Humanity
There is a list.
There’s a list. On a crinkled white page, set on a clip board on the old dresser in the kitchen. My list. One of them. My life is set against lists now. Lists of friends on online groups cheering me on. Lists of food I can have and one’s I can’t. Lists of phone calls, appointments, schedules in diaries, pockets, purses. Sometimes I wake at night and wonder if I’ve forgotten to add the right thing to one of them. Have I forgotten a list, somewhere? Does it need my tending? The kind of tending my old life used to have but now is buried under the changes, under the pages.
Lys Lily WildPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsMy Brain Has Too Many Tabs Open
Let me guess.. you are awake by some unforgiving mishap and your thoughts stray to the pains of labor that comes with the days workings/ going on's/ must dos.
Jessica TaylorPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsThe Story of Me
Well, as of late, I have been seeing posts of people's life stories, whether it's their whole life or snippets. So, I suppose it's time for me to toss my experiences into the ring, so be prepared.
Amethyst ChampagnePublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsI went from a MILLION DOLLAR home to the streets of Las Vegas
So I will be blunt...It all started because I had an affair. I had been married for 20 years and although I had everything I needed and a lot of my wants, I was unhappy with marriage. Looking back on it now I wish I would have done things totally different. I know "everything happens for a reason" and I am a true believer of that but if I knew what I was in for over the next 10 years, my actions would have been totally different!
Paytra MurrayPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsReading The Room
Disclaimer/ Content warning: death of family members. Please stop reading if this subject is difficult for you. Awkward moments are psychological horror in the most tangible sense. They are not some abstract idea or imaginary being. You’re dealing with your own personal shortcomings as the monster. They are a reminder of embarrassing mistakes and fear it could happen again. They lurk constantly ready to strike when you least expect it.
Ari SenjougaharaPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsA Trip to Darryl
As I entered the ramp to the station, nothing seemed amiss. However, as I neared the top of the stairs to the platform traversing the rails from above--I recognized the train was moving rather swiftly for a car that I thought should be sitting still…waiting for my arrival.
David CasePublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsI Am Different
It's not easy being plus size. Now, I know what you are probably going to think while reading this. It's not easy being a different race. It's not easy being a different gender. Heck it's not easy being human. I understand all that completely. It's not easy being different. Just being a smidge different than what the norm calls for makes you some sort of weirdo. And then you are made fun of, looked at weird, or shunned. Believe me, I know. But I'm here to tell you that it's not easy being plus size. Because, well, I'm plus size. I've been plus size for as long as I can remember. I've struggled with my weight a lot. You never know when a guy is hitting on you or when he's only talking to you because his friend dared him. Or if he's talking to you because he's "being nice." People don't feel sorry for you. They think it's your fault that you are this size. And maybe it is. But what I do know is that I have a lot of emotions going on in my head. And that's what makes me eat. It's probably what makes a lot of people eat. But I am not speaking for everyone. This is just my experience. But it could be a reason. You want to run from your emotions. And you aren't sure what to do. But all you know is that food is a comfort. And you will always, ALWAYS, run to something that comforts you. It's better to feel comforted in some way than to feel horrible and wallow in that feeling forever.
Erika AlmanzarPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsMy worst writing won a competition
I have always been an avid writer, but 98% of the words I have written have never had another pair of eyes criticize them as much as my own have. Most of my stories are mediocre, average at best, with too many plot holes to count and shallow characters that are immune to change. I say I am an avid writer, but I am by no means a good one. I will probably NEVER consider myself to be a proper writer with any considerable talent until I win a Vocal challenge. That seems like an unfair thing to do to myself, I know. There are so many thousands of talented writers on Vocal that, just because they win a challenge instead of me, shouldn’t mean I am therefore a poor writer.
Eloise RobertsonPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsI Made a Coloring Book for Amazon
Once again the mood music is set (breast pump and the baby's sound machine). My coloring book is now LIVE on Amazon and I just about flipped out with excitement. It feels like a big accomplishment. I set a goal, worked towards that goals in small, manageable chunks, didn't beat myself up for missing a day here or there, and steadily reached the goal.
Jessica StappPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsMy Near-Brush With People Smugglers
(NOTE: For anonymity, all the *names have been changed. The name of some of the **countries mentioned have also been changed into codes.)
Josephine CrispinPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsBeing Me
Being Me My mind was a kaleidoscope of the absurd, brilliantly colored, opulent, but with no intent. My plate was always worth more than my meal, for my ideas were dreams without a pillow to lay my head, I was a ship with no port in which to moor. I hustled a flurry of nothingness, flight without wings, the sky and the earth upside down, inside out, reversed as you know them.
Gregory Dolan DiesPublished 3 years ago in ConfessionsBeggars; can we be choosers?
There is a strip mall five miles from my house which houses several of my favorite stores-Bed, Bath & Beyond, Target, our grocery, my hair cutter Sharon at Supercuts, Petsmart – and for the last few years, whenever I pull out of the complex, I stare into the face of the same beggar.
David Louis StanleyPublished 3 years ago in Confessions