Childhood
Fish Heads
That summer in Tobermory, I fished and crabbed behind the harbor wall or from the pier, and sometimes I took a rowboat out into the harbor. But mostly, I headed to the lighthouse. That summer was a typical affair if I don’t count the arrival of Lim-Tom, moving to the island from Sterling. Lim-Tom was Korean. It was my introduction to people who didn’t act, think, and look like me, white, dumb, and Scottish. There were, that I can recall, no intellectuals living on the island. Well, there was a young Jack Rafferty who always did well in exams. He grew up to become a police officer. Farming and fishing were the main work making up our community, and later, hoteliers. But at the time, there were no hoteliers.
By harry hogg5 years ago in Confessions
I write for people who are like me
I write characters and stories that are hard to write (for me). It’s exhausting to write happy people. It’s exhausting to write people fighting their way out of depression. It’s hard to move out of bed sometimes and open my eyes—-but I do it because that’s what thriving through pain is—-moving step by step each day to get by. To do each task and care for your family. I find it difficult to do anything sometimes, but I take deep breaths, and I do it. I try to do it well—-or least finish it to completion. This worldwide pandemic and the way everything feels slow and terrifying and unending—-it is hard to feel safe. But, with my friends and family, I can. Writing is my safeguard to keep me grounded as well.
By Melissa Ingoldsby5 years ago in Confessions
The Once Unknowns of My Life (Adolescence)
I will be writing a part 2 to this story, my adult life since graduation. I hope you will read this with an open mind. Every person in this world has lived with some form of struggle. Even those born into riches have their own struggles though many may not believe so. We struggle for food, money, understanding, even basal love. Many argue that they have it worse or their problems are more important but we all forget that what is a puddle to a Great Dane is a bottomless abyss to an Ant. I have always strived to see the world in that sense, understanding that everyone's needs and struggles though often similar are on completely different levels for each individual. That is why I want to write this now, to explain my own struggles even when they had never been acknowledge for so long. My entire life I was always told to 'shut up' or 'stop complaining' when I tried to talk about the things that bothered me or seemed off. I was told 'well it could always be worse' or 'you have it better than a lot of people' and after so long that broke me. I believed the problems I had were insignificant and that acknowledging them was me being a 'waste of life' as some had called me.
By Diahanne Raven5 years ago in Confessions
Robin's Egg Blues
It’s 3 am and I am having trouble sleeping again. The same brain that can really nail an Instagram caption also loves to replay traumatic mistakes and have me try to THINK my way out of whatever negative feeling it gives me. My brand of OCD is shame-flavored with a bit of symmetry obsession mixed in. The scene stuck on repeat is one of my greatest hits. Picture a sunny afternoon and you are me, and I am four. My mother is visiting a friend I am not super familiar with. The house is large, and to me, four and poor, it was very fancy. I am the best-behaved child my mother has ever met at this point in both of our lives. She says this so often that it etches itself onto my frontal lobe. I thought about being good constantly and defined my entire personality around it and cats, so yes, not much has changed. At four I hadn’t developed obvious enough symptoms for adults in my life to notice, plus the obsession with being good also helped me disguise that anything was wrong with me for years. Plus the 90s were a wild time.
By Jasmine Jaye5 years ago in Confessions
Finding My Talent
I grow up with a mom who pushes me into things. I was born in Chicago, Illinois USA. My mom is Asian and my dad is black. My dad was just a money provider for my upbringing. My mom made all my up bring decisions without asking me how I feel about them. I never really had spent any quality time with my Dad cause every time my mom sends me to my Dad over the summers, he passed me off to family members mainly my Aunts. The Last time I ever been to my Dad's house I was two. My mom moves to the south and meets my stepdad. I had to share my mom. I was not too happy about that. My mom told me I try to break them apart at my mom and stepdad's wedding. Everyone thought it was cute and funny. I was devastated, as a child of three. My mom was my world no one else was allowed in it. Maybe if my mom shares her plan with me and asks me how I felt? Things would be different.
By Mariann Carroll5 years ago in Confessions
The Boy That Didn't Listen
The ice was still thick on the lake in a lot of spots, but thin in some areas. Parents were keeping their children away from the lake due to the unstable ice, age of children, drowning possibilities etc. There was a family in the community with four children and one afternoon after school their ten year old took a short cut over the lake. His family looked on in horror as the ice gave way in the center of the lake and he went under. The older sister ran to her neighbor and told them what happened and the husband sprung into action, had his wife call the fire station and also called for the ice rescue team. He went out to where they saw where their brother went into the water. The neighbor tied off a safety rope then started towards the big hole.
By Lawrence Edward Hinchee5 years ago in Confessions
Unspoken Things
I laughed when Adam said, “don't stand over there. Don't go anywhere over there.” I gave him one of my all-knowing kind of looks, but I stayed away. Why didn't he want me going over there? Was there something wrong with that corner of the barn?
By Kerry Williams5 years ago in Confessions
Golden Flower, Golden Hair
It was the best summer as I walked out the front door of our 2 story house. I was 6 and adored the summer. June would come as school was about to finish, the anticipation for freedom would come into my mind, and the restlessness got to be overwhelming. My wait was over and the warm summer day unfolded around me. I could hear the morning birds. It was like they were singing to me. A perfect little breeze came up, just the right amount of coolness to keep one comfortable. What a great day! I felt so alive...I felt so free! This was the way life was supposed to be. Everything was so vibrant. I put my feet upon the new grass of our front yard. Mom had just bought me new Adidas and I was excited to wear them. I always loved getting new sneakers. Ah, the smell of fresh grass. It was invigorating. I walked around the yard and noticed a fat bee. I watched it for a bit and continued out onto the street. Kyle was there, on his old bicycle, chomping on bubble gum as usual. He was my age and one of those kids that liked to crack jokes a lot and some people were annoyed by him. He didn't bother me, I liked him, and he was my friend. Truth was, I was a bit of ham, myself. Kyle and I talked for awhile, he gave me a piece of his Hubba Bubba, and I continued on my way. I was looking forward to seeing what else the day had in store.
By Carl Parker5 years ago in Confessions
A Psychologist Called Me A Sociopath When I Was 4
The place was hunter green and tan, and everything was too big - that's my memory of the office, all I can drum up through the haze of early childhood. No one bothered to tell me where we were or why - concepts that would only be lost on a four year-old. So I busied myself as best I could until it was my turn to go into the office, the smaller one.
By Andrew Johnston5 years ago in Confessions
