I stay awake at night, when all is asleep and the television just shows reruns for insomniacs, I pray to make sure I’m not awake during the day and it’s always Kate who storms in with her persona, yanking me by the hair, telling me to awake and to mix green with blue and I’d light a cigarette, chunking the morning (in the afternoon) activities together as we’d head to the garage, and I still yawning in slippers would just mix the fungi, watching her clap as I’d give her the finished product and watch her dissolve and say how she would spread it, as I would just think of sleep and my lone self to please at night.
I want to throw her left earring out of the window when she leaves, the damn thing forgotten as depression slowly seems to root itself in.
I go back to the confession box. I’m sure he’s pissed at me for never confessing. I’m sure the American thinks I’m daft, otherwise he’s daft.
“I... still do bad things.” I swallow and put my hands in my pockets, I wish I could smoke in church. “I mean, she told me to do it, so I did, not like... she forced me or anything, I just decided to do it, y’know?”
“She can’t abort.”
“What the fuck?” I snort and I start laughing, pressing myself harder against the wood, but I press my hand against my mouth. The laughter comes out muffled and the priest just sighs, I’m sure he’d want to bang on the wall, but he doesn’t.
“If God intended the child, the child should be born.” I click my tongue as he says it. I wonder how many morons like me visit church so very often and how come I haven’t been holy enough by now. I start raiding my sling bag for eyeliner and some small black mirror Kate had given me. He talked of abortion and I started putting on eyeliner.
“Mom wanted to abort me.”
“See, good thing she didn’t.”
“If I were to commit suicide now, it would be the same thing, my mother’s thoughts which are now mine take my life away.” The priest is silent. I keep talking and make sure that he cannot interrupt my line of thinking, as I press myself heavier against the wooden box I trapped myself in, pleasing to the pain, feeling patches of my sanity shatter, anxiety take me by the throat and carry me, my limbs no longer cooperating and just becoming thunder. “If epilepsy is seen as something... bad. What about mental health. If people covered people with epilepsy attacks with blankets. What does that make it with mental health.”
I answer my own reply.
“It’s no connection, I just don’t want to hear that everything I do is my own fault, I don’t want to think that I sin. I want to think...” I see his eyes watch me, as he leans a bit lower as I trace my fingers over the wooden barrier, making it feel anonymous. I still have fear for the medication never starts working. “That the sins I commit are God’s even if I were to believe. I do, but I want to know they’re intended.”
“God makes everything for a reason, but you pay for your own sins.” He sighs.
“But if God makes everything, why do we reply for God’s mistakes...” I wonder. “Like war.”
“We are the children, a child carries their parents karma, if you want me to speak.” The priest sighs. “We make our God.”
“That’s not very church-like of you to say.” I mutter, feeling my tongue wrap, as I press my ear, feeling the wood dig me in.
“When you’re enlightened you understand how difficult and simple everything is.” I’m sure he smiles. “The mystery makes it difficult to understand and when you know, it’s not that the appeal is lost, you just know and that makes it simple. Knowing God’s essence, makes it simple to understand and unravel, but that does indeed not explain the sins, but it’s not your sins to keep in mind and pray.”
He turns his head away, as he stands up and open the confession box to face me. He’s much taller than I am and this is far from the first time we’ve met, but his face seems to speak so. Maybe God did visit him last night.
“I still think I would describe myself as flamboyant.” I keep talking. “I wore a black and gold skirt last night, as I was doing chemistry homework.”
“I think...” And he pauses. “As long as you seek God, which you happen to do.”
“What makes you think I seek God?” I speak out fast.
“You come to church too often, you had wanted to see me, you would’ve asked outside. God wants you here.” I blink at his words and shrug, pulling my legs up to cross them and then I rethink and sit on them, observing the priest. I just look at him, I just shake my thoughts for his sake.
I can't even recall when I started writing this, I think I had a bit written and then I just picked it up today and wrote a bit, but I'm proud of myself that I'm slowly coming back to track.
Since I write 500 when it comes to spiritual encoununters and what not, it's odd now writing Pillshop when Jamie doesn't have that gift, since I've let myself give Alex a few encounters and if I want to speak of something, I use Alison as well, speaking of, I should really post a new chapter of To Miles since a lot is happening in the chapter I've written/finishing off. I think of this story so often and the plot was decided so long ago, that I don't even remember all my notes since the first chapter of Pillshop is really old and I shelved the story, but either way, I know when I'm going and I like it.
I dunno, I always liked it and yeah. I'm a bit anxious right now since I've been rather withdrawn from being online and that obviously affected my posting and I'm trying to get myself back, so here I am and I'm proud of myself, just really tired and pissed off, obviously. I'm sorry and yeah. I'm back and I'll try to have stories every day up again since I've got a lot of stuff written and etc:)
And obviously I've been writing now I'm back to binging even if it's smaller, thing is, hate gets to you and it makes you stale at times. I mean I can take people making a meme out of my writing and hate, but death threats and personal arguements regarding my gender really tore me, frankly, so I should talk about it more openly and I guess expression is something I've been struggling and I noticed how many of my men through stories share similiar expression even if most of my characters stick to traditional, I felt like I could give Jamie my skirt here for Pillshop. I'm actually wearing it and it's lovely and male, mind you xD
So yeah, I've also been thinking a lot about fiction lately because historical facts which aren't touched properly because they're gay is sad, like To Miles is frankly nearly the only gay navy story written which is fucking bizarre, so yeah.
Regarding abortion it's something I was asked last time in church and then I was just told that I was forgotten to be warned about that talk so yeah xD
Abortion was something actually I discussed with a close friend of mine a while ago and the discussion came because I had it and how many were thought to be aborted. I wasn't the case, so yeah, that slipped in here.
I think suicide and church's interpretation is fucked up, but I go by the church is open to everyone, interpretations are wrong belief which I was told and which holds me, so I apologize if this chapter is more religious but Jack is a priest here and Jamie goes to church.
Epilepsy and the covering was a story, which I heard and traumatized me because people saw the person as possessed and it was seen that way and mental health from what I've seen isn't better, specifically certain disorders.
It's a bit weird writing characters which are distinct from you and kind of jumping to their shoes, but fun for sure.
I had to touch war. We all think of God and war, even if once you get it it's easily explained, really, so yeah.
I kind of went on to think, not knowing and not stating my own assement, but think if not, then let's think on with children and God (NGE style not really xD)
Jack's words regarding God are closer to my own in this case.
I frankly picked up to write Pillshop due to the fact that I wanted to describe my skirt, because I'm tired of men being portrayed as with some light stubble and pants and minimalistic things, because I love my gold and black skirt. I just really love it ok? XD so yeah, I kind of want to I guess as narcisstic as it is make the men a bit more like me, just like anyone, we want to read about ourselves.
And flamboyant is my favourite word to describe myself.
Everything is fated, so yeah, that's where the end of this chapter comes from.
I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you did