Childhood
Reflections of My Sister
Reflections of My Sister I frequently gazed at myself in the mirror, contemplating the meaning of “self”—reflecting on who I was, and who I thought I would become, affirming the latter for the former. I’d summon the oracle behind the veil, but she’d rarely ever respond—because, she too, was bewildered by the confusion of necessity. After thirty-something odd years, my identity had remained concealed. I had lost it a long time ago—to be more candid…it was hijacked. I realize the mirror isn’t particularly the kindest teller of tales; though, authenticity isn’t one of its truest projections, in any case. Half of the time, I didn’t know whether to trust my inner self, or agree with what the mirror displayed; it’s still difficult to gather which of the two is more psychologically and emotionally accommodating. I constantly told myself that I was merely looking at an image, which couldn’t reveal much of anything—unable to perceive the truth, if at all. Mirrors are relatively unreliable consultants and can easily alter one’s perception of reality—hence, we proceed with caution, lest we forget that by virtue of it, objects [in it] are closer than they appear.
By RL Stevenson5 years ago in Confessions
Phobia
I don’t have the usual phobias that you hear about like arachnophobia or agoraphobia. Most people understand these phobias but Ornithophobia being a bird phobia is hard for people to understand. I had nightmares from time to time when I was a child where I was being attacked by all kinds of birds. They swooped down, surrounding me, pecking me, battering me with their wings all the while their loud, piercing cries deafening my ears. In the dream, I threw myself to the ground and the birds covered me, peck, peck, pecking with their strong sharp beaks, beating me with their wings. When I would manage to get to my feet and run, there would be birds coming at me from the sky, attacking my face and head making terrible, screeching cries. I would wake in a lather of perspiration, waving my arms about to defend myself. Yes, it is hard to imagine being terrified to hold a little canary or have a small wren sit on your hand, but unfortunately, that was my weird phobia.
By Elle 5 years ago in Confessions
The Boyfriend
His name was Rev. Homer Nathaniel Johnson, he was my mom’s boyfriend, and I didn’t like him from day one. I was about eight when they started going with each other and in the beginning, everything was hunky dory. Mom was enamored of this guy and thought he was great but I felt something different, which made me want nothing to do with him. He acted like he was the authority about everything. I thought: I know some things too, my ugly little friend. I know that I would rather have the mumps for a year than be around you.
By Addie Sealey5 years ago in Confessions
Crystallically Me
Hello there~ Pleasure to meet you darling! My name is Crystal, lovely name right? I couldn’t stand it for the longest time, honestly. I mean, the name of a stone? Sure it’s a beautiful gem, but… Did you know that you can forcibly change the color? Yup! It’s science, you need some dye, a torch and patience. But drop the heated crystal in the dye and it’ll drink it up. Though my story is just one of the dime a dozen out there~ I was harassed and degraded into a corner until I wouldn’t show my own color, I was a crystal that hid in the dark; easy enough to mix me up with onyx at that point, ne? I’ll bring you a little bit into my past for how I fell so deeply into the dark, and what finally broke me out of my geode~ I’ll attempt to spare you the puns (no promises!)
By Crystal Ayers5 years ago in Confessions
Oh So Quiet.
Winter in England, UK. 1995. She had no clue; the first rule to ‘fit in’ is to be happy within. In a British state-funded secondary school that smelt of disinfectant, food and sweat, full of testing teenagers, stood a 15-year-old girl. 90% moody, yet defiantly desperate to fit in with her peers.
By ESTHER CLARKE5 years ago in Confessions
A Bitter Taste
I’m sitting there thinking when reality slaps me in the face. I’m really in a lesbian bar. My eyes stared out into the opened air. I always anything but flattered. All my thoughts were married to the lesbian bar that night. I heard wedding bells going off inside my head. My thoughts had been taken captive by Sodom and Gomorrah. I had waiting my whole life to meet the emblem of my dreams. I became inflamed in ecstasy towards females. A voice inside my head spoke, “Are you ready to put a ring around the bars of lesbianism?” This was going to be my big night marrying the women of my fantasy.
By Bernadine Jarmon5 years ago in Confessions
I Go Back To Childhood
My childhood wasn’t something I am proud of or happy to remember. It was a revolving door of scenes, pictures and mini movies that haunt my mind. The majority was spent in my mother’s trailer, a thin white stretch of house with black trim. For part of my life there was a blue shed falling apart in the back yard, and then later there was one built off to the side of the yard, that protective plastic on the wood never taken off and starting to peel as years went by. There was a little blue dog house with black shingles that housed the best friend I had ever known as a child. You would see a smaller version of me climbing all over that dog at any point, clutching his fur while I was huddled inside the small musty smelling wooden house, and I could taste nothing but salty tears. He was always patient though, letting me hold him, and then when I could no longer fit inside, I would sit on the sloped roof and cry, my faithful Max sitting down at my feet and waiting for my sadness to leave. There was another dog, a big boxy rottweiler who let me sit on his not sloped roof and jumped up to comfort me while I cried. Sometimes when I had run outside to cry you could her my mom yelling at me about it, how I had nothing to cry about, I was just being dramatic; can you feel those words pierce my heart like I can?
By Morgan Starkey5 years ago in Confessions
