Category: Prose

Small Things

Some mornings, I lie in bed tired from the night before and wonder at the possibilities of today.

Some days are bad and all days have the potential to be bad but I’m not going to let myself worry about having the day turn bad because that in itself is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So I’d lie in bed and think of all the things that would make me happy that day. It doesn’t always work, but it helps prepare you to have a bright day ahead.

It’s honestly the small things in life that make life worth living. If you can appreciate the small things, then the big things makes it all the more worth it.

A Process

Some days, I accomplish more than I could ever imagine.

Other days, I feel like nothing I did would help me accomplish anything. On these days, I remind myself that not every task is the same. Some tasks will require more time than others, and there’s nothing wrong with taking your time to do it correctly – rather than wasting time doing it twice because you rushed the first time and missed something.

At the end of the day, I have to remember that it is a process and that gaining an inch rolling a boulder uphill is still better than not moving at all.

Monsoon

Where I come from, we don’t have winter – instead we have monsoon.

As a little girl, it was my favourite time of the year because I didn’t have to leave the house.

As an adult, my sentiments have yet to change. Even now, I’d sit on the swing to watch the clouds transition; I’d listen to the winds as they started to make music with the wind chimes hanging from my mom’s balcony; and when the time is right, I’d wait with my eyes closed for that first drop of rain to touch my face because I knew, even as a little girl, that there was something magical about feeling that first drop hit your face instead of hearing it hit the roof.

Well Weather Friends

The thing that I realise about my history of friendships that have not lasted is that I have had so many “well weather” friends.

As a person with depression, I live in a perpetual cloudy state. Some days, the sun shines through and the clouds are white but these clouds are always here, covering the blue of the sky. On my really bad days, it’s like a never ending monsoon, with screaming winds, roaring thunders and a rising flood.

And the thing is that like the weather, I cannot control when the storm hits or how bad it’ll be.

But some people cannot understand that.

So they’ll be there, only when the clouds are white and when the sun can still shine through, but they leave the moment the lightning strikes and the winds begin to hail.

And when they ask me, as they leave, why I stay in the storm, I tell them that I can’t leave like they can because I bring the weather with me.

It is for this reason that these friendships do not work out. It is not because they left when it started to rain, but because they treated my depression like it was something I could control – they expected me to be able to switch it off when they’re around and when I couldn’t, they left to find someone with brighter skies and more acceptable weather patterns.

BITCH

I’ve been told multiple times by people that I am a bitch.

Apparently, knowing what I want, doing all things necessary to get what I want and letting no one get in my way is me being an entitled bitch.

Apparently, not caring about people’s opinions of what I should do, what I should wear and who I should be with is me being an arrogant bitch.

Apparently, having enough self-respect and not tolerating people’s bullshit is me being an aggressive bitch.

Apparently, being blunt and honest about my opinions and standing up for myself when shit gets real is me being a self-righteous bitch.

Then, by all means, call me a bitch. If that is your basis for calling me a bitch is, then yes I am one.

Giver

Smiles that couldn’t reach her eyes;
Laughs that couldn’t come from her heart;
Wisdom that couldn’t feed her mind;
Love that couldn’t touch her soul;
She was always giving others the things she couldn’t seem to give herself.