After I wrote this story and posted in on Writing.Com, many reviewers gave feedback on how mental Illness can affect many families. I have a relative who was born with issues similar to this. I hope you will enjoy reading one the pieces that actually opened my heart and mind.
|"I was meant to be normal, to go to my senior prom and lie on a boy’s shoulder while the sun disappears.But my Brain is messed up, ever since my grandmother left a few years ago.|
I always helped with heavy grocery bags, and was the grateful to perform taste tests for her cookies. We shared the same beds many nights, and I found it hard to leave her side. One night I did not hear her snoring, and when I rolled to face her, her chest wasn't moving. I failed to scream, but a chill ran throughout my body and little bumps spread all over my arm. I didn't touch her, because I already knew the answer. I called my parents and we stood in the yard in our pyjamas watching the men cover her with a thin white sheet. I kept expecting her to sit up and laugh, to tell me it was a game, and then we would go back to bed, but she lay still and I knew she was dead.
They tried to make me tell a woman in a grey suit my feelings, but all I could think about was the cookies on her table, they were formed perfectly like my grandmother's. I became angry at my grandmother, and the source that took her, without a warning a special person left me. I began hearing voices, at first she spoke to me, then It changed to deep, hoarse sound, a man, and he is still here, leaving me only a few minutes at a time.
I am standing in a tree. The wind rush beneath my lifted arms and I close my eyes to take in the sound of nature. A voice is whispering in the wind, so small and gentle you have to concentrate to hear to the message. I shake my head up and down, then quickly side to side because I don’t agree with what he says.
“Jump.” The voice says, getting louder, stronger, not like the gentle friend a few minutes ago. I am crying now and shaking the limbs, the leaves fall on my head and into my white v-neck shirt.
“I want tea!” I yell, and the voice starts to laugh. He is slowly disappearing, until he is gone. I am howling, shaking the branches harder, and then I hear a snap. The onset of winter has taken the tree's strength. I feel myself go down, the rush is exhilarating, yet frightening, but I fall into the embrace of soft, tired flesh.
My eyes are still closed, but I know the path. I hear the gravel crunch under his boots, and my mother whimpering in the background. The dog is breathing heavily. He wags his tail and hits my father’s leg. “Cut it out!” he shouts and almost lets me go.
My eyes are open; I am sipping tea and watching the late afternoon programme. I laugh when the cat hits his head on the wall, and the mouse escapes “Go Jerry!” I cheer, and spill a little of the warm tea down my shirt.
“She is nineteen” My mother was never great at whispering, but she is a pro at crying. I tip toe and peep through the kitchen door. She is biting her lips, which leaves lipstick stains on tip of her teeth. Grey streaks dance about her auburn bob, my father’s head is hanging, and he constantly strokes his long, thick beard. She starts crying again, and he frowns. My chest burns, which tells me that I am the fault. The cup is now cold, and the brown liquid stays still, like stagnant water in Rainy May.
I go in my room and sit on the window ledge, my quiet place. The sun is tired, and is making a grand exit. I follow the orange, blazing across the sky and burning the Heavens. I hear voices, and gaze at the young couple walking hand in hand. The boy tickles her side, and she tries to squirm out of his grip. They seem to be my age, but a lot more sensible".
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My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way.