uncover the truth that I wasn’t all that they thought I was. That I wasn’t all that. But the biggest lesson I’ve learnt is that, I am. I am all that. That’s where the confidence kicks in, I think. You’re still young, you’ll get there. I can see it in you already. You are.” 

I can’t help blushing. “Thanks. But, what about in the meantime? Until I get there?” The last word comes out as an extra question, something Luce picks up on. 

“It might be a case of fake it till you make it,” they tell me.”Why do you think I perform, Darling?” 

I can’t help the small giggle that escapes my lips. 

“But even then although a character might be the same on paper, they’re always a little different depending on the person bringing them to life.” 

“I don’t think I’d have enough courage to do what you do. I wish.” 

Luce reaches out to touch a hand to my arm. “It’s okay. Performing isn’t for everyone. I think it’s more important to master the art of being you and owning who you are. That in itself takes enough courage” They lean in closer, almost whispering. “ between you and me, I think it might of taken me longer to develop that confidence because I had to perform and I put on all of these masks. Although don’t get me wrong, masks are important. Because first you have to find who you are, which masks help with. Only then, once you’ve found you, can you truly be you. I think confidence stems from that knowledge.” 

Luce rises to their full height, a whole half foot taller than me. Or so it seems.

“Thanks Luce. It was so wonderful to meet you.” 

“Likewise, Linda.” 

“Lin,” I correct on impulse. 

“See?  You’re already starting to really be yourself.” Luce gives me a knowing smile and a wink. “Keys has my details, so don’t be a stranger and keep in touch okay? I can’t wait to see you dominating too, Lin.” 

——————————————————————————————————————————

This story follows on from Be, which you can read here. 

Something Out There

 Lyndal sighed, exasperated. “Duff, I’m telling you. There’s nothing there!”

“You’re just saying that because it’s dark and cold out, and you couldn’t be bothered going to investigate,” Duff shot back. “I’m telling you, there is something out there.”

 

“Guys! Stop for a minute.” Duff's younger sister raised an open palm.  “I think Cal might be onto something.”

Lyndal and Duff shot her an unimpressed look, but they did fall silent. The three waited a few minutes until…

 

“There,” said Duff at the sound of a soft rustle outside. “There it is again.”

“I hear it too,” His sister agreed.

Lyndal crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting to admit that that time, she'd heard it to.

Duff turned back to her. “Now can we go look?”

“Alright. Fine.”

 

“Don't forget a torch!” Duff’s sister handed it to him as he went to step out of the tent.

He shot her a grateful grin. “Thanks Ellie.”

Ellie scrambled to stay close to her brother, Lyndal trailing a little behind them.

 

The three teenagers stopped when they reached what was surely the source of the rustling. In unison, their mouths dropped open. None of them could believe their eyes. Even when Duff shone his torchlight on it…

 

“Aww!” Lyndal cooed. “It’s so cute!”

The Duff siblings turned to stare at her, not sure whether what they'd seen or Lyndal's reaction was more shocking.

“I guess it is kind of cute.” Eli admitted, looking back down at it.

Callum was the only one still sceptical, a brow raised. “D’ya think?” He asked, looking between the two young women. “We don't even know what ‘it’ is. All we can say for sure is that it's something none of us have seen before.”

“But it's so cute!” The girls cooed again.

“We've got to take it with us,” Lyndal spoke up. “It needs someone to take care of it.”

Callum opened and  closed his mouth. He wanted to question whether that was such a good idea as Lyndal seemed to think, but he knew better. Lyndal was stubborn, and when she got an idea there was rarely any changing her mind. He shrugged. He had to admit that she did have a heart of gold. If anyone could take care of this creature, it’d be her.

The Difference I See

While everyone else seems to be criticising this new English romance film, I’m sitting over here, by myself,  in support of it. Yeah, it’s not exactly something I would’ve necessarily expected of myself either.  Headlines like ‘better off dead than disabled’ is not exactly the most enticing advertisement, especially when you’re someone who actually has disability… but here we are. Seeing disability in a film feels like a rarity. Who am I to pass up the opportunity to see it, even if it’s a controversial one? Beggars can’t be choosers after all. So in spite of the criticism, I give it a go anyway. And honestly, I’m glad that I did. Because I see it differently. Let me tell you way. 

There is definite validity to the concerns about how young and impressionable minds maybe shaped by the narrative and the possible reflection of societies perception of disability it indicates. But I see a little bit more than that. In the lead, disabled character, I see someone not too unlike myself. Someone who has struggled frustrations life with disability means, and with the fact that those frustrations are their life. I’m someone who was born like this, with disability. But that character acquired their disability-  it hasn’t always been there for them. I imagine their frustrations and their struggles would be so much worse knowing the difference. From that lens, I can totally understand where their story took them, because I’ve been there too. Okay maybe not the exact same situation but the feeling is definitely one that’s familiar. 

In my experience, suicidality and suicidal ideation come about when someone can’t see any other way out of the pain or struggle they’re experiencing. It comes when someone can’t see an end to their suffering. When it might feel like they have no control left and there’s nothing else they can do. It’s an immensely dark place to be, but in that place, ending your life feels like a way to end suffering, A way out of the struggle, A way of taking back control. Often it feels like the only way to achieve all of those things. Take it from someone who’s been stuck in that dark place. 

Disability in a world built for ability. The frustration of having to try to navigate that world. Of being made to feel like, or worse, outright told that you don’t belong or there’s not a place for you in that world.  That’s the real problem. Because there’s nothing someone with a disability can actually do to get rid of it. It’s part of them whether they like it or not just the same as your eye colour is a part of you. And with how you can feel or be made to feel in the world sometimes I promise you that no one would necessarily choose disability. But at the same time, especially when it’s always been part of you, you wouldn’t not choose it either. 

I think that’s the kind of thing the main character in that story was struggling with. The thing that led them to seek to end their life . The frustration of a life newly filled with these struggles of living in a world not made or designed for you, where the price they have to pay is the full and rich life they used to have. A life they loved but can never have in the same way again. 

Given time, they might have been able to see or discover beauty in their new life. But the real tragedy, to my mind, is that they were stuck in that dark place. When you’re stuck in that dark place, it’s too dark to see any kind of possibility. The only way out you see is a pretty definite way, but in that dark place, it seems the only way. 

‘Disability is not a tragedy’, is the argument of many who are of the perspective the film’s message is ‘better off dead then disabled’. But for many, especially those who acquire their disability, it is a tragedy. It is vital that that’s allowed. If it’s not, there be many more who find themselves stuck in that dark place and who have more pain than is necessary. Disability doesn’t have to be a tragedy, but sometimes, it can feel like one. Feeling like your world as you know it has ended, can feel like a tragedy. That’s the difference I see. This movie is the story of one person. One person who has been handed a life they never imagined, nor asked for, at the cost of a life they loved. I think anyone who was put into that position might feel similarly. 

People with disability are not better off dead, But to some, it can feel like they would be. That problem lies in the society that’s not built for difference. A society that could be more accepting and inclusive of difference. A society where difference is often judged and hated on by others. That’s the difference I see. 

All of that doesn’t mean that the dark will always be. When you’re in the dark, it does feel like that, I know, but take it from someone who’s been there, it won’t. There will be a way out. And if you are someone like me he’s felt like that’s the only way out of your different, remember, different isn’t necessarily all bad. Some things and people might make you feel like different is all bad but that’s on them. It’s not your fault world isn’t set up for different. Just hold on. Life will come. You’ll find your way.

——————————————————————————————————————————

If this story has raised any issues for you, please reach out for support from somewhere like Lifeline (Australia), or the equivalent in your country, and please take good care of you. 

One Day, In The Time of Sakura

 I wish I could come to Japan. In my mind I'm already there, leaving my body behind at my computer. So maybe what I really want is for my physical being to catch up to my imagination.
I know, comes my friend’s reply. I wish we could really meet. Be in the same place. Maybe one day we will
Me too. I hope so. “More than anything.” I can't help the heavy sigh as my dreaming mind jolts back into my head. I hear my sister's frustrated groans, and the ache of wistful longing grows.
 
If I were there, with you, I keep typing to my friend, I'd be free. It wouldn't be like here. Here it feels like I'm in a cage sometimes. A message has been sent before I really have a chance to think about it, my mind having drifted off again to preferable fantasies.
I see the dots dance and flash rhythmically while my friend types on the other side of the screen. One day, Chō Hana, when it is the time of the Sakura. It is so beautiful then.
Their words send me off down another dreamy vision. I imagine the two of us, walking down a path lined with beautiful pale pink cherry blossoms, all in bloom. The sun is shining and the air is warm. When is Sakura?
 Around March, April. Comes their reply. April is the best time though.
 
I feel pleasant warmth start to bloom within me, rising upwards. It seems to take with it the usual tightness that rests on my chest. My brain, meanwhile, has raced on ahead. April. There's potential for that to be in the next set of school holidays. I could actually go! This dream that we've been dreaming about could finally be reality!   
 
The sound of my sister’s cries sends a rock thumping back into place over my heart. I wish, is all I can think to say to my friend. I know that no matter how much I want to, I can't go. I can't leave her. Not when she needs me. 
One day, Chō Hana. One day. I have faith.
I can't wait, I say, allowing myself to indulge in imagination again. It's going to be wonderful. I won't be a problem there, with you. I'll be free.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's note: There are a few Japanese words in this story. Roughly translated, they are: 
 Sakura- Cherry Blossom 
Chō- Butterfly 
Hana- Flower

My Little Fish Friend

 Just like always when I walk into my bedroom, my little fish friend is there waiting for me, swimming around in his tank. Just like always, it makes me smile to see him. “I’m glad I’ve got you.”
He swims closer to where I settle, on a plush chair near his tank. “You’re a good friend. You’re always here for me.” I shift my gaze to look from one side of his tank to the other. “Not that you have much of a choice.” I can’t help chuckling. Once the laughter dissipates, I shrug. “But you are still here. That’s more than I can say for many.” My breath is hot as it falls from my mouth. I blink at the prickle in my eyes. I know there are tears there, but I also know that that's where they'll stay. I can't ever seem to make them fall.
 
I refocus my gaze on my little fish friend, who has been watching me this whole time. He blinks back at me.
“I suppose that you can't really cry either, can you?”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, though only bubbles escape.
I watch as they float upwards, toward the surface.
“I wish I could speak fish, so I could understand what you're trying to tell me right now.” My breath catches in my throat as I go to inhale.
 
“But it's worse for you, huh?” I say after a while, leaning closer to where he bobs in place. “You can't cry, but you don't have a voice either.” I touch my fingers slightly to my throat, feeling the lump that's starting to form there, about the same place my breath caught. It's painfully rock hard. “Sometimes, I lose my voice too.”
My little fish friend’s big eyes are steady on me as I talk.
“Usually in the worst times when I need my voice the most is when it escapes me, and I just clam up. It’s like my mind is a tank that I'm trapped in…” I stop, allowing my eyes to wonder once again over his tank. “Sorry. That was a bad analogy.” I let out a long, hot breath. “But that's the thing. You get me. In a way that no one else seems to, you understand.” My smile returns and grows a little bigger as I look at him, still next to me. Or as close as he can get. “I’m glad I've got you, my little fish friend.”   

Love & Loss

 “So, y’all know that I do these videos, but did I ever tell you why?” Devi paused as if to allow room for a response. Except really, this being video and all, the question was kind of rhetorical. But, she figured, maybe it would still give whoever was watching a chance to answer for themselves. “I mean, it did start with COVID when I couldn't actually see any of you in person but there was still things I wanted to say and wanted you to know. The thing is though, that the kinds of things on my mind are usually pretty personal and vulnerable so saying them to a video, plus being able to have as many takes as I need…” Devi chuckled to herself at memories of such occasions, recording and re-recording over and over again until she was happy.  

 

“… But it's not just that. I've had a fair bit of loss the last few years. Like many. Something I’ve learned is that loss can be like an uninvited ice cold splash of water to the face- it's a shock, and it also kinda wakes you up a bit. Some of my losses made me wonder, if someone’s send off from this life is the people they loved and had connections with saying all the things they loved about them, why don't we say that in life, when the person can actually hear it and feel it?” Devi stopped and tried her best to swallow around a rock hard lump in her throat. “Why do we wait? I don't wanna wait anymore. That's where these videos started, and yes, it has been a little too confronting for some, who've turned around and in ways attacked me for who I am and these lovely qualities that make me, me.” 

 

Devi stopped again. She wanted to say the thing that everyone says in an attempt at comfort when a relationship breaks up or ends because the other person walked away; that it was their loss. She knew that to be true, but it didn't feel to her like just their loss. She'd been drawn to these people for a reason, She'd loved and connected with them for a reason. Yes, that had now been clouded by their final actions and the way things had ended in those friendships, but those reasons still existed. But really, even though she'd lost too, the absence of her in their lives was a loss.

 

“But anyway,” Devi continued her video recording. “Those losses I’ve had taught me the importance of love, and so I wanted to explain where I'm coming from, so that you know, and hopefully so that you can understand why I do these videos.” She paused to take a breath, making sure she was looking directly at the camera. “I don't want you to have any doubt about how I feel. I want you to remember but you are loved, because I know what it's like to not feel like you’re valued, or even wanted. It's horrible and not something that I want anyone else to experience if I can help it at all. Also, contrary to what some might think, love is not something that is finite. I mean this in the sense that there's not necessarily a limited quantity to go around. Spreading love, like spreading joy costs nothing, so I'm going to do it until my last breath. Because life is pointless without them." Devi smiled. "Thank you, Lewis, for helping me find the words to express and explain this." She referred not to a friend, but to the talented Scottish singer-songwriter she'd grown fond of, particularly for his ability to articulate his experiences and perspective through music.  "Y'all I'm taking 'treat others how you want to be treated' to a whole new level.”     

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This story continues the story of Devi, 'Devi's Diaries' which started here. 

Special shout out to the amazing Lewis Capaldi, who's sharing of the meaning behind his song Pointless helped inspire this story. 

Chasing The Light

 It had been so long since she'd seen light that when she came across it again, it was like she was discovering it for the very first time. Her small, restricted space was dark, almost pitch black. The introduction of a little lightbulb was fascinating. Even more so when it started to glow. She wanted so much to hold it and protect the warmth that emanated from the bulb, but it was more than warm to the touch.

 

Slow and careful, she inspected the light from each angle. her gaze locked on it she watched transfixed as it started to rise up and out of her space. She rose after it, finding that with help, she too could be lifted from the dark place she’d been trapped in. She stood, steady and cautious, like a bird testing it’s wings for flight. Then, she jumped back down and held the walls that had confined her, realising there was another escape between them. She tested the possibility, like an innocent preparing for a jailbreak and found that yes, she could leave that way too.

 

Slow and sure, she stepped out of the confines she’d thought herself trapped in. A little way out, she leapt for joy at the feeling of freedom and space. The light guided her all the while. She ran and reached for it again, managing to grasp the rope to which it was attached. Joyously, defiantly, she allowed the light to fly and dance around her.

 

She turned in dizzying circles at the return of the restrictive space she’d once been in. Where had the light disappeared to when she’d lost her hold? But this time, the space didn’t seem so scary or confining. Letting out a breath she allowed herself to revel in the space and her newfound knowledge that she was free to leave it whenever she wanted. This small space with her’s, in which to be and she could use it as a platform from which to not just fly, but soar.

 

She tilted her head back, basking in the feeling of wind rushing past her. Only then did the lightbulb, with its glowing light, appear once more. And only now when she finally able to take it in her hands. As she held it and felt its warmth radiating through her fingertips, she realised the light was within her. It shone to fuel her movements and guide her way forward. only then, comforted and safe in that knowledge, holding tight to the light bulb itself could she blow out the light it held.

All About ME

 He waved an unimpressed hand in the direction of his young assistant, her phone in hand as she tried to snap as many pictures as she could. “I get that sort of thing everywhere I go. All I really wanted was a little escape.” He sighed, exasperated. “How far must one go for a little bit of private peace and quiet!?”

 

The young blonde was doing an excellent job of pretending her boss was not getting to her, but little did he realise his comments were starting to crawl under her skin. Are you really looking for peace and quiet, or are you jealous the attention is not 100% on you for a second? She retorted silently to herself before refocusing her attention on the sight in front of her and her mission to capture it on film.

 

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” she uttered under her breath. But she was close enough that her boss heard her.

“Why yes,” he said, matter of fact as he turned to glance at his assistant. Beside him, she was fighting not to turn red. Did I just say that out loud?

“Yes it is. I’m glad you can see that.” Her boss went on. “And you know, Melanie, that might be perfect for my next project.”

“Huh?”

“I can see it now!” He shot up to stand on his feet, throwing his arms out wide and sending the chair he’d been sitting in flying backwards in the process. He waved his arms around in the air as he said “’All About ME’”, as if envisioning it on a theatre’s signboard. “It’s perfect. All About ME. Martin East. Melanie, you’re a GENIUS!” His stunned assistant froze as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “I could kiss you.” He stopped suddenly, releasing her just as quickly. “But I won’t.”

 

Snapping out of her daze, his assistant scrambled to set his chair upright again. “There you are, Mr. East.”

He sat down absentmindedly without a word of thanks, once again absorbed and lost in his own world.

She turned away to find the sight she’d been trying to capture, a flock of seagulls gathered nearby, had disappeared. “Oh.” She sighed in barely a whisper. Closing her eyes, she recreated the scene in her mind’s eye and breathed a sigh of contentment.   

Maybe This Is How It Feels

The hairs on my arms stand on and when it comes into view, and my breath catches somewhere in my throat. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, looking forward to it, and now, I’m finally here. A breeze hits me as I walk through the gates. The wind washing over me carries more than just cool relief from the warm sunny day. There’s also an air of…. something. Some kind of feeling I can’t quite put my finger on the name of, but a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt or experienced before. 

I close my eyes, trying to take it all in one bit at a time. To savour and relish in it. I can’t quite believe it. It feels so surreal. Like I’m existing in some kind of waking dream in place of reality. Like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s like… ecstasy. The feeling, not the drug. I haven’t ever experienced the drug, and I don’t plan to. But I imagine this is how it might feel. Maybe they named the drug after the feeling. This feeling. 

Not one of the many people around has said anything to me, exactly. Not explicitly. But there's this understanding. This inherent knowing, that it's ok. That I'm ok. Because everyone is ok. Around me, everyone is just themselves. Without explanation, without justification, without apology. Because there's no need for any of that. Just as it should be. I can't help sighing. I wish it could always be like this. Just for today, how it is. 

Maybe that's what it is, this feeling. I didn't notice it until it was gone, because it's always been there, my whole life. This huge weight. Like I have to fit into a mould there's no way I possibly can do without contorting myself like a circus performer. Like I have to wear a suffocating mask 24/7, straining for air. But suddenly, all of that huge weight is gone. 

Maybe this is how it feels to breathe without restriction. To move without restraint. Maybe this is how it feels to not be carrying weight of pressure and stress to conform around all the time. Maybe this is how it feels when you are allowed to really, truly just be. Maybe this is how it feels to be free. 

Being Human

 I walk through the world on tiptoe, trying to dodge the invisible landmines people think I'm crazy for believing are there. But they are. It only takes stepping on one to cause you to shift into high alert. And I've done it more than once. Having been so careful for so long, longer than I care to remember, I start to relax. But prematurely, it would seem, because then I manage to stumble on to another landmine that results in an explosion. 

In the wake of the explosion, other people stare back at me, as if to say "well, what did you expect?" As if I should have seen it coming. With the amount of explosions I've been through, you'd think I would have learnt to see it coming by now. But I never do see it coming. It always takes me by surprise. Because the thing that other people don't understand is, I'm not like them, and no matter how hard I try, I never will be. I am my own kind of human. One that struggles to understand the other humans I coexist with in the world. The other humans seem to operate by a separate manual they haven't given me a copy of. 

There are warnings of the explosion, they tell me. There are signs alerting to the presence of a landmine nearby. But not any that I see. Not any that I hear. For me, it always seems to come out of nowhere. Maybe these elusive 'warnings' are in a whole other language that I don't speak, and that's why I don't understand. I don't know. There's a lot that I don't know. 

What I do know is that I'm my own kind of human. But being my own kind of human... being human full stop, is tiring. It's too tiring, and it's too hard for me to be. I wish I could be their kind of human, who speaks the language, who knows how to avoid the landmines and who understands. I've tried. I do try. But it's so hard. Being human is too tiring and hard. But what other choice do I have?

The Price We Pay

 “This one is more for me. I don’t think anyone else will see it really, but I need to do it for myself anyway. To get it out if nothing else.” Devi blinked at herself on the screen, then took a deep breath. “So I… I have lost two people recently who were really important to me in different ways, though both were somewhat unexpected and painful. As all losses are, I suppose.”

 

She blinked again in an attempt to ward off the tears waiting just behind her eyes, remembering those she had loved, and now lost. The first was someone she’d known her whole life. He was a close confidant and a cheerleader. Maybe at a distance, but he’d been there the whole way at every step, walking alongside Devi as she navigated the path of life. His loss had been like a punch to the gut and the heart.

 

The other person Devi had lost felt like a knife to the heart, and an extra knife or two in the back for good measure. They had been someone else Devi had considered close. But, little had she known, for her so called ‘friend’, the feeling had been far from mutual… As it turned out, Devi’s kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity in particular, all qualities she’d thought of as assets, were apparently, some kind of burdensome imposition.

 

Knowing that no one else would see this recording was the only thing that kept the embarrassment at bay as a tear fell from her eye. “It feels particularly stupid with them…” The loss was painful in a different way to that of Devi’s lifelong friend. The emotions caught up in that loss made sense. Someone died, you grieved. But with the other friend she’d lost, it was a different kind of loss. A different kind of pain and hurt that she struggled to make much sense of.

 

“Either way,” she concluded, as much as she could, for the camera and herself. “I guess this is a price of sorts. This hurt and this pain, as odd as it feels... It’s the price I pay for having had that relationship, that love that I’ve now lost.” 

It's grief, the voice of a wise friend echoed in Devi's mind. 

"Grief," Devi repeated out loud. "The price we pay for love."  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This story continues that of Devi. You can read previous instalments here and here.

A Little Much

 Us bleeding hearts have a tendency to be drawn to people who are in some way or another, bleeding. Whether that be literal blood from a physical injury, or a more metaphorical kind of invisible bleeding, like what results from an emotional wound or psychological infliction of some kind. We want to help. Because, by nature, we are deep. Deeply caring, deeply giving, deeply loving, deeply nice, and also, deep feeling. 

Deep feeling; more familiar to some as empathy, or in the case of so many of us bleeding hearts, over empathy. Because us bleeding hearts, us over-empaths, rather than feeling for others, often feel as if we are the other. We experience their pain as if it is our own. It’s worse, the pain more intense, if the other happens to be someone important to us, or who we care about. But regardless of who it is and how intense the pain, this is where our drive to help comes from; a desire to alleviate the pain. To, in effect, stop the bleeding.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before,” is a sentiment I have heard more times now than I could possibly try to count. People are not used to the depth of a bleeding heart, our high level of care and generosity, nor our loyalty. We wear our hearts on our sleeves. It can be a bit off putting or confronting, and I get… well, I’ve learnt that it can be a bit much. I’ve learnt these things through the times I’ve been told they “haven’t ever met someone like me” or “had someone in their life like me”, usually as part of a conversation in which the other person is effectively cutting me out of their life completely. 

It is through these experiences I’ve also learnt that while us bleeding hearts wear our hearts on our sleeves, at times, it’s also like we’re carrying our hearts red raw on a platter in front of us ready to present to those who become close. I’ve discovered this because those parting conversations I’ve had with people can feel like having my heart torn into a million pieces, stomped all over and beaten to a bloody pulp, before the broken… nay, shattered heart is re-presented on a platter for me to try to figure out how to piece back together on my own.

But, I’m not always able to piece my heart back together in the same way it had been pieced together before. Each repair brings slight differences and lessons from the way it had just been broken. Yet, it keeps on breaking. That’s what I can’t stand. I think I’ve done better, that I’ve learnt, done enough for it to hold strong. And then, it’s shattered all over again. 

“You’re too kind and loyal,” was one of the latest comments, followed by, “you put thought into gifts you give.” 

“Those people…” My friend, Effie practically spits the last word. “… who say those things… they’re possibly struggling themselves, to accept the kindness, the loyalty, the thoughtfulness. Those are all wonderful qualities of yours. They’re part of what make you the beautiful you that you are. But they’re qualities which, if someone isn’t used to being on the receive end of them can be… too hard, too confronting… they’re the ones with the problem. They’re the ones struggling. Not you.” 

“But…” I start. “But doesn’t that mean they need that kindness even more?” 

A small smile spreads across Effie’s lips. “Yes,” she says. “But…” she trails off, thinking. “… well… as they say, you might be able to lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” 

My gaze falling to the ground, I nod. “I know. Dad says that a lot.” 

Effie winks. “I know he does.” She laughs. “Possibly because of how much truth there is in it.” 

“I suppose I can be a little much sometimes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Effie admits, “but there are people, like me, who can learn to understand that’s a part of who you are, and to navigate that together…” 

“… Like we do.” 

Effie nods. “Like we do, that’s right.” She takes a breath. “Others, like those stupidos, who can’t or aren’t willing to learn and work together with you? Well, they’re gonna miss out on a whole lot from you. Maria, your loyalty, kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity? The way you care and support others, and the way you show love? All of those things are things that make you an exceptional friend. To those who are willing to try to learn and understand. To those who really deserve it. The others? Yes, they may need it more than others, but they’ve made their choice, and they’re going to have to live with the consequences. They’re going to have to learn the hard way. It’s their loss.” 

“Mine too.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Effie says. “I just don’t want you thinking that it’s all on you. Because it’s not. They also had a part to play.”  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This story continues the Bleeding Hearts collection, which started here. You can also now found all the stories from the collection (so far- will update there as/if more is written) together in one place on Wattpad here. 
The story is also partially inspired by a beautifully touching scene in the new Heartbreak High on Netflix (more here- one of the last few eps of season 1), so special shout out of thanks also to actors Chloe Hayden and James Majoos and the incredible writers, directors and other crew involved in bringing that scene to life 🤍💛💜

The Stranger Who Has Become a Friend

The memories of times before the darkness were faint, though they lingered. She remembered, vaguely, that there had been a time when the sun hadn't felt like it would burn. A time when the warmth had been part of joy, rather than being the intense kind of warmth.. more like searing heat that was sure to burn. What she couldn't remember was how long ago all of that had been.

 

Then, the stranger who had become a friend had come along. They’d helped her up and reintroduced her to warmth. Though, that’s all it was with them. Warmth. No burning. No searing heat. Just warmth. As if there were a fire blanket between the two of them, shielding her from a more harmfully high heat. She couldn’t really remember a time since the darkness without them in it, somehow.

 

She wouldn't ever forget everything they had done for her. Through a seemingly endless and generous abundance of patience, compassion and gentle care and kindness, the stranger had proven that really, they'd been a friend all along. Only, at first, she hadn't known it. She would always remember the way her now friend had made her feel; safe, supported, seen and held. With them, she felt wanted; even valued. like she was worthy. Of taking risks for, of giving a chance, of knowing. And after everything she had been through, there were no words adequate enough to describe just how powerful and impactful all of that had been, and still was.

 

She supposed the stranger-now-a-friend couldn't stay right by her side indefinitely. There had to come a time, eventually, when she started to stand on her own two feet, by herself. The thought of her friend not being right there was scary, almost terrifying. But them not being right there was all it was. It didn't mean that they weren't around at all, because they were. And they would still be right there, cheering her on. And it didn't mean that she couldn't call on them when she felt like she needed to, because she absolutely could.

 

The way they squeezed her hand before they left her side was particularly meaningful. She met their eyes, and their gaze seemed to say everything they maybe couldn’t find the right words to express out loud. I may not be right here, but I will be with you still, cheering you on just like I always have. You can do this. I know you don’t feel like you are, but you are strong enough. And if you struggle, if you fall… Look around you. 

 

So she did. In the beginning, they had been the only one beside her. But not anymore. Now, there were a lot more people around her. some of them kind and generously willing, like her first stranger-now-a-friend.

There are others now too, you can take your hand, who can walk alongside you and support you. They won't be me, I know. But I won't be too far away. It will be a bit different, but I will still be with you.

She nodded back at them with tear filled eyes. They believed in her when she struggled to believe in herself, just like always. That hadn't changed. What had was that the stranger was not a stranger anymore. They were a friend now. A treasured friend she would hold on to. Maybe this was just a new start.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This story follows on from No Words, which you can read here. I'm not sure if it's a prequel, sequel, a little of both, or maybe it's just related- I'll leave that for you to decide.