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'Rekindled Yesterdays'..Intro
by LACYDRAWERS, Apr 23, 2010, 8:32:38 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Mystery & Suspense / Introductions & Chapters
The old wooden gate creaked as the weight of my hand pushed it open.
A slow moan of disuse came from the rusted hinges, which told me it had been a long time since anyone had been here.
It came as no surprise to me that the tumbled down farmhouse had been abandoned and left in disrepair.
The few memories that I still had of my childhood here, were tinged with fear and trepidation and had me wondering what the hell I was doing.
Stepping foot in exactly the place where I had ran away from so many years before.
I took a deep breath and forced my eyes shut, trying to picture what had made me so afraid, for so long.
My therapist said that I had to face my demons, if I had any chance of living a normal life.
I laughed to myself nervously and clutched my hands together.
So tightly, that I did not realize I was bleeding, from where my nails had pierced the skin.
My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up, in an expectance of who knows what.
My eyes opened slowly and I gathered what little courage I had, and proceeded to walk along the overgrown path that led to the front door of my past.

The garden was thick with the tangled limbs of rose bushes that had been left to their own devices, spreading their thorny and gnarled branches amongst all within their reach.
All manner of plant life was hidden within the prison of vegetation that had grown unencumbered over the years, and what really surprised me was, that in this mess there were still flowers that bloomed with a color that took my breath away.
I stared in awe and wondered how such beauty could find its way in such ugliness.
But then again it was like this in all aspects of life. Beauty was the saviour of all things distasteful.

I cupped the rose.
Dew still dripping from the soft petals.
Each drop glisten in the bright morning light and it was such a breathtaking sight that I felt a tear slip silently down my cheek.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and steadied my timid steps, leaving me half walking and half standing still.
Glad that I was alone, as I looked drunk and not within my faculties.
I laughed as I realized that was nothing unusual for me.
Drinking to drown my memories, or lack of, had become a problem to the point of placing me in a fogged state of existence.
A functioning alcoholic was what my therapist had called me.

I was absolutely shocked when she had said that.
Actually to the point of nearly walking out of her office and vowing never to return.
Very dramatic I know, but nonetheless, was how I felt at the time.
Refusal to see what she saw.
I know that people on the outside of a situation can see clearly what those on the inside refuse to see.
Oh Hell..
It was so hard to finally admit to myself that I was an alcoholic, and even harder to admit to the world that I was one too.
But that was yesterday and here I was today, three months later, with courage stuffed in my heart and looking for forgiveness in my soul.

I remember when I first met Deanne, my therapist.
I had picked her out of the phone book, not knowing anything about her or if she was any good at what she proclaimed to do.
I had always scoffed at the mere thought of sitting down and pouring out all my problems to a complete stranger and expecting them to be solved.
I found it very daunting to talk about my past.
Firstly because it left me aching with such hurt and puzzlement.
And secondly because there were such big gaps of my past that were not there at all.
Big empty spaces of my life with no explanation or reason as to why I was the way I was.
We always blame our todays on our yesterdays.
I guess for the reason that it gives us control over our tomorrows.
Or not..

And so that brings me here to today.
Standing unsteadily in the garden of my yesterdays.
Looking for answers to a clearer tomorrow.
I was grateful for the sight of the beautiful rose.
It gave me a semblance of hope in what I may find within the old walls of the farmhouse.
Secrets buried and maybe best to be left alone.
That was why I was here.
To find out what drew me back to my family home.

I felt my bravado fading as fast as the morning light.
Unable to prompt one foot before the other, I stood silently looking at the weathered boards and shuttered windows, willing answers to place themselves within my mind, without actually stepping foot inside...

Description
'Rekindled Yesterdays'..Intro
by LACYDRAWERS, Apr 23, 2010, 8:32:38 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Mystery & Suspense / Introductions & Chapters
The old wooden gate creaked as the weight of my hand pushed it open.
A slow moan of disuse came from the rusted hinges, which told me it had been a long time since anyone had been here.
It came as no surprise to me that the tumbled down farmhouse had been abandoned and left in disrepair.
The few memories that I still had of my childhood here, were tinged with fear and trepidation and had me wondering what the hell I was doing.
Stepping foot in exactly the place where I had ran away from so many years before.
I took a deep breath and forced my eyes shut, trying to picture what had made me so afraid, for so long.
My therapist said that I had to face my demons, if I had any chance of living a normal life.
I laughed to myself nervously and clutched my hands together.
So tightly, that I did not realize I was bleeding, from where my nails had pierced the skin.
My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up, in an expectance of who knows what.
My eyes opened slowly and I gathered what little courage I had, and proceeded to walk along the overgrown path that led to the front door of my past.

The garden was thick with the tangled limbs of rose bushes that had been left to their own devices, spreading their thorny and gnarled branches amongst all within their reach.
All manner of plant life was hidden within the prison of vegetation that had grown unencumbered over the years, and what really surprised me was, that in this mess there were still flowers that bloomed with a color that took my breath away.
I stared in awe and wondered how such beauty could find its way in such ugliness.
But then again it was like this in all aspects of life. Beauty was the saviour of all things distasteful.

I cupped the rose.
Dew still dripping from the soft petals.
Each drop glisten in the bright morning light and it was such a breathtaking sight that I felt a tear slip silently down my cheek.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and steadied my timid steps, leaving me half walking and half standing still.
Glad that I was alone, as I looked drunk and not within my faculties.
I laughed as I realized that was nothing unusual for me.
Drinking to drown my memories, or lack of, had become a problem to the point of placing me in a fogged state of existence.
A functioning alcoholic was what my therapist had called me.

I was absolutely shocked when she had said that.
Actually to the point of nearly walking out of her office and vowing never to return.
Very dramatic I know, but nonetheless, was how I felt at the time.
Refusal to see what she saw.
I know that people on the outside of a situation can see clearly what those on the inside refuse to see.
Oh Hell..
It was so hard to finally admit to myself that I was an alcoholic, and even harder to admit to the world that I was one too.
But that was yesterday and here I was today, three months later, with courage stuffed in my heart and looking for forgiveness in my soul.

I remember when I first met Deanne, my therapist.
I had picked her out of the phone book, not knowing anything about her or if she was any good at what she proclaimed to do.
I had always scoffed at the mere thought of sitting down and pouring out all my problems to a complete stranger and expecting them to be solved.
I found it very daunting to talk about my past.
Firstly because it left me aching with such hurt and puzzlement.
And secondly because there were such big gaps of my past that were not there at all.
Big empty spaces of my life with no explanation or reason as to why I was the way I was.
We always blame our todays on our yesterdays.
I guess for the reason that it gives us control over our tomorrows.
Or not..

And so that brings me here to today.
Standing unsteadily in the garden of my yesterdays.
Looking for answers to a clearer tomorrow.
I was grateful for the sight of the beautiful rose.
It gave me a semblance of hope in what I may find within the old walls of the farmhouse.
Secrets buried and maybe best to be left alone.
That was why I was here.
To find out what drew me back to my family home.

I felt my bravado fading as fast as the morning light.
Unable to prompt one foot before the other, I stood silently looking at the weathered boards and shuttered windows, willing answers to place themselves within my mind, without actually stepping foot inside...