A resounding beep….


‘Shit…I’m a walking clich√©…’

Her hands shook as she balanced the book she had been reading on her knee. Tapping a finely polished fingernail against the book cover, she sighed deeply and took in her surroundings. Cold, clinical…sanitised…empty…the absolute personification of what their relationship had been.

‘Suppose you want to blame me for that as well?’ She shook her head sadly at the sound of the voice emanating from the quiet corner of the room. He sat cross-legged on the floor,barefoot, plain white clothes; lines creasing ragged skin and wearing a soft, resigned smile she barely remembered.

‘No…yes…I-I don’t know…’ She wanted to get up, walk over to where he was but she seemed confined to the chair she sat in. What did she want from him, what did she need to hear him say? His response to her musing had thrown her, did she really blame him?

‘I tried my best…’ he stated plainly.

‘No…no you didn’t, you never told me you loved me, or that you were proud of me, or that what I did mattered…’ The words tumbled out, one after another. There was so much more to say, so much…about how his distance had broken her, how she felt pathetic and empty and angry all at once. Angry, that even now she wanted or needed his validation, his blessing. She wanted him to know that bitterness marred her life, hollow recriminations, rejection towards and from others had become the measure. She would gauge relationships, interactions, love, friendship, acquaintance with a careful measure, reticence, hesitancy, never plunging in, never committing.

She wanted to let him know that she felt trapped, in the memory of who he was, and who he couldn’t be with her.

She wanted…

She wanted……..

‘Hey…’ Fingers grasped her shoulders tightly and she felt herself shaken. Eyes snapping open she was dragged back to her surroundings once more. Monitors beeping, a hospital bed, grapes on the bedside table, flowers in the window. The nurse smiling down gently at her before turning to her patient, the frail, unconscious man with grey, thin, paper like skin.

The book resting on her knee was opened once more and righting herself in the chair she attempted to return once more to the words on the page.

It was then that a resounding, insistent beeping from the monitors beside the bed filled the room…


Written for the Weekly writing challenge: Dialogue http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/writing-challenge-dialogue/

Fit to write…?

‘I see the world, feel the chill,
which way to go…?’-¬† Release
Pearl Jam

Being fit to write is an interesting concept. How do you assess levels of fitness? Is that a measure of your physical or mental wellbeing, a combination of both? Who decides what the optimum level is, how do we know when we’ve reached that plateau, that zenith of wellbeing that allows to wear the mantle of being ‘fit’?

Michele Foucalt wrote about the ‘History of Madness’ and how people with mental illness are treated, or have been treated throughout history. Foucalt suffered with depression and experienced the mental health system as a patient, thereby he theorised the concept that the medical profession is a form of discourse, a predetermined set of truths that configures people on the side of madness or sanity depending on the ability to reason. Those who were melancholic or depressed had lost the ability to reason therefore their judgement was not to be trusted.

But Foucalt saw madness, the unreasonable self, as an untapped form of creativity; only in truly allowing ourselves to explore the dark struggles of our nature can we struggle to develop something that is brilliant, profound…but above all, closer to the truth than we ever dare imagine.

My point is that we are never ‘fit to write’. We write because we have something to say, and it does not follow that what we say must resonate from an entirely ‘sane’ or ‘reasonable’ premise. Sometimes when we are at our most melancholic, when we feel trapped in a dark well we can’t climb out of, when everything is dark, when we feel all is lost…then when we write we are….raw…honest…brilliant…beautiful.

Post for the Weekly Writing challenge http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/08/12/writing-challenge-health/