What happens when a finger painting prodigy hitches a ride from a disfigured biker? Why chaos of course!
Quirky, oddball Georgie is anything but normal. For years she hasn't only suffered from a lack of filter but she also has "episodes." She can't...
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Depression is a termite to your soul. It feeds on every single emotion inside of you until your body has become solely infested with it and nothing else. It devours and corrupts what was once good and lines your walls with defenses that are the thickness and stability of wet soggy paper.
People say our darkest times are the moments we learn the greatest lessons... bull crap.
If I'm being taught a lesson, I'm that kid in the back of the class sleeping through it all. Speaking of sleep. My days are short and nights long. I sleep like crazy during the day and dart around at night like a rabid mouse going every which way. No one knows what to do or say after my outburst.
Adonis has been MIA.
He vanished along with Nova.
He's not at his house, the track, or the shop. Ducky's been put in charge of the speedway while Nails handles the shop. It's a mess to say the least. Ducky's words from a month ago could not have been more accurate.
Adonis is the heart of the Salvation.
No one knows why they've gone missing. I would like to be sappy and say not seeing him these past weeks has been difficult, but all I am is numb. He had become such a constant in my days here that I should feel something, but that's depression for you. It shockingly numbs you and lives and breathes right under your skin chewing away at you bit by bit.
With his absence, Amber's been here more often trying to help me cope. There's no judgement or fear when she looks at me, only understanding.
We've both been abandoned.
I've also learned this infestation has been sitting at my door for a long time and is something I've been ignoring for far too long. I've been pushing this darkness away and wrapping myself up in my bubbly quirkiness like protective bubble wrap. It's not an easy thing to deal with. It's hard getting up every day, not really wanting to and having all my energy zapped right out of me.
I'm also dealing with PTSD which has made everything seem substantially worse. Motivation to do even the simplest of things has left me. As dark and unforgiving it has been, I know with each new day I get up and push forward is a day I gain either a millimeter or maybe somedays, even an inch of my old self back.
Today I sit in my art studio and stare at all my paintings I've done so far since I've arrived. Each and every episode I've had claws away at my skin, my flesh trying to expose what's going on beneath the surface, to expose my termites and something even darker waiting in dormant.
Twisting on my stool, I sigh as I rest my elbows against the table. Moving my bright orange cast around I smile slightly. I had to do a lot of pleading in order to convince the doctor to allow me to have this cast when I had my old one replaced. I promised to wear my sling... I have yet to fulfill said promise.
I hate the thing.
But hey, my wrist is no longer in constant pain and my ribs feel much better. The cut on my cheek has pretty much healed with a pink irritated scar left in its place that will probably never go away.
