I’m irritated. I feel kind of betrayed. But I shouldn’t have expected him to understand my depression. After all, he is the same man that refuses to accept my sexual orientation because he hasn’t seen me pursue women romantically. It was foolish of me to think he would understand. After all, he is the same man that only sees things through his eyes only and refuses to get another opinion.
I don’t want to explain it to him. I know he’s going to find a way to make it about him. I know he’s going to give me the same advice I’ve been getting since I was first diagnosed. The same things that I’ve tried. The same things I gave up on. But in order to keep my sanity while living with him, I must explain it to him eventually.
But where do I even start? I don’t even fully understand it myself. And when do I start? There are so many events that lead up to me going to therapy for the first time and getting diagnosed. And my memory isn’t that great. I’m probably going to have to really rethink some events in my life. And that’s something I’m not sure if I’m prepared for.
I wish I would wake up from this nightmare…
My friends and I hang out every Thursday night for what we call The Awesome Women Writers Club. We usually write one or two prompts together and talk about our projects. Giving each other encouragement and constructive criticism on everything we share. Occasionally getting off track and talking about life. Lately, we have been using this Writing Prompts app that generates four things to write about. These were generated for us last night:
A place: A Polling Station. A Character: IT Guy. An Object: Haunted Violin. And a smell: New Car.
I couldn’t figure out how to incorporate all of these into one poem or short story so I did a separate poem for each of the items. Well, I only had 10m to write so I only completed two of them, and only started one of the two left. So here are the two I completed:
Saturating the room
Performing a melody
of grief and regret
the open road
new car smell
stuck my skin
grip the wheel
floor the gas
the open road
a tamed beast
I may or may not finish the last two because I really wasn’t feeling them that much. Or maybe I’ll write a short story instead of a poem for the last two. We’ll see. Maybe tomorrow.