Heather Donald
Bio
I believe in love & kindness, that we should embrace joy, sing, dance & be silly! I am a survivor, damaged but not broken. I have a lot of love to give, free of judgment and given freely because I believe love can heal the world. š
Stories (15/0)
Writing something - is it a book? Probably not. If it were Iād call it āI Canāt Sleepā... but itās probably nothing.
I canāt sleep. I desperately want to sleep. Instead I lay here wondering why the fuck I canāt sleep and wishing I could. Itās a vicious cycle, Iāve tried sleeping pills, warm milk, edibles, really good indica... nothing works. I even tried listening to sleep hypnosis, the problem was that when the woman gently says in her soft ASMR whisper voice, 'just be...' I automatically hear Priyanka yelling 'JUST BE GAY!!!' I giggle, it's hilarious, but I'm certainly not hypnotized or sleeping.
By Heather Donald3 years ago in Motivation
Writing something - is it a book? Probably not. If it were Iād call it āI Canāt Sleepā... but itās probably nothing.
I canāt sleep. I know if I were to leave my body right this minute, float up to the ceiling and look back down at my body, Iād see my potato shaped lump under the blanket, my slack, half-moon face, and bed-head messy pink hair. But if I could see how I feel inside my head, like a shattered plate missing pieces so that itās impossible to be put back whole, I would not look comfortable or at peace like a potato. If I could see my body representing that, Iām sure I would see my limbs impossibly askew, like a soft-bodied rag doll. Or like the fully āposeableā Barbie, in the pose she found herself in after the terrible accident she had in her convertible Malibu Corvette. Iāll never forget it, she drank too much and Ken was being a total dick that night. So she jumped in her sexy pink car, tearing off down the slick road, losing control, tires screaming, the car flipping over, and slamming into the metal barrier. She flew right over the windshield and landed in the road, her limbs all akimbo, her pretty pink pump with the silky pink polka-dot bow laying a few feet away, and her Italian silk kerchief snatched away by the covetous wind. Tragic.
By Heather Donald3 years ago in Humans
The Gift
The first time Sadie met her Auntie Mae she was 6 years old and painfully shy. Her mother had died tragically in a car accident, leaving her alone in the world. She was placed in foster care while they tried to locate her family, her foster Mom was a kind woman who always looked at Sadie with pity. After a few weeks they found an aunt of her Mothers who did not hesitate to agree to take in Sadie, despite not knowing she existed until then. Her foster mother took extra care in dressing Sadie to meet her family. Her soft, baby-blonde hair was carefully brushed into perfect golden ringlets. The lacy pink ribbons pinned in her hair perfectly matched the frilly pink dress, pink patent shoes and pale pink tights. She looked just like a pretty little doll,Ā with sad eyes.
By Heather Donald3 years ago in Families