It’s dripping on to my pillow. I really can’t hear it but it’s happening.
My brain is leaking out of my eyes and my ears. How much of it is left? It’s hard to tell.
I close my eyes and tilt my head. It doesn’t feel any lighter. Maybe stones have replaced it.
Even though my eyes are closed, I can still see. I forget that there are hundreds of eyes inside me. They never sleep.
What do they want to show me?
The past, the present, the future?
Never the good, only the bad. I’ve done the math, and the good is quite meager.
I turn on my back. It usually abates the leaking. This time is no different.
I forgot about that. My heart. It rams into my ribcage. Does it want to get out?
I’m afraid if it does, it’ll slap me around and abscond like a fugitive.
What’s scarier is that I won’t go after it.
So long! Get lost! You weren’t helpful anyways!
That is the moment when the urge to bleed is the strongest.
But my blood won’t be enough. Besides who’ll clean up the mess it makes?
Shit! Not me.
I turn again. Now onto my stomach, my face buried into my arms. The thudding softens, the dripping safely turned off.
My fingernails dig into my skin. I could scratch or tear, I do neither.
But I must bleed.
Hell! I have to bleed!
There’s too much poison inside. It’s dissolving my veins, heating my insides, liquifying tissue and muscle.
What’ll remain? Only a pulp of my former self, spilling upon the floor, a bloody mess that’ll stay for months or even years till some clueless soul steps in it and curses me for spoiling their shoes.
No! No! No!
I can’t take it anymore. My feet take the trouble of holding up my body. We’re shaky, wobbly, teetering on the edge of insanity.
I reach out and grab and grab some more. My fingers clutch the emptiness. There’s too much of it.
I’m falling, I’m hopeless, I’m my worst enemy.
Then I feel it. It’s right there. Come on stretch, I know I can do it.
There! I’ve got it. One hand, then the other, I’m holding too tight – what if I break it?
One letter at a time, I bleed, one word at a time, I bleed, one sentence at a time, I bleed.
My fingers brush the keys, tapping gently, it’s unknown terrain for me. The more I traverse it, the more I bleed. The heat inside me dissipates, the poisonous fumes evaporate, the will to venture on shatters self-imposed barriers.
They are blown to bits and pieces. My soul begins to breathe again.
Pages fill, one after the other. I finally find myself in those words, in those spaces, in the stories that I will tell, in the demons that will be expelled.
These demons are cordial and promise to repossess me. I say – sure, you’re welcome any time.
For without the pain, the trauma, the desperation, the demons, there would have been no pages, no words, no reasons to release the impossible hurt.
When I think of that, I smile. Only one word comes to my mind.
Thanks for making me a writer.
Forever suffering, forever learning, forever grateful.
Please check out my views on being a writer – tiny extracts from a WRITER INTERVIEW with me.
Also, the inspiration for THANKS FOR MAKING ME A WRITER can be found in the video below – THANKS FOR MAKING ME A FIGHTER. Yes, I’m a huge HANDMAID’S TALE fan.
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dramatic and powerful metaphor of the anguish writing can impose on us; I prefer to think of my inspiration as the gentle muse though if she fired up my writing could be more potent —
There’s always a slice and dice of the mind or the consistent struggle of the subconscious, that nagging voice that won’t shut up or the sweet coaxing that gets one all excited. Whatever the inspiration, it does create something lovely and meaningful. An effort worth the joy and suffering. Thank you so much, John! 🙂
I loved this, Terveen. You have captured that battle between a writer’s inner turmoil and writing. Sometimes it feels like a storm, at other times an oasis. I much prefer the storms, the writing seems to hold more truth.
Thank you, Davy, for that honest disclosure. I prefer the storms too. They make writing such a fierce endeavor. The words vouch for that too. Keep writing! 🙂
Ah, you summed it up so well, Terveen. What it means to be a writer 🙂
Few outsiders can get the big picture.
Thanks so much, Patricia. This is sacred to the ‘writer brethren’. 🙂
Wonderful ending. You always surprise me. I thought the woman is holding a knife… LOL. Well, writing is like opening oneself with a metaphorical knife…
It definitely is, Haoyan. I’ll save the knife for next time. Haha! Thanks so much! 🙂
What an amazing visceral experience you’ve gifted us through your gorgeous writing, Terveen. I adore the head/heart connection here, and the emotions you create as the build up to inking the page occur, and then spill out. Awesome write, my friend. ☺️
Thank you so much, Jeff. Yes, the heart and mind are the persistent motivators of penning the inner mayhem on the page. I’m really glad that you liked it. Means a lot to me. 🙂
You’re welcome, Terveen. Always. Ah, indeed, and agreed. Happy weekend, my friend. 😊
Drip, thud, bleed, click, boom, repeat. Well worth the effort!
Thanks so much, Geoff. I appreciate it. The only repeat button that offers something different every time. 🙂
Wow that was a wonderful piece of writing! A very accurate description of how pain can be turned into something good and creative 🙂
Thank you so much. It’s reassuring to find positivity in even the most despairing of situations. I appreciate your words and the wonderful thoughts behind them. 🙂
Wow, that was a brilliant and very captivating write! I loved the portrayal and the ending was absolutely fitting.
Thank you so much, Deepthy. From one writer to the other, it’s a tough and beautiful journey. Take care and keep writing! 🙂
You too, Terveen!
Hey! Love your post, happy I found you.
Thank you so much, Elaine. I truly appreciate it. 🙂
You are an awesome writer, Terveen. Keep writing, keep coming up with stories that capture in imagination. Love the video.
Thank you so much, Shobana. Means a lot coming from you. Yes, the song is quite powerful. Take care and have a great start to the week. 🙂
Ouch! But also: yay? The joys of being a writer 🙂
Exactly! They balance out pretty well. I guess… haha. Thanks so much. 🙂
It can be a painful and anxiety filled process.
Speaks the talented writer. And the words are worth it all. Thanks so much, Cassa. 🙂
In some ways I think writers treat pain differently, it’s almost like pain is a sort of a good guide. Words fail me here…
It’s an unexplainable feeling that can be comprehended through the written word. Pain is a great guide and friend. I can feel your words, Cassa. 🙂