luciadene
01-06-2015, 10:12 AM
Hi guys (and girls), I was just wondering if you could give me some feedback about this bit of writing. It's quite literally the first thing I've ever written (outside of school essays) and I would love to hear some thought. I've been thinking about writing for a really long time, and have had the idea of writing going round and round in my head for years, but I've never done anything about it. I hope you're kind enough so that I'll feel encouraged to continue, but don't feel like you have to pretend. I've also often thought about being a supermodel, and that isn't going to happen and I've managed to cope admirably with the realisation of it. Thanks in advance.
Chapter 1
I’m drowning. I can feel the pressure building up around me, covering my legs, my chest, and slowly, slowly, reaching my neck, coming up past my lips and making its way down my throat where I know that it will kill me. But I do nothing. I don’t even struggle. It’s like I know what’s coming and I don’t have the will to fight it. I feel tired. Tired of battling, of struggling to find that last piece of hope that will make me lift my head up out of the water. I need someone to save me. No, I need someone to help me. Lift me up just enough to make me feel the air. Then maybe, maybe I can pull myself out of this.
I don’t know where it came from, this sense of hopelessness. This sense that I just couldn’t do it anymore. Is it laziness? Could I just work a bit harder? Where do people find the motivation to keep going every day, to keep trying, and trying, never knowing if they’re ever going to get what they want, or be what they want? I don’t understand it any more. I have most of the things I ever wanted, but I lost the most important one. I lost my sense of possibility. The one thing that used to keep me filled with hope, and excitement and a passion for waking up in the morning. I don’t know where it went. I don’t know how to get it back. I need to get it back. It’s the only thing that can stop me from drowning.
I used to be brilliant. Even with all the neuroses and crippling self doubt that comes with youth, I knew it. Not a genius, nor a ravishing beauty, nor a philosopher, nor a comic. Not any one thing in particular, really. I just used to fill a room with light. I used to make people sit up and pay attention. I had so much fire in me that everyone could see it, and I knew they could, and it fed that fire. I had no idea what my life would become, but I knew it would be spectacular. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when I looked back on my life I would know that I had succeeded, that I had a life filled with excitement, and passion, and experiences that others could only dream of. I was going to change the world. I was going to be remembered. I was going to be someone. I was going to be me, and my fire would burn bright and be spectacular enough to set the world the alight.
I have things to do today. So many things to do. I need to tidy my home, I need to wash sheets, and make dinners and bathe children and talk to others about mundane issues that I simply don’t care about. But I must, because I don’t know what else to do. This is my role now. Wife, mother, daughter, friend. Something to someone. And I don’t want to stop being any of those things, but I need to become someone to me. I need to be the person that could not just feign enthusiasm, but feel it bubbling up in her chest so much it felt like it would burst out of me and smother everyone.
I just don’t know how, and I’m petrified of not finding out. It feels like my life is in fight or flight mode, and I can’t decide which one to choose, so I’m just standing there, undecided, inert, and letting the water close in.
Chapter 1
I’m drowning. I can feel the pressure building up around me, covering my legs, my chest, and slowly, slowly, reaching my neck, coming up past my lips and making its way down my throat where I know that it will kill me. But I do nothing. I don’t even struggle. It’s like I know what’s coming and I don’t have the will to fight it. I feel tired. Tired of battling, of struggling to find that last piece of hope that will make me lift my head up out of the water. I need someone to save me. No, I need someone to help me. Lift me up just enough to make me feel the air. Then maybe, maybe I can pull myself out of this.
I don’t know where it came from, this sense of hopelessness. This sense that I just couldn’t do it anymore. Is it laziness? Could I just work a bit harder? Where do people find the motivation to keep going every day, to keep trying, and trying, never knowing if they’re ever going to get what they want, or be what they want? I don’t understand it any more. I have most of the things I ever wanted, but I lost the most important one. I lost my sense of possibility. The one thing that used to keep me filled with hope, and excitement and a passion for waking up in the morning. I don’t know where it went. I don’t know how to get it back. I need to get it back. It’s the only thing that can stop me from drowning.
I used to be brilliant. Even with all the neuroses and crippling self doubt that comes with youth, I knew it. Not a genius, nor a ravishing beauty, nor a philosopher, nor a comic. Not any one thing in particular, really. I just used to fill a room with light. I used to make people sit up and pay attention. I had so much fire in me that everyone could see it, and I knew they could, and it fed that fire. I had no idea what my life would become, but I knew it would be spectacular. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when I looked back on my life I would know that I had succeeded, that I had a life filled with excitement, and passion, and experiences that others could only dream of. I was going to change the world. I was going to be remembered. I was going to be someone. I was going to be me, and my fire would burn bright and be spectacular enough to set the world the alight.
I have things to do today. So many things to do. I need to tidy my home, I need to wash sheets, and make dinners and bathe children and talk to others about mundane issues that I simply don’t care about. But I must, because I don’t know what else to do. This is my role now. Wife, mother, daughter, friend. Something to someone. And I don’t want to stop being any of those things, but I need to become someone to me. I need to be the person that could not just feign enthusiasm, but feel it bubbling up in her chest so much it felt like it would burst out of me and smother everyone.
I just don’t know how, and I’m petrified of not finding out. It feels like my life is in fight or flight mode, and I can’t decide which one to choose, so I’m just standing there, undecided, inert, and letting the water close in.