I Bleed Red too

Chun chun.

The sound of metal hitting against metal. It's the sound that sets me apart in a sea of black.

 

Chun chun.

People stop and turn their heads and try to figure out where the sound comes from.  Neighbors run quickly to their roof tops just to get a glimpse.  Children stand outside my door waiting to hear the sound.

Chun chun.

The sound that is unique to me. The sound so ordinary that it is heard everyday, but so extraordinary when it comes from me.

Chun chun.

In a world where you must fit in. You must be the same. I stand out. Even amongst a sea of veils. I am uncovered. Exposed. Naked.

Chun chun.

The neigbhorhood women stand outside my door, waiting. "Is your bahuu here?" they ask. For three years I have been either sick or sleeping, but the sound of my tell tale heart beats loudly giving my hiding place away.

Chun chun.

"How many do you wear?" they ask. "Eighteen", I reply. Then there is the enevitable "gasp" of shock. "You know one is enough", is always the first reply. Only to be followed by "Don't they feel hot? or Who gave them to you? Shahjee?"

Chun chun.

Prying questions from nosy women. The gossip my poor husband has to endure simply because of a sound. A sound they can't understand. A sound that is out of place on me. A sound that doesn't belong when you're a gori.

Chun chun.

"Do you wear them in America?"

"Yes."

"Really?! In America?"

"Yes". (If they only knew what some people wear in America, this is nothing in comparison)

Chun chun.

No matter how lightly I walk the sound remains ever so faint. The chun chun follows me like a shadow. Firmly attached to my every move. My every breath.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I don't wear shoes."

"Really?!"

"Yes." ( Please just let them leave. )

My MIL can tell when I have had enough. She quickly ushers them out.

"She has work to do" then slowly they leave one by one. A touch on the head as they pass by. A mark of respect. Of belonging even in a place where I don't belong.

Chun chun.

Warning- Detour Ahead- Proceed with Caution

I am taking creative license to the max for this week's writing prompt for TRDC. The prompt was about a time when you took a detour. Where had you intended to go and where did you end up?

Actually I had an extremely hard time with this prompt. It wasn't that I have never taken a detour. It was that I have taken so many detours even my detours have detours. How was I going to pick just one? They were all jumping up and down shouting "Pick me! Ohh ohh pick me! No not her, pick me!" While I almost took one or two detours as inspiration, at the last moment I would swerve back onto the highway. Just trudging forward in search of inspiration. I still had a few miles left according to the flashing lights so I was in no hurry to pick one just yet. However, as with most trips I started feeling a bit bored and hungry so I started flipping through some blogs clicking on links and that is how I found this. The mother of all detours.

(source The New Chef's Journal please check out this blog)

After seeing that I no longer could concentrate on writing. All I could think about was that ooey gooey yummy mother of all chocolate cakes and omg why haven't they invented scrach n lick computer monitors yet?!

Ahem! Where was I? Oh yes, the writing prompt. So while I had hoped to have a wonderful beautifully written story for you instead I took a detour and have brought you this yummy chocolate cake. I hope you forgive me for my lack of inspiration, but after witnessing this gorgeous specimen, my brain refused to come out of its Homer Simpson chaaawk-lit coma. Hopefully I will be more inspired for the next prompt and if not there is always chocolate and chocolate with coconut and chocolate with peanut butter in the middle. I have to go now I just gained 10 lbs from reading his blog.

*I really did stumble across this blog while I was searching for inspiration procrastinating. All of his recipes look as yummy as this. So if you're looking for some great new recipes I suggest you check out The New Chef's Journal. I am sure you will become addicted just like I did.

A Tangled Love Web

"Why are you doing this, Joe?" Annie pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

"Walk," was the only reply she got.

"Please, Joe, don't do this. You said you loved me. How can you do this to me if you love me?", terror flowed through her veins, replacing every drop of blood with the fear of certain death.

Silent, Joe kept the gun pointed towards, Annie. With a flip of his wrist, he motioned towards the water. "Get in", his voice was rough and his words slurred from the combination of alcohol and valium he had been taking since he found out the awful truth about Annie.

Her body began to shake uncontrollably as she stepped into the frigid water. Partly out of fear and partly due to the freezing water. Luckily the water only came to her knees, but even so it was the middle of winter, Annie rapidly began to lose all feeling in her legs. The numbness slowly traveling up the length of her body. Teeth rattling one against the other, "P-P-Please, Joe, why are you doing this?"

"You said you loved me. Why, Annie, why? I would have given you anything you asked me for," Joe screamed at Annie.

"I do love you but I...," Annie began, but before she could finish, Joe began shouting  "Shut up you lying bitch. You never loved me. You used me. To get close to him. My own brother. You used me, Annie."

Startled by a sound, Joe looked up at the top of  the riverbank. He had been too lost in his rage to hear the car approaching. It was only when Jamie screamed, "Mommy!" that Joe even knew anyone else was there.

Before Bill could stop her, Jamie raced down the river bank. Stumbling on the loose rocks, falling on the wet snow as she made her way down to the troubled man at the water's edge.

"Joe, please don't hurt my mommy," Jamie pleaded.

"Your mama is a lying cunt," Joe slurred. "Joe!" shouted Bill from above. "Don't you take one step, little brother," Joe warned. "If you do, they'll both be dead before you reach the bottom."

Bill knowing full well his brother was capable of making good on his threat, stayed firmly rooted at the top of the river bank.

Jamie, with a wisdom far greater than her 10 years of age, realized it would be up to her to get them out of this alive. "Joe" she began. "Do you love me, Joe?"

Confused by Jamie's question, Joe didn't answer, but he kept the gun firmly pointed at Annie. "Joe" Jamie asked again, "Do you love me, Joe?"

"Of course I do," Joe's voice was barely a whisper. If there had been a sound, Jamie wouldn't have heard his words, but even the woods remained silent out of fear of what Joe might do.

"Then give me the gun, Joe", Jamie inched slowly towards where Joe was standing. She held out her tiny hand, hoping that she could somehow get through to Joe. Could somehow get the gun away from him.

Jamie's words hit Joe like a ton of bricks. Joe slumped on the wet, snow covered ground. His head in one hand, the other wrapped tightly around the gun, still pointed at Annie. Jamie could hear the sound of Annie's teeth rattling. She knew she didn't have much time left. Again but with more force she said to Joe, "Give me the gun. I want to go home. It's cold out here, Joe. Please I am cold. Please take me home."

Before Jamie realized what was happening, she felt the coolness of the metal touch her skin. Her hand dropped towards the ground from the heaviness of the gun. Joe placed his head in both hands and began to weep uncontrollably. Bill raced down the riverbank. Grabbing the gun from Jamie's grasp as he rushed to help Annie out of the freezing water.

All four slowly climbed back up the river bank. Bill helping Annie, whose legs were frozen from standing in the river. Jamie helping Joe whose heart had been shattered by the betrayal of his love. The silence of the ride home was broken only by the sound of Annie's chattering teeth and the hiss of the car heater turned on high to help the warmth return to Annie's frozen body. Jamie occasionally glanced at the 3 adults that sat in the car around her. "Please God just let me make it back to Ma's. I swear I will never come here again," she silently prayed. "Please" she whispered as a tear slowly slid down her cheek. All she wanted was to get back to the safety of her grandma's house. Back to where sanity lived. Where she could be a 10 year old who didn't know how to talk a mad man out of murder. Back to where love lived.

This is for a writing prompt for Mama Kat's workshop. The prompt I chose was a story of love. Not necessarily your typical "love story" but a love story it is none the less.  

Stand in the Q



If this is your first time to take a walk across the pond, you can read all about what it is HERE

  When I decided to move to the Middle East, I picked Bahrain because English is widely spoken there. In order to get a job even the locals have to be able to speak English so it seemed like the best choice. However, I didn't realize I would have just as much trouble understanding the "English" spoken there as I would the Arabic. You see Bahrain use to be ruled by the British Empire so they speak "British English" which is quite different from "American English".

My first day on the job my supervisor told me to take the nightly deposit to the bank and wait in the Q

Not wanting my boss to think I was a total idiot on the first day I didn't ask what the "Q" was, and proceeded to the bank hoping that the "Q" would be big enough for me to spot without having to ask anyone where it was. When I reached the bank on the first floor, I didn't see any "Q", but I did see a "line" of people waiting to deposit their night's deposits. Luckily one of them was the manager from the shop next door to me. So I asked her , "Is this the "line" for the bank?"

She replied, "Yes, this is the "que"."

That was when my brain went A-HA! They speak British English here and I wasn't looking for a Q

but for the "line" for the bank. Feeling pretty happy that I hadn't made a total idiot out of myself I finished the deposits and returned back to the shop. Things were going great. After a few hours my supervisor returned just to make sure I was settling in ok. I was. She asked me if I would like some "biscuits".

In my mind I went "biscuits?"



(google images)

but fortunately my mouth only said "No, thanks" because she then proceeded to reach into her purse and pull out  some "biscuits".

              

Otherwise known as "cookies" in USA. At that point I busted out laughing and was forced to admit that I was actually have much more trouble understanding the "English" than I was having understanding the Arabic. After that whenever anyone asked me if I was "multilingual", I would say "Yes, I speak both American and British English."

You've Got Mail

Today I received a very unexpected email. I guess right as I started this blog I also joined a forum for people with Bipolar. I didn't make any introductory posts or anything. I just made a post asking one question. Lots of people replied with very helpful suggestions. The one suggestion I kept getting over and over was to journal write, but that wasn't really going to cut it for me. Instead I ended up here blogging. I think I replied and thanked the people for their suggestions maybe, but other than that I didn't make any more posts and didn't talk to anyone on the forum.

I never really thought about it because I was just one person, one post. I wouldn't be missed. No one would notice I wasn't there. Then today I got an email from one of the administrators. He just wanted to check if I was ok. If I needed anything. It wasn't one of pregenerated emails. It was personal. Hand written or typed in this instance.

It really made me stop for a moment and think how when you live with bipolar, it's like being a horse wearing blinders. Your vision is so limited. You're in a constant state of flight or fight. Moving from one crisis to the next. Unless you're medicated and have a good therapist and a support network. Without these things you will never ever move out of this flight or fight survival mode. I have been in survival mode for 30+ years.

It made me wonder how many others along the way I hadn't noticed. How many others had possibly extended a helping hand, but I was so intent on getting out of the burning fire that I never even noticed the fireman that had come to save me. I wasn't worth saving so it never occurred to me that someone would even try. So I never bothered to look for help because I honestly didn't even know there was help for me. I was crazy, worthless, unwanted, unloved, trash, whore, slut. This is what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Well on the rare occassions I looked in the mirror.  

It scares me looking back at my life to think of all of the extremely dangerous situations I have put myself in. While I do have consequences, reality is the consequences could have been far greater than what they actually turned out to be. I definitely have had someone looking over me all of these years. Even if I never noticed. It's a strang new world I find myself in. I am not quite sure how to navigate it.

While my life will always be  a struggle, I will never be able to "relax". I will always have to be aware. The same way a diabetic always has to be aware. No one ever explained it to me like that before, but this is the reality of Bipolar.

I also realize I have been given a very unique opportunity. I am so many non stereotypical things, but for all of my oddities, I have been given the gift of voice.

Strange how all of that came from one little email.