Sindy Leah Fitz
"Everyone is different and that is what makes everyone special." However, change through curiosity is the true mark of character. Let's explore all that is to be uncovered. Join me to look at life through as many lenses as possible.
Misty and Me
A time to heal, after a very long journey. I am a survivor in everyone's eyes except my own. I was beaten down left hurting and scattered. Lost in my mind of what really mattered. I was lost and alone in my broken mind struggling to find purpose and understanding of what I had been through. A higher meaning a reason at the very least. Everyday just melted into another, I was coping and settling. Support was never an issue luckily that was something I had in spades. However, I was lacking purpose. Someone who needed me, who depended on me. Someone who was in need of my help and not the other way around. Having a constant state of needing to rely on people to help me surrendering into their commands and instructions not really having a voice because really there was only one way out of this realistically. A very hard and unappealing way, still necessary though. So I did what I was told to do and it left me a shell of a person. Grateful without question but scarred and tormented which left me feeling very isolated in my feelings.
Chapter One Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Unless the vacuum of space is actually a being and not a place. Then that is a different scenario altogether and the screams are actually the eerie sounds from space that we have all heard the recordings of from NASA. I have first hand experience with this. So I will write this down with as much information as I can give you with all the details I know.
Once in Motion
Type quicker we are running out of time. Have you recovered? Do you understand why you are here and what we are doing? Wake up! Why am I on a train? I'm confused, I don't understand? Just keep typing! Let me guide you. I'm scared! Why isn't it stopping? I want to get off. There are no stops here. I made it so you can do this. Do what? Type just keep typing. I'm tired. Can we just stop for a bit? No, I don't have much time. Everytime you write, since you have been a child I have written through you. Syncing with you to become effortless. When you would write to music you felt like you zoned out and words just flowed from you. Those were the times it was me communicating through you. Do you understand? Unfortunately everytime I synced with you I drained a bit more of your life force than what you would have normally had. We are friends. You know me, we planned to do this you just don't remember. We are working together and you chose to go through this pain so we can help these beings. I’m sorry for the pain you have endured with the cancer, I was with you holding your hand giving you as much of my strength as I could. There are days I wish we didn't agree to this. Every moment I watch what your life, the good and the bad, is exhausting. It is so meaningful and only being able to communicate in this way and have it cause you pain is the harshest punishment. I'm sorry
Lessons in the Garden
My father was a courageous, gentle, hardworking man steadfast and stern though subdued in his teachings. The lessons I would unwittingly learn in the magical backyard garden of my childhood home. Crouched at the knee of my father who seemed larger than life. I always found myself learning the most important lessons and advice unknowingly. Like a vine of unintentional memories left as seeds from my father to grow and sprout when the time was right. I held these tidbits of wisdom all these years.
The Crochet Chair
An old chair sits quietly alone separated from anything that seems familiar in a darkened attic room put away for safekeeping, or perhaps just forgotten. The golden fabric left dull with a light coating of dust and a faint scent of musty wood, nestled in a corner pushed against the slanted walls of the roof line even though the bare plywood was in harsh contrast to the polished wooden accents this chair became lost. The raised floral patterns worn to smoothness as this chair found purpose and great use once in its lifetime. A bit scuffed, tattered and worn but obviously having some importance to be stored away for such a long amount of time.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. This was just a catalyst of a portion of madness that screamed through me. A dark almost smoldering fog crystallized the air in the stark coldness to the warmth of my bed. I had awoken, disturbed from images that had embedded themselves with a squirming, monotonous repetition. Startling me from a deeply intense slumber.
I Am Not Normal At All
Aurora was a ten year old girl who didn’t feel like she fit in anywhere. Now she was loved and accepted more than she realized by more people than she could imagine. However she felt alone and very different from what she was supposed to be. She saw the popular kids in school with the fancy clothes and hair, they were tall and thin, and they had all the popular toys, phones, electronics and games, they were everything that Aurora thought was perfect and what she thought she should be as well. The problem was that she wasn’t tall and thin, she didn't have perfect hair, fancy clothes or all the cool games and toys, she didn't even have a phone.
"You have the same smile." Words I have heard often, and repetitively through the years. Yes, I'd say we do. As well as my grandmother and my daughter. It's the secrets hidden behind those smiles that really makes the bonds of family connections. The struggles and the strength. Wishes for change, admiration and wonder of each step forward. The pains taking backwards steps as well.