Daily Prompt: Valuing Struggles


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The worst thing about the onset of depression though is not having anyone to help you. It’s such a struggle. At some point, you become self destructive socially. You become torn so much you seek for attention, willing to do anything for anyone at any given time. It doesn’t matter if you just only met this person or have only known him or her for a week or month, you cling on to this person. Then the person fades away. So, you find someone else to cling to but then eventually this person fades away too. Then the circle just keeps going until you isolate yourself. Away from everyone. And nobody is going to help anyway. There’s nobody there. Not one single family member, not any friend you ever made, you have nobody. No one wants to help a “dead beat” like you. No one needs you. No one wants you. No one.

Then you look at your life. Where are you at now? You don’t have a single person to be there for you. There’s nothing significant with your name on it. You practically have nothing in your bank account. There you are. You just are there. You’re life means nothing. Then you watch the news where people who succeed in doing something great and then they say something like, “I could not have done this without help.” You look down, scowl at your hands, nudge your feet together, and hold your breath for some time. Right, if only someone would help you. If only someone cared. If only I was important to someone. If only.

Slowly over time, depression intensifies and evolves into numbness. The epitome of sadness. The woes and the fears exceed into this dark, dark tunnel. A tunnel with nothing in it but you and darkness. It’s the epic of every tragic suicide.

You don’t want to experience numbness, it’s more painful than feeling sad. It’s horrible. You can’t feel anything. You can’t think about anything. You can’t bring yourself to do anything. You’re smack in the middle of hope and no hope; at least if you feel no hope, you know hope exists. If you’re numb, you can’t even imagine what hope or no hope are.

I’ve been there.

You literally sit staring at the walls surrounding you. You have no thoughts. And when you try to think, there is nothing there. It’s just emptiness. This effect shoves you off the edge of sanity. You plead to feel or think about anything– good or bad. You just want to feel again because feeling something connects you to society, people, experiences, events, memories.

Numbness is like watching the world blown to bits… And you just sit there, thinking about what you should feel. Then “this feeling” manifests all of you, devouring your brain and heart into a state of paralyzing, pure numbness. You literally can’t even think about what you should feel; your mind is completely blank. You are just breathing at this point.

You stare at the walls around you and you forget what the air feels and smells like outside. How can anyone forget what the outdoors feels like? There’s one, two, three, four walls surrounding me, I thought. I’m in a cage. I can’t get out. Nobody can get in. And the worst of it all, you think nothing other than that. You don’t think if it’s okay or not okay for you to feel this way. Nobody can get in and nobody can get out. You’re just in suspense, lingering in the air with no hopes or dreams or memories or ideas or thoughts or wants or no wants or anything. It’s maddening. At this part sleeping, eating, going to the bathroom, breathing regularly, and thinking are foreign reflexes.

Reflexes that make a person survive are estranged habitual behaviors. You can’t fall asleep but when you do, you can’t wake up. Weight drastically drops. Food in this state of mind is toxic. It rumbles inside your stomach and you gag. The idea of food is like reaching out to drink a bottle of arsenic and drinking it. You shrivel up and you are tired all the time. You lay in bed, not wanting to move. When you need to go to the bathroom, you simply just hold it longer than what a person thinks is humanly possible. You just can’t do anything. You just lay there in a mindless state.

At least if you’re sad, you feel like there’s no hope, which I think is so important to even have the idea of hope. You are in so much pain when numb you can’t even remember pain. You can’t remember sadness. You can’t remember happiness. You can’t remember the things you liked or disliked. It’s a hurricane whip-lashing and whirling in your head. It’s absolutely dreadful. You can’t even make a tear drop from your eyes. That’s why I say crying is important.

Crying heals you. Because then you’ll see one day if you get up there’s hope. You can accomplish something. Death is permanent but so is this numbing feeling. When ever you don’t keep yourself busy, it just tumbles in. It’s not something you want. It’s a pain so great, people can’t even imagine living through it. Nevertheless, gradually this pain disappears even when you aren’t busy but the pain becomes apart of you. It’s there but it doesn’t stir like it did. Life gets better. You just have to keep trying and pushing.

Just live. You only know your past but not your future. Who knows what is out there for you. I don’t know how numbness or depression stops, it differs per person, but every person can learn and move on from it. You just have to hang in and see.

—-Eli Jenkins, @JenkinsWritings


Daily Prompt: I Walk the Line

Have you got a code you live by? What are the principles or set of values you actively apply in your life?
by Krista on March 30, 2014, Daily Post

Answer: It is alright to be sad. It is more or less necessary, don’t be afraid of it. Learn from it and live life. Don’t dwell in the bad moments, dwell on the positives what you could have. Always have hope.

Author’s Notes: Last week I wrote to someone who faced a lot of tragedies in his life. He is still facing them. I wrote more or this what is written in this post to him. Things happen, and they will always be with you but at some point you have to cry about it and look towards the future. Sometimes looking at the “here-and-now” is not the best advice. Have hope that things get better. I really hope things, just his mindset on things, gets better. Then slowly they will for him. I had no intention of posting this but after I read the Prompt’s question, I thought was how sad life can be and sometimes you have to push through. It’s a code that not many mention or if it is, it is not addressed in the perspective of a person who is really struggling. I have been really sick as I have had quite the time to think what I would write for this. I eventually realized what I wrote to my friend is what really what I wanted to say. So here it is.

Blog Notes: I am still quite sorry I missed pretty much all last week’s stories. I am still recovering a bit. I am just more tired than actually sick now though. But my goal this week is to complete what I could not post last week hopefully.

Here’s a link to the featured image: http://www.deviantart.com/art/HOPE-256754628


Two Haiku Poems: Forgiving and Love


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Flummoxed. dizzy.
A begger’s cant. Pleading. Help!
Why can’t you forgive?

—-Eli Jenkins


Bloodstained Heart

Breathing. Beating. Thump.
Desire, passion, heart-throb, Darling…
Jump. Fall down together.

—Eli Jenkins

I wrote this poem… where two lovers (or two friends) jump off the edge of a bridge together. Then I thought for a moment. I am not saying that if you have a friend who wants to commit suicide, you should commit it with them. To help someone, you have to understand their feelings and the situation, thereby “falling with them.” Understanding affirms your love for someone. Not judging clenches the bond between the both of you. Dragging your feet with your friend at their lowest point avows you will always be there for the ups and downs. Eventually, your friend will recognize this and both of you will ascend up the stairs together in harmony after the ordeal together.

Then I realized, my haiku is quite similar to one of my favorite singer’s songs, “Bloodstained Heart” by Darren Hayes, singing about a similar thought.


Okay, so I am seriously sick right now. I probably will not post Thor’s Rhapsody on Friday (tomorrow) and probably won’t post Mirror on Sunday (their usual schedule for publication). I wrote these poems (and two others) on Tumblr earlier this week and queued them to publish for Wednesday and Thursday. Tuesday night was when I started feeling ill but when I woke up Wednesday… it was bad. Earlier today (Thursday) I started feeling better but now back to feeling seriously ill. I am so sorry I will be behind this for the rest of the week and next week. I am hoping to get back on track the week after though.

So I think (hopefully, depending how things go and how I feel) I plan on posting a haiku poems every day for 30 days, but like telling a story… a haiku poem tells a story within itself, I know, but it will be like a story within a story I guess. In a way I guess this is like a “prologue” to the “Haiku Story” I am writing.

Short version: I am sick so I will be late posting stories. I plan on writing a series of haiku poems telling a short story throughout April but I don’t know if it will start April 1 as planned since I am sick. I am also behind in photoshopping images for each of my stories for P-interest… Again I will update it soon after I am well.

Elliot’s Playground: T.V. and Laziness


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My son, I swear, I don’t even know where he gets these ideas. To top off his cruel joke with his sister earlier (argh! so embarrassing), he took advantage of a every day convenience into a great disadvantage for an old man like me!

Just a few decades ago, I remember as a child walking up to the television and manually changing the channel. Now, with the remote we can sit on the couch, change the channel and volume, record shows, and go on the internet and choose practically any movie just by using this item.

Anyways, after the kids went to bed, I finally got to sit down to watch my show.

I sunk into the couch. I squirmed neatly into the cushions and relaxed all my muscles. It was so refreshing. Comfortable. I again squirmed into the cushion and relaxed. Taking a deep breath, only my gasp for air rang the chilled silence. Wonderful.

Then I stared at the black T.V. screen.

I immediately became bitter. Where was the remote?

But it was okay at first, no big deal, right? I looked around the room hoping to spot the remote.

Argh! I didn’t see the remote the first time I looked around. Dreadful.

I started panicking, “remote appear!” I commanded.

That is when I spotted it. It laid on a paper plate face down, located on top the side table, which stood on the other side of the couch. I cried a little inside. I was comfortable. I didn’t want to move.

Argh! But my show…

Stricken by laziness, I stretched my body across the couch with as little movement from my original position as possible reaching for the remote.


It was too far! But no, I was determined to sit on my butt and get that remote! I reached even further, flopping my stomach on the couch as I twisted my face, like I was in true agony.

My finger tips are just millimeters away! frustrated, I groaned and made the final stretch for the remote!

“Urghhhhhh! Got– Ughhhhh!”

Bang! Tumble! Tumble.

The remote fell onto the other side of the table. I threw my head back in frustration, groaned, and sprinted to the remote’s destination.

I started picking up the paper plate. Initially, I thought that paper plate was oddly heavy. But then I flipped the plate over.

See, my son, Elliot, thinks it is hilarious to cause mischief. This is one of those moments.

The front of the remote was super glued to paper plate!

Remember, Elliot is only 7 years-old. He used an overabundance of glue.

I think his intention was to glue it enough to hold on to the plate but for me to actually be able to pull it off.

I know, I know. I should have never put the glue gun where he could reach it. It’s my fault. But who would have thought…?

My wife, Holly, told me if I wanted to watch television while she is asleep, I must sit in the living room.

After trying to peel off the plate and the glue for sometime, I gave up and resorted to the unthinkable. I walked up to my television to find the buttons to manually turn it on and change the channel. Since On-Demand came about, perhaps they actually made an On-Demand button as well!

At first I ran my hand on the sides of the flat-screen to find the buttons.

Of course, I could not find them. Argh! I turned on my light. My eyes burned and everything turned into static in a moments notice.

But hey, now at least I can possibly watch my show now.

I walked back to my television and squinted at every single side of it.

The only button on the television was on the button, and it only turned on and off the T.V.

Wonderful. Great. Just what I wanted to know. They don’t make a manual On-Demand button– or any other button besides the on and off button!

At the risk of losing my life, I resorted to the the very last option.

I was going to watch it in my bedroom as Holly slept.

As quietly as possible, I sat in bed next to her (who seemed sound asleep), turned on the T.V. and instantly muted it. For almost a minute I thought I was in the clear.

I stiffened. Holly turned her head, staring right into my eyes, and in the sweetest voice asked, “Can you turn off the T.V.?”

Then she widened her eyes! I hate she does it! She has the most beautiful green eyes. She take advantage of it, I swear! She knows my weakness.

I gave in and turned it off.


Without watching my show, I went to bed, in the most uncomfortable position too.

But I woke up in the morning and laughed… my son glued the super glued the remote to a paper plate. What the hell?

—Eli Jenkins


Every Tuesday a new Elliot’s Playground is posted. Don’t forget to follow, like, and… I can’t remember but if you know then do it! 🙂

What defines something as a life form?


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“The animate existence or period of animate existence of an individual.”


If you want to get scientific then life must have an RNA structure, and that RNA structure must be producing and synthesizing protein (to my understanding). Life is classified into three Domains: Archaea, Bacteria, and Eukarya.

There is one thing that the three domains have in common though, and that is they have an RNA structure. They are classified into different domains because their structures differ. RNA structures share one thing in common though: ribosomes. Ribosomes produce proteins. But the difference between a “dead being” and a “living being” is whether or not the ribosomes is actually producing and synthesizing protein.

I presume the proteins are Adenine, Guanine, Thymine, and Cytosine, which cause DNA to synthesize (to my understanding). So without these proteins there wouldn’t be DNA and then ribosomes wouldn’t exist and obviously there would be no such thing as an RNA structure, causing no life form. And for a life form to actually live, ribosomes must produce proteins in order for DNA to synthesize.

DNA retains cellular function data, causing the ribosomes to continue producing proteins which causes the DNA function to continue retaining the data. Basically, DNA and ribosomes and so forth act as a clock to my understanding. It might be even more complicated than but I guess that’s the basic small grasp of biology.

But obviously small beings (like bacteria) with just a few cells and larger beings (like humans) with millions of cells, the determination of whether or not a being is alive is drastically different.

Just because one cell on a human body is dead does not necessarily mean that person is dead but if all our cells were dead then we surely are dead as a door nail. Ribosomes in cells are basically what our brains are to us humans. But another observation is that just because our brain is dead does not necessarily mean that all of our cells are immediately dead. Nonetheless, because of our brain being dead, all of our cells will die and decay, producing no new cells.

Our many brain cells function together like one big ribosome, producing what our bodies need in order to work like a clock, which is why if our brain dies, our body dies with it. The question I guess remains, why does our brain still function if one brain cell dies or a quite large chunk of our brains are taken out? Since cells regenerate when they die, just because one cell is dead doesn’t necessarily mean the whole brain will die, therefore you die.

Well, if the part of your brain that makes some bodily functions work, then that part will no longer function. With today’s technologies, someone may to live through artificial means such as medication or modern gadgets. But without the means of this support, that part of the body’s cells will eventually die off, causing further repercussions like a domino effect all because apart of the brain for that body function ceases to exist. Or sometimes part of the brain that is damaged (all the brain cells in that area are dead) or is taken out does not actually mean a body function is affected so that person may continue to live, however, some part of them (like speech or eyesight) may no longer function but those features are not needed to live.

Brains also have proteins, and I am not a brain expert, but I guess brains could potentially produce proteins which produces in turn produces the matter inside your brain, which continues to produce proteins kind of like Ribosomes and the DNA clockwork I described earlier. I’m not sure if that’s true or not and I am making a baseless assumption but that’s how I think that of it and will describe it here.

In conclusion, the brains in beings with complex structures are what ribosomes are to simple-celled structures.

Now what about plants? They have no brain and are also complex structured beings. Well, same concept with the brain except with part of the cell that takes in sugar, I think called Mitochondria.

Without sugar plants wouldn’t be able to function in their complex state. So, they wouldn’t exist without the ability to take in sugar. Since plants are complex structures like humans they can live if they are missing a few cells or some portions cut off to an extent.

I haven’t took a biology course in… 6-7 years and that was only a High School class but I also only learned about the cellular structure two times before then. So I could be wrong about the job of the Mitochondria but I think I am not wrong.

Again due to the complex structure of a plant the Mitochondria being in the structure, all other functions are caused by a clockwork rotation between sugar from the sun and water and the Mitochondria. When the clock stops the life form is no longer living.

So, ya this is the basics of a life form and what determines whether or not it is alive.

–Eli Jenkins, Jenkins Writings

Someone asked on Quora, what defines something as a life form. This is my answer to what a life form is and whether or not that life form is living. You can check out my Quora page here<–!

I don’t study biology or medical applications but I do talk about the things I do know, I think I know, and my overall idea of life form concepts. So, if I said something that perhaps is inaccurate let me know and I will try to rework this post out.

MSN News Needs Editors!


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Who the hell writes this stuff for MSN? Honestly, they must be stoned out of their minds! This whole story seemed as if someone on MSN took the story from a Chinese newspaper, used Bing translator, and posted without reviewing the article.


The story itself is really sad. The author tries to describe a young woman’s murder that took place as her boyfriend watched and listened via webcam.

Apparently, a man, Brian Dickson, knocked on her door as she was webcamming with her boyfriend. She opened the door and chatted with him, but (I guess) when he tried to hug her, she refused to reciprocate. Then he pushed her to her bed and forced himself on her. (I guess) Her boyfriend clearly saw the conflict to the point where they were on her bed; although, he heard her screaming, “No” and banging sounds throughout the transgression. After awhile the noises stopped and the man, naked from the waist down, walked in front of the webcam and turned off the computer. The police arrested and charged Brian Dickinson who is pleading not guilty but, according to the author, is asking the jury to convict him of manslaughter.


Reading this article was such a headache. I mean you would think that because it is written on a popular website, they would review and edit before posting. But think again!

First off, just look at the title, Trial for Canadian webcam murder suspect begins.
My first thought questioned, “How can you commit a murder through a webcam,” and then I imagined a man sticking his head and arm as he held a knife in his hand into his computer and emerging from a woman’s computer, slaughtered her, and snapping his body back through the screen. I recognize my mind thinks strangely sometimes but the headline is horribly worded! I would have titled it, Victim’s webcam was on as man murders her, Trial begins.

Perhaps it’s my heavy accent which is making this article sound very strange but I swear there is just something off about the grammar and just the overall word choices the author utilizes.

For example:

He heard Liu say both in English and Mandarin, “No. No,”Pirraglia said.

Pirraglia is the prosecutor and “he” is her boyfriend, Xian Meng. To me, it just sounds confusing. I would write, Meng reported to Pirraglia that he heard her scream the word, “No. no,” interchangeably in English and Mandarin.

Here’s another example:

Blood could be seen on the floor around her face.

In the context of the paragraph, this sounds very strange to me but it being alone doesn’t sound much better. If you just said this out loud while having discussion, it isn’t a big deal but in an article, come on, you can come up with something better. I just feel like this author was lazy. Another problem is that the author writes, “could be seen.” See, the word “could” should not be used in this particular context. It’s like pointing at the Mona Lisa and saying, “a woman could be seen in the picture.”

I don’t know, but I am not fond of this sentence.

Third example:

Pirraglia said there is DNA evidence that says the chances that the semen found on Liu’s abdomen and groin area weren’t from Dickson are calculated as one in 2.7 quintillion.

Or the author could have wrote, “Parraglia said forensics calculates there is one in 2.7 quintillion chance the semen found in Liu’s abdomen and groan area was not Dickinson’s.” This example reminds me of a post I recently read about not treating your readers dumb; “you don’t need to overstate anything.” Secondly, DNA Evidence cannot possibly “say” anything. The evidence is based off of DNA samples collected. Lab scientists calculate the chances of the DNA being his. DNA evidence proves there is one in 2.7 quintillion possibility the semen found on Liu’s abdomen and groan was not from Dickinson.


This article reports the onset of a trial. Yet, it clearly is redundant, the author writing, “Pirraglia said,” nine times! By the end, I asked myself, “Who is Pirraglia?” This article rather tells me what Pirraglia said at the trial than about the trial itself.

These example may not seem like a big deal and I know I am not reading The Washington Post but to an extent I expect a higher quality from any news stand. Even though the internet is fast paced and every news stand wants to beat the other to the punch, quality in written format drastically is taking a hit. A person who attended and completed high school should write better than this!

If I turned this in as a report to my high school teachers, they would scrutinize and patronize me about all of these little inconsistencies (or in the case of being redundant, too consistent) saying there is no chance in hell I would pass college! I am not perfect and I make a lot of mistakes but I am not writing a post for a news stand (that apparently is missing their editor).

Anyways, I don’t normally rush to judgement but, geez, there is overwhelming, clear evidence against him. I hope to see him convicted but the prosecution should also charge him with rape! This ridiculous; Western countries treat rape (whether the victim is female or male) as a joke! I want to see these people behind bars or in mental wards for a long time! It is never okay to rape someone– ever! There is absolutely no excuse to be ignorant of this law! And I could go on and on about this… but then I would be rambling.

I just wanted to rant about these damn reporters. I am so tired of reading lousy reports from all major or popular news stands.

—Eli Jenkins

Not my usual writing I post but I just needed to say something about this.

(DP Challenge) Life’s Pit Stops: Journal of Becoming a Writer


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Please note, this does not talk about the true aspects of my life. I don’t want to talk about everything that has happened to me.

Life is a tug-a-war game. On each side is an influence, the writer side of me stood on one end while the cynical, depressed me stood on the other. This journal showcases the event.

Age 8:

I am so mad! My younger brother gave away my favorite book to the school book affair. Now every book is boring. Why did it have to be that book? What is the point of reading? There isn’t a point. That was my favorite book…

At Age 10:

Wow! I did really well! I wish every essay could be like this where we have the freedom to write a story. At first I had no idea what to write but then I just imagined all the details about one of the days I had during summer and just wrote.

Note: I had the same English teacher at Age 10 and 12.

Age 12:

My teacher just told me that I should become a writer but I don’t think so. I am not creative enough to do that. It’s also a really competitive field, I don’t think I could hold up to the standards anyway.

At age 13:

Writing is a joke. Why do we have to take an English class? We speak and write English every day. We already know what a verb is and how to properly use them. Writing proper sentence structures should just come naturally to us. This class is dumb.

Age 15:

I hate this English teacher. She’s so snotty. The moment I spoke to her, I knew she hated me. Just because I can’t speak well (I have a strong accent), doesn’t mean she should discriminate against my writing and intelligence. Well, at least I learned how to utilize power verbs.

Age 16:

I love reading classics. I checked out “Edgar Allen Poe Stories” and “The Great Expectations” by Charles Dickinson from the library awhile ago. They definitely manifest some kind of magic over words and the English language. Oh, “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck, a book I had to read for my US history class, also took my breath away! The Other day, I encountered an interesting novel, except I plan on reading it for the summer, called, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I only read a couple of pages before I had to leave the library but it looks really good. (It was actually assigned as summer reading for the following year ironically)

Age 17:

I hate writing. I hate books. I hate school. Are we actually learning anything sitting here for 6 hours a day as we to talk to our peers? Seriously, this is a waste of time. I could actually learn something by not sitting in here. School is just one big play pen to confine children and teenagers away for as long as possible because we are just nuisances to the adult world and society.

They call it school, a place of education. In reality, everyone just socialize and thinks learning is one big joke. We are cattle. We roam around like drugged cattle, and walk up and down staircases in herds. We yield to anyone who influences on our well-being. It’s a slaughterhouse! You don’t want to be here then fail school, fail life, fail, fail, fail, fail! Just fail if you don’t want to be apart of the herd. If you don’t find it enjoyable to sit in class listening to your peers screaming across the room, then FAIL! If you don’t want to conform and be slaughtered into mindless beings, then FAIL!

Between Age 17 and now:

No thoughts. No expression. No ideas. No words. Besides for an overwhelming sadness.


I was in a really dark place for a really long time.

My best friend told me, “Well, while I am busy, you have to keep busy. Find something to do.”

I was paranoid. No matter what I did, it couldn’t hold my attention for long. My friend didn’t understand until recently. And through this understanding, I woke up and decided I should write again. I have this nagging fiction story as long as a novel lingering in my brain for the past few years. At first, I thought I would write it but I haven’t actually written a story in years! My lack of experience wasn’t the only thing holding me back because there was another problem: Who the hell would pick up and read my novel?

That is when I decided I will open a blog and gain writing experience and potential readers for my novel. But it is much more than just that. I knew that through writing, I would probably retake an interest in reading again by reading other people’s posts, which in turn would inspire me to continue writing, and thus this circle would captivate me into keeping busy.

Since I am busy writing, reading, and figuring out social media function thingies, I am less paranoid now. The best thing I have found on the internet since I started writing is a small magazine called The Corner Club Press. I don’t know, there’s just something about it that makes me feel energized, or perhaps it’s because the coffee theme layout.

Nonetheless, here I am writing. The writer side of me won the tug-a-war event. Thus, this one act began a circus.

—-Eli Jenkins

Writing Challenge: Writerly Reflections

In this challenge, tell us how you fell in love with books and writing.


Mirror 4: Onset to Dependency


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Mirror Chapter 1. Mirror Chapter 2. Mirror Chapter 3. This is Chapter 4.

What hurt the most was not Ma abandoning me but it was seeing you in ruins from her abandoning you.

When you walked into my room, your steps were heavy but so was your heart. I could feel it breaking– no, it was shattering into tiny fragments. You sat next to me on my bed and just broke down. I didn’t know what to feel. What could I have felt? I was the child, the piece, between the both of you that eternally connected you and her. I was in the middle of a broken relationship and soon I learned it was much more than just that. I was in between two broken people, two broken hearts. So I just sat there re-winding my memories over and over again. Perhaps you were too.

Every day of my childhood, you would smile and laugh for me. You acted as if nothing was wrong for me– for my feelings. From that day on, I realized looking into the mirror, how much I looked like you and her together. I share your brown eyes and my adolescent face was shaping to resemble yours, but I have Ma’s straight red hair. Every time I saw my reflection from then on, I subconsciously would take a pill.

I wanted to be the best for you. Every day I could hear you coming home from work and weeping in your room before and after dinner. You still tried to hold a smile for me as long as you could.

You would give me a smile when I would bring home my report card with straight A’s.

You smiled when I started playing baseball.

You smiled when you realized I was the star of my baseball team.

You smiled when I also joined the swim team.

You smiled when you saw that I placed in the top of my state.

You smiled when I smiled.

You even smiled when there wasn’t anything to smile about.

If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were happy. But every time you smiled I saw your eyes become glassy. A similar kind of glassy that twinkled in Ma’s eyes. They were eyes of a truly sad person. I know you wanted to be happy. You forced a smile because you wanted that happiness so badly. It was out of your reach though. And you knew it was, which only deepened your sadness even more.

I thought that perhaps I wasn’t good enough to make you happy. I didn’t understand.

I wouldn’t exactly say I was depressed at this time though. Or maybe I was but I filled my days in studying and activities instead of… the things I did to end up here.

I remember one morning, I know you don’t though, when I woke up early before school. I heard a couple of thumping sounds. Grandma slept downstairs so she couldn’t have heard it. My legs compelled me into your room.

I opened your cricking door.

“Dad,” I said looking down. Then I heard a banging sound against the wall.

I panicked, what was I going to do? I ran to the phone and called the ambulance. I was instructed to hold you down. Now they say not to do that though but back then things were different. I tried to hold you down the best I could. You were flopping all over the place. The bed shook with fiery. My head pounded. My heart sank.

The paramedics came up and took you. I couldn’t breathe. I was really dizzy and flush. They asked if I wanted to ride to the hospital with you but I declined and let Grandma take my place.

She told me to wait and she will come back and bring me to the hospital in a few hours.

I paced the empty house thinking about the dinners we had every night, and how every Friday night we played cards, and just how supportive you were with everything I did. But then something inside me boiled up. It was sort of the feeling of guilt. I was guilty of being a burden. I doubted my presence.

Actually, I still kind of feel the bubbles sizzling even now; I doubt my presence. You never directly made me feel like I was meshed inside a shattered world but seeing you drag your feet in this world, pretending as if you are okay, drained my serenity.

I froze and went into the bathroom and stared in the mirror for a minute. Then I opened the cabinet, took out a small container of pills, and took a couple of the capsules. They eased my mind. Then I stuffed it in my pocket as Grandma called me down to visit you.

I walked through the hall corridors, not only was my reflection pale but so was my vitality of being in this world. I was confused. No, I still am. It has only grown more rapid since I was 16 years old.

I looked at you. You were sleeping. Tubes and cords were attached to your body from machines. You kind of looked peaceful for a second. Then your doctor walked in.

“His epilepsy–”

I interrupted, “What do you mean? He doesn’t–”

Grandma glanced over to me and then back at the doctor, and said to him, “Continue.”

I left the room. I didn’t know you had epilepsy. It frustrated me not knowing things. You never talked about the bad things. You never talked about problems. At this age, it drove me crazy how I am left out in the dark about everything.

I leaned against the wall and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Then I realized I had a bottle of pills into my pocket. I took another few capsules. It eased my mind.

You were going to live, that’s all that mattered,

Thor’s Rhapsody Chapter 2


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[Chapter1]. This is Chapter 2.

Uptight jitters boiled in Thor’s chest. There, sitting in a dim room, filled a heavy pent-up draft, intoxicating his lungs. Thor crunched up one leg to his chest while the other dangled off the chair, swaying back and forth.

In a monotonous voice, the woman sitting across the room, asked, “How are you doing?”

Blankly staring down, the boy didn’t make a sound as he stayed in his fixated position.

The room’s smell teemed and stifled flimsily. An awkwardness broiled between the small boy and the woman with a notepad and pen.

Eric, the boy’s father, sat next to him and nudged Thor’s shoulder, “Come on, it’s okay.”

“Uh, I don’t know. Fine I guess,” he replied without looking up. The lady in front of him scribbled something on her notepad.

Annoyed, Eric clutched his hands together and sighed. He then grabbed his son and pulled him up from his slouching position, “Straighten up and act proper.”

The lady across the room scribbled something down once again and then said, “It’s okay, sir. Perhaps he is just shy is all. Let me talk to him alone. There’s a chance he will be more open.”

“But Doctor Bernard–”

“It’s alright. He is old enough to speak for himself. I understand why he wouldn’t want to be here. And with you here, being his parent, speaking his mind might even be harder. Are you worried he will say something–”

Eric held his hand up and stood, “No, I can assure you it is nothing like that. I will be in the waiting room.”

As he closes the door behind him, she reintroduced herself to the small boy, “I am Doctor Suzanne Bernard but you can call me Suzanne, nice to meet you. Who are you again?”

He glanced up at her notepad and then pulled his leg back towards his chest. Tiny black dots run across his field of vision as he breathes in the stifling smell of the room. The notepad seemed more distant than where it actually was. She seemed very distant.

“Uh, my name,” he replies, “Thor Theodore Baltazar.” He stared intensely down at his hands which static overtakes the view.

“Are you okay?”

Thor nodded his head.

“Do you ever think bad thoughts?”

He shook his head. Dizzy, he heard her voice fade in and out, as if her chair is sliding afar and then back.

“Do you see things or people who aren’t really there?”

His foot that tangles from the chair rapidly jerking up and down. Is she talking about the beings he sees? Is she implying that the beings he sees aren’t real? Are they real? What are they?

“Hm, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

Thor slowly nods his head.

“Can you describe it to me?”

Cocking his eyebrow up and lifting his head, he stared at the ridge of her glasses.

“hm.” His eyes grew blank.

“Go ahead, it’s alright,” the Doctor persisted.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

“Uh, I don’t know. My head was exploding. They were calling my name and I heard a lot of banging. I saw a girl with a bell and when she rung it, that was when everything stopped. Usually I see them and we talk. They are all mostly friendly. They wear outfits from a long time ago. The other day I saw one wearing armor! I wish I could touch him and feel the metal. I asked him how he could possibly walk wearing metal. And he explained that it was very heavy, and you have to be a very strong man to wear one. He was from the Dark Ages, which was a long time ago.”

Doctor Bernard jotted on her notepad as he spoke.

“Tell me more.”

“Well, they float and pass through things. I tried playing with them before, like I would try to hand them my blocks so they could build with me but they can’t touch anything. They love trying to play though and give me suggestions. I love their weird accents but they always tease me saying I can barely speak English. Then we would have whole conversations about how to speak. They say that it’s because I don’t have an accent which is why it makes it hard to speak normal. But then I tell them that everyone here speaks like me. They don’t believe me usually because I am by myself. Well, I am not really by myself because they are there but there is nobody like me around. Anyway–”

“Oh, I see. What do you think they are?

Thor tilted his head, “What do I think they are?”

A long pause follows. He never had to answer this question before. Nobody ever asked. His family called them his friends. But what are they? They aren’t solid like him but they sure acted and looked like him.

“Want to figure it out together, Thor?”

He nodded his head slowly.

“Well that’s great! But we can talk about this another day, alright?”

Again, the boy nodded his head.

Divider_Ding_27“I am very concerned about your son, Mr Baltazar,” Dr. Bernard whispered into Eric’s ear.

They stand next to each other in the corner of her room while Thor slumped back into his fixated position from earlier. The intoxicating feeling still overwhelmed his senses.

Raising his eyebrow to the news, Thor’s father asked, “Oh, gee! What is wrong with him? Is he going to be alright, Doctor?”

“Well, I think you ought to keep him at home for now and keep a watchful eye on him. I want to observe him while he plays by himself.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want. However much it costs, I want him to stop.”

“If he has what I think he has then we must start him on insulin therapy–”

“Woo, woo! Doc, what do you think it is? How serious–”

“All symptoms point towards Schizophrenia, it doesn’t occur in children often bu–”

“Are you saying my son is insane?” Eric’s clutches his palms together.

“It can be treated, usually with insulin therapy. There are some risks involved especially since he is only a child, but that is why I would like to observe him first. And then we can start him on treatment right away.”

Sorry, I should have posted this yesterday but I fell asleep. I will try to be more punctual in general too. This chapter is like the beginning of hell :).

Elliot’s Playground: Gum, Need I Say More?


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“I am going to cut my hair short tomorrow,” Georgia proclaims.

Holly, my wife, and I glanced over to each other. When ever Holly took her as a child, Georgia would cry and cry about getting her haircut.

Holy replied, “How short is short?”

“I have been thinking how much my long hair gets in the way so after you made my haircut appointment. I finally decided today I want to get it cut above my shoulders.”

Again Holly and I glanced over. Things change a lot when kids become a teenager. I remember what seemed like yesterday Holly and I took her home from the hospital.

We were both indifferent to her decision but very much surprised. I am glad though she just something now while we were eating dinner tonight instead of coming home from the hairdresser’s with 3/4ths of her hair gone. I hate surprises– especially when females do it to get a reaction– my daughter not being an exception. But perhaps I have grown a tad cranky with surprises ever since Elliot was born. That kid is full of surprises all the time.

“Well, your father is going to take you to the hairdresser’s tomorrow, I have to work,” Holy stated smiling at me.

Typical Holly.

“Am I?” I smiled back.

She knows I hate surprises, she does it on purpose. I guess the kids inherited more of her personality, especially Elliot.

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