Her name is… (prelude to Mornings)

Riley Reynolds was 32 and a half  years old the morning she woke up crazy.  It was a bizarre and beautiful and terrifying experience all at once.  Pretty much the same as her life up until that point, bizarre, beautiful and most of all terrifying.

Lost, she never understood why she was so different,  When she brought it up to anyone, there was nothing wrong with her they said – like what? they asked.

But here she was on this Spring morning with the sun shining, sitting in the locked ward of the psychiatric wing of the hospital, wearing some old forgotten dress that some previous crazy left here, because her shorts had a drawstring and had to be confiscated, pronounced crazy as they come. Certifiable. Mentally Ill.

She thought she would stick with crazy.  It sounded more fun

It was as if she was born today.  This day in April was her rebirth.  Funny it was not as if celebration was in order that she was born again into crazy, but in a way it was.  She was still the same person she was the first 32 years of her life.  Disordered, weird, strange, dysfunctional, depressed, vibrant, creative and artistic, sensitive and scared.  But now all that had a name.

She had a reason for acting in ways that didn’t make sense to anybody, never mind that she didn’t know what or why she was doing what ever it was half the time either.  She felt compelled, then would be in agony over the scenes she caused or the people hurt, for days.

Like a hungry little caterpillar, consuming everything it could, she tried on people and ideas trying to define herself, greedily chewing them up and spitting them out in a rush to get where she wanted to be.  Thing was, she didn’t know where that was, so she just went along feeling free at times but mostly, wormy and insatiated with all that she had consumed that day…or any day she had lived in her 32 and a half years.

Sometimes she would be so raunchy hungry and flying so high she was sure it was the devil  taking over her body.

At those times it was everything she could do not to rip off her clothes and jump on the first man she saw. That is how she felt sometimes, that virile, that needy and greedy, as if she could wear one out and do another then keep moving on.  At least she didn’t go that far.  Or the need to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe, or go sky diving. Jump off a bridge..anything to feel it all.

She felt good at these times, alive and physical and everything hurt and everything affected her as if she were a bundle of nerves primed by rhythm to explode.  Anything could send her over the edge and once she had it, all she wanted was more until collapsing in exhaustion. Then the crash, burn and self loathing.

Afterwards she was miserable, ashamed, inevitably alone after shocking whoever the boyfriend du jour was to the point he would walk out the door disgusted, the names and faces becoming a big mass blur of the same guy.

This one was different though, he had told her it was time to get help.  Saved her life. Told her it would be ok and he would be right there with her.  He had brought her to the hospital, but looking around she noticed she was the only one waking up crazy.

Right with her, she gave a soft laugh, yea.  She knew he didn’t walk out the permanent door to her life, probably just went for coffee or a smoke, but the fact he chose the moment of her awakening, of the first minute of the next part of her life to be gone, just brought it home how truly and completely, she was alone.

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23 responses to “Her name is… (prelude to Mornings)

  1. Lizzie my dear….

    I was going to say “Nice”, but, it’s really not…. It’s very good, but, it’s definitely not ‘nice’, so, I think, “nicely done” hits the mark more closely…

    Yes, it definitely produces a response… the response it causes, I think, may be difficult for some to feel…. Your protagonist is caught in a reality she doesn’t comprehend, and that lost and lonely feeling, common to all who become stuck in those kinds of corners, comes across quite clearly; perhaps too much so for some..

    You and I both know that state of being can be all too real, but, many don’t, and for them, this will be an eye-opener… I’m always amazed at how some people are surprised to find that “crazy” people aren’t any different than “sane” people, when it comes to feelings…. or, for that matter, in any significant ways, at all… Any differences between the two are mostly just semantics, and those depend wholly on WHO is making the distinctions…

    In short, I guess I’m saying, well done, and thanks for being who you are…. I, for one, am glad to know you, for the beauty of your spirit shines very brightly, in my view….. I’m a sucker for shiny women…. especially the smart ones…

    Wanna come up some time, and see my etchings?….
    :lol:

    It was nice to see you over at my site; I just wish I could get by here more often…. which is why I try to stay a while & comment while I’m here… I miss dialogue when it isn’t happening; my pain distracts me from that most of the time, but, when it calms down enough, I realize how much I miss not getting to the sites of those I have come to, well, love, since coming to WP….

    (Getting old has taught me to not stop myself from telling those I love that I feel that way; there may not be time later, so I want those ffolkes I’ve come to feel that way about to know it…. You are one of the people who first encouraged me when I started here on WP, even though you were having your own issues, and I’ve always had a “thing” for your writing… I’m drawn to power, you see…)

    (Plus, I’m as “crazy” as the next guy, and have always felt that “all the nicest people are just a little ‘tetched’ “…. Actually, my Dad taught me that, those are his words… So, my appreciation for you was pre-ordained for me…. Okay, now I’m pandering…. )

    I’m afraid this post caught me in my own strange frame of mind, and stimulated this altogether confusing diatribe… Sorry ’bout that… it happens to me when the heat is like this…. my brain is melting…. I’ll go now, and leave y’all in peace….

    I did like the post; it’s quite moving, with a subtle power to make the reader feel “with” Riley…

    Take care, milady, & Blessed Be….
    :cool:

    Ned, aka gigoid, the dubious….

    • Ned,
      No need to apologize for anything, least of all a rambling mind or wandering thoughts, melting brain, etc …especially here of all places. You made me smile and I am glad to see you here and read your comments.. I suppose the goal if there is one with the story is to allow the “normal” or sane person to experience the mind of a not so much.. it’s not that I set out to do that – I am just writing what I know, although this is really my first attempt at lengthy fiction.. ok yes I am hoping I can find enough substance to make it a book but I am just letting it write itself for the moment.. I want it to be powerful but not off putting. Ive been rolling around a lot of angles before this.. I do have a purpose I just need to find a way to fufill it.. this being take 58 or so i think.. I want to hit em with it but have the story be engaging enough to keep them captivated.. its not easy to write it either.. kinda close to home.
      don;t worry so much about not getting around here lately – I haven’t written even a dozen posts this entire year yet. About to make up for it so I will be around more too.
      Bright blessings and much love

      • Milady…. I’m glad to hear you’re after writing Ms. Riley into a whole book; one of the things I’ve always heard about being a novelist is, for the first book, at least, to write what you know, so, your ambition makes perfect sense to me, and just goes to convince me even further that you’ve learned to live in peace with your differences, thus freeing you to use those differences as assets, rather than liabilities…. Since you’ve already published one, that should give you the confidence that you can do it again…

        Well, that, plus, there’s Red, and me, and a bunch of other ffolkes out there in WP land who believe in you, so, that should help, too…. I KNOW you CAN do it; now all you have to do is DO it…. and I’m sure you will…. This short piece was a good start, and something to build from, for sure, so have fun with it, and it will turn out fine… If you can keep up this kind of writing, it’s a foregone conclusion, in my mind…

        You take care, milady… and remember… I was only half kidding about the etchings….maybe less than half

        ;-)

        Luv ya….

        Ned…..

        :cool:

  2. This story gives a glimpse into someone who has a mental illness and really doesn’t understand it all.. at least that’s what I glean from it… It must be very traumatic growing up and not understanding… Diane

    • It is – I was 38 when I was finally diagnosed – years of misdiagnosis, of struggling to fit in and act right.. not understanding why I just didn’t.. but it’s been traumatic since too and I am tired and I do think sometimes my life before I just lived, albeit without understanding, but knowing can sometimes take away ..hope. It’s a crapshoot. My life would have been much different had i known before but i can;t say in a better or worse way I do sometimes wonder if I was 20 and had the majority of my life ahead of me when I knew, it may have been more of a struggle to pull out of the times when its just too damn much to go on.

  3. Thanks for your marvelous posting! I truly enjoyed reading it, you
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