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Posted on October 08, 2008 @ 4:35 pm
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It was late, well past midnight, so technically it would be Wednesday. But the small girl didn’t consider it the next day until she had slept. And she wasn’t sleeping. She knew she wouldn’t be sleeping as she listened to the door open and Persephone left to visit Hades. She had tried to pass the time by listing to her Rosetta Stone, but the Greek could only mollified her for a short period of time before she took off her headphones with a sigh and grabbed her journal.
Perhaps she could find solace within the pages. Knowing that she would not be able to find solace within this moral life.
The Rosetta Stone is helping, it would seem that my brain was hardwired for Greek because it is incredibly easy to learn. I have started to look for jobs around the area. I have an interview at this occult bookstore later this week. Pretty sure I’ll get it, especially since my Greek is improving with every CD I listen to.
She sighed.
Full discloser? Fine. It hurts, and I can hardly stand it. Every moment since I have realized the truth should have been amazing and yet my heart is black and heavy. Feeling all of those ancient feeling again? Who asked for that? Felling them fresh and new, no one wants to be reminded of the pain that they where forced to endure for eternity. Sure, yes, then I was able to overcome it. But now, I have to do it all over again. It decidedly sucks.
Check Please.
I was happier when I was mortal and crazy.
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| 003 |
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Posted on September 20, 2008 @ 7:32 pm
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It had been a long week and ½. Ever since she had met her her life had turned upside down. Not that she blamed her, but if she wanted to function properly it seemed she had to think of her as little as possible. And she had a lot to do, originally she had been planning to fly home on the 15th, but luckily she had been able to push her flight back to this Monday that had allowed her to run frantically around to the American embassy and get the paperwork she needed for a longer stay and a work permit. But just barley enough time, really working with the government was enough to drive anyone crazy.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she lay down against her bed. And as usually the visions came but they where less upsetting when she expected them. And lately they had all been the same, or at least had the same theme. No pit, no darkness, no ghosts, no dead, no cross roads, no graveyard, no magic, no giant dogs. Only her. Her scared when she had first found her, her laughing, her talking or singing, her sitting on her throne and lately her with him. And watching her from the sidelines as she became the glorious queen to her king. Hecate opened her eyes again. It would seem that her subconscious wanted to remind her of every second she had spent with her Persephone and every second she had not been able to spend with her.
She rolled over on her bed and pulled the journal off the side table and began to write, more out of compulsion then anything.
I don’t even know what to say, this week has been crazy. I haven’t had time to sleep, let alone eat. Not that I think I could if I wanted to. But Monday I am flying back to the states to close some things back home before I come back here for a more permanent stay. Luckily Anne said she would be willing to take care of the girls for the week I’ll be gone. That is a weight off my mind.
Now I only have to worry about getting a gob and an apartment all while not really speaking Greek. Well I think it would be my M.O. not to make things easy.
But sometimes easy would be nice. Just once I think I would like to experience easy.
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| 002 |
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Posted on August 25, 2008 @ 4:49 pm
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Fey was sitting on her bed, the little leather bound book sitting in her hands. How could she have thought that it had been a gift? It was trouble. Hurtful. And causing her heart to beat out of rhythm. Her finger ran over the golden name plate Ἑκάτη. She knew that name as well as she knew her own, Hecate. Her light bringer, her dark defender, her goddess of the paths, her goddess.
She bit her bottom lip opening the book, perhaps it was a gift. Hecate always had a way. Maybe the only way to get past herself was to work the system, after all the dearly devoted Hecate never made it easy on you, made you look at the things you didn’t want to look at. And that’s what she was going to do. Grabbing her pen she began to write. The only way out of the forest was through.
Declared healthy and sent back into the world. My final diagnosis? A recovered borderline psychotic... what that means, I still don't know. Was I ever crazy? Maybe... or maybe life is. Crazy isn't being broken, or swallowing a dark secret; it's you... or me...amplified. I never really thought I was crazy, until now.
I lived my life in mental hospitals, in and out of them constantly and never once did I think I was crazy. My parents thought I was crazy.
I don’t regret it, not really, I would never trade it in. because I would not be me if it had happened differently. Well, ok, I would be me, but a different me and I like the way I am now. Or I did. Until you all worked your way into my little journal, into my head.
And I am now crazy, because you are all like me. But completely different. Not me, parts of me, reflections of me, refractions of me.
So tell me voices, what do you have to tech me?
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| 001 |
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Posted on August 21, 2008 @ 9:15 pm
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Felicity sat on the edge of the bed in the flat she had rented. Her dogs all on the floor in front of the fireplace seemingly passed out. She turned the leather journal over in her hands. Maybe this was a sort of delusion caused by jet-lag, even if she had landed in Greece over a week. No that couldn’t be it. She trembled slightly, this had to be in her head, and perhaps her parents had been right. Maybe she really was crazy. Maybe she should go check herself in some place fore her own safety. But, it was only in a journal. She could deal with it if her craziness stayed in the journal. Yeah, she would get concerned if it moved out of the journal. After all, there where millions of crazy people pretending to be sane every single day. She could just join the masses. She shouldn't be afraid, after all this entire trip was about finding herself and it seemed that the voices locked in these pages wanted to do the same. She sighed reaching up and pulling on a lock of brown hair. Well truly, what was the worst that could happen? She lifted her pen and began to write.
I don't know quite what to make of this, I feel like I'm a Munchkin from OZ asking the eternal question 'Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?' But if what she says is true and my dreams of the pit are real, if my dreams of the ghosts are real and if the magic is real. Well then I think we are all in more trouble then I can even imagining.
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