Just a spider Hiding in the attic I eat all the bugs But do you thank me? No.

You scream. You swat.

All my hard work. I’m leaving.

I hear the basement is lovely this time of year.

Look at pictures hidden in the attic The peaceful beach landscape Her photography, a symptom of her misanthropy

I creep to the attic Of my new home

What wonders will I find? A severed doll head The body long misplaced

Old jewelry Forced upon a tom boy Dreams of mommy’s little one dead

Ancient clothes Too musty for goodwill But too interesting for a landfill

Probably just rat droppings An angry pigeon or two I should have brought a flashlight

It’s dark in here But nothing can harm me Monsters aren’t real

What’s that sound?

The attic Holds mysteries And memories Not of my own Who were these People who owned this home So many years ago And why Are there So many doll heads?

"This condition is fairly rare and as such we cannot say with 100% certainty what the symptoms will be or even how much time you haven’t left." The doctor's words made my head spin. He was basically saying that at any point I could just drop dead. I had been ill for the last several years and, sure, I was glad to finally have a name for my condition (even though I couldn’t actually pronounce it)but I was not exactly thrilled with hearing that I was going to die.

The car ride home was uncomfortably quiet. Which was fine with me, I didn’t really want to talk anyway. I just kept going over and over what the doctor had saaid. I didn’t want to leave my family. What would they do without me, would the boys miss me? As we pulled into our street my husband said, "Hey it looks like the kids are home." He was trying to keep everything calm and act like everything was fine, but it wasn’t.

Over the next few months my condition deteriorated at the end I couldn’t even breathe unaided. I was constantly attached to an oxygen tank that sat in the corner of the room. I know everyone says that they want to go at home, surrounded by family but as I watched my husband try and comfort my two silently crying sons I thought, "If I had a choice, this wouldn’t be how I'd choose to go;.

Celia, a retired artist, walked out onto her balcony and took in the ever so beautiful landscape that appeared as the backdrop of her garden - that she has always taken for granted. She decides to dig out her old art supplies and capture the landscape with her artistic skills. She elegantly strokes the brushes against the canvas, leaving a magnificent, colourful replica of the astounding, joyous beauty that she sees on a daily basis, yet, today, she felt the breezy fresh air hug her, giving her much inspiration and aspiration to delve into her younger, artistic years.

Have you ever been convinced that you have depression, well here are some symptoms of depression, sad, not happy, and anti happy. Have good day bye

 The terrible rut I’ve been in is just a symptom of the life I’ve lead.
 The life I’ve lived has been torturous and euphoric and stagnant and chaotic and confusing and lucky and tragic and repulsive and unlucky and so many fucking things. The life I’ve lived has been awesome. That’s right. Awesome. Not like “radical or cool or wonderful. Worthy of awe. 
 I can’t turn my life around on a cliche because I won’t live life on anyone’s orders but my own. I have got so much fucking life to live. Who the fuck does my brain think it is, holding my back like this. The world deserves me and I deserve it and all it has to offer.
 Why would someone let their endless past awesome experiences hold them back? Doesn’t make much sense, does it? 
 The rut is disorienting.  It could suck you in for a lifetime, but I’m done being this hollow self. I’ve identified the symptom and now it’s time to eradicate it.