Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.

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For Starter…


As for the first thing to write about in the new year, I have to tell you something important. Though, earlier I said I don’t believe in making resolutions, there was something I wanted to try. (By clicking the link you’ll se what I’m talking about, and by the way I’d like to thank the reader who somehow found this older post of mine and reminded me of one of my most important goals in my life 🙂 )

My last year was good and bad, but considering my mental health, which affected my life the most I have to say it was awful. Even despite the fact that I was/am medicated. And this is the point. A few weeks ago I realized something terrible and scary as hell. As a result (or side effect) of my medication I started losing the ability to feel. I couldn’t cry and couldn’t even laugh. Considering this, it is no surprise I was away from blogging, right?

After that realization, I decided I would stop taking medications. I had had my problems even before I started using tranquilizers but the problem was they remained and even got stronger after I got my treatment.

Now, I am taking one pill in every third day instead of taking them each day. In the beginning, it was awful, painful and frightening. Now, I am a bit clumsy, forgetful and goofy, but I have emotions and feelings as well. That is progress! Hopefully, soon I’ll be able to live and cope without any drug and I can gain back the control over my mind and life as well.

As for blogging, I won’t promise anything, I just wanted to tell you all of this.

Happy new year and have a nice day Everyone!




Restart – Or Why I Write (Writing 101)

Have you ever felt like you must do something extra or at least not so ordinary? I’m sure you have. Or have you ever felt like that your thoughts are engaged something completely nonsensical? Let me explain this.

Here is me, a perfectly ordinary(-looking) young adult, with a certain qualification and a certain job. I have my own struggles with money and life just like everyone else. I also have to mention that I live in a very small town, in a very small country. To someone like me nothing extraordinary could be expected in life. I finished schools, I have a job, probably I will get married one day, have kids and I will work and raise my children until I can retire. That’s it. And here is where we all freak out. That’s it!? Really? At this point, I have to say I’m well aware that lots of people go through this period. I know. But!

Continuing with my example here’s this blog thing. Again, I know, I’ve been a very bad girl, not writing (that’s not really true) or posting (well, that’s true) anything for a while now. I do feel bad about it. But to be honest, the urge never disappeared. For some inexplicable (yeah, I did learn that there is a word like this :D) reason, I feel I have to write the story that’s inside me. Apart from the clichĂ© thing. I do have a story, that’s a bit gory, scary and dark but it’s mine, only it has to evolve, just like me. And I feel excited about it! Even if I’m not writing, I always think about it, creating actions, complication, and also I try to analyze in the terms of my own mental health problems. I really wish I could draw so I could see the scenes I have hard times to write. So I guess I could say I wasn’t completely idle. This time, the urge is stronger, and that’s how it should be I think.



All in all..

I write because I have to. I don’t know why or what for, but this is the beauty of it. 😉

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Me is Strange…

period or question mark?

In other words, panic disorder uncovered..

I realised that though I say my most important goal is to overcome my illness and to make people be more aware of mental illnesses I rarely speak about what I go through. Well, that’s not particularly true but stil…

Yep, my fantasy stories are about my feelings and experiences and yep I have loads to say but as you could see, there are times when I just disappear and nothing happens to my blog. At these times something inside me cracks.This is usually because I’m scared. Scared like hell. Really. Firstly, because I’m simply not good at speaking my mind. Or I should say, I’m too afraid to speak my mind. In order not to hurt others my words end up misunderstood as if I was speaking some alien language. My thoughts usually wander over several stuff and by the time I get to say them out loud or write them down, those prettily constructed lines in my head end up as a mass of incoherent and meaningless pile of words simply put together.

Also, there is that tipically inconfident way of thinking that if I say what’s on my mind then people won’t like me. But to be honest, I’ve already realised that being silent instead of exposing myself has more harmful effects. Silence can lead to ignorance pretty easily. Just think of the sky above us, if it’s clear and nice how many times do you look up and cherish what a great weather it is today? But when there’s a thunderstorm all of us hides inside their safe homes waiting for the storm to end. Maybe that’s why I like stormy nights, maybe I envy them..

Continuig the listing of my anxieties, there is also that subconscious self-sabotage thingie. That’s hellish a demon. Right when you get an awesome idea, the scars you’ve got throughout the years that had already passed by all of a sudden start to speak to you, telling you cannot do this, and there are so many people on this world why would you be the one who succeed? This is an awesome question, though there is no concrete answer for it. Just feelings. I could be satisfied with my job and the fact that I have a somewhat stable financial source. Additionally, of course, as soon as I leave for home at the end of day I can do whatever I want. There are no homeworks, or exams to study for, in my freetime I am perfectly free.  Yet, instead of doing nothing, for some inexplicable reason I insist on keep on blogging keep writing not only as a therapy. The strong feeling of getting somewhere, find my place in the world and something I love doing.

Also, not to mention that I’m a real introvert. I need time to open for people and while I’m at it, in the world of work (equals reality) I’m not that free to talk about my illness. That makes a huge wall between me and the people I’m surrounded with. Interestingly enough, when I tell someone about panic disorder I immediately open up as I don’t have anything left to hide. But until I have to act according to outer rules like answering an immediate ‘no’ to the question ‘Do you have any hidden illnesses?’ that thick wall around me remains solid and impervious. Tht’s why I sit separately in the canteen, that’s why people cannot find a mutual insterest with me immediately. They look at my exhausted, pale face, my sunken shoulders and their expressions turn into really careful and they speak to me as if it was hard to me to understand a simple sentence. They do this without thinking, I’m quite sure, but it still bothers me. Sometimes I think I was born to the wrong place but that’s the story of another post…

The girl has often been scolded by the grownups around her for saying what is in her mind. People have said that she does not distinguish between reality and her imagination. The shape and color of her thoughts seem to be very different from those of other people. She can’t understand what they consider so wrong about her. In any case, she had better not tell anyone about the Little People.

(Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 book two)

The windstorm of yesterday beheaded the rose that had just bloomed.

Me is strange

period or question mark?


Cradle Nightmare

During dark nights, when everyone sleeps in silence, he, who comes without invitation, wakes the child. She sleeps in the cradle, though a bit bigger already, she wakes up in the middle of the night, for noises unknown. She stands up, clings onto the bars of the cradle, calls for her mom with fear, but she never comes, as she’s sound asleep in the room of the other side of the dark house.

The dark shape enters the house, takes its way to the children’s room. He slowly comes closer, the light of the moon shines through the glass of the front door, enough for the child to notice the uninvited figure but instead of making it clear to see, the moon gives him an even fearful silhouette.  The little girl trembles, cries for her parents but no one hears her.

All of the sudden, it’s silence again, in the pitch dark house, everyone’s peacefully asleep as if nothing has happened. The frightful man disappeared but the little girl cannot sleep alone for ever. Years pass by, no answers found, but during stormy nights the silhouette comes backs for his moonlit visits to scare the now adult child.

Now, the toys, that never existed, have been sitting lined up on an iron shelf, start moving at their own will. They start walking but all of their movements are staggered only to after one or two steps, they fall off the shelf lifelessly. Maybe, they were brought by the shady shape, maybe they were lined up there, in a previous life. Whichever the case is, they can never leave the shady room, of dim memoirs. Neither does the child, who is still waiting for someone to rescue her, in the cradle of frighteningly dark nights.


The Panic Project #5 – Special: Meet Hugo

Talking about this  mysterious pal is one of the hardest,
Because Hugo is a character who could be understood the hardest.

He’s a simple guy, yet monstrous and disgusting.
He always appeares whenever I‘m not watching.

Despite his eldritch looks, he seems harmless,
I usually dismiss him, or I should say care more or less.

Though, he creeps ceaselessly into my mind,
Hiking on the mountains of my fantasy through day and night.

He howls, crawls, scratches and bites,
Not caring about the pain that reaches into heights,
Seeking for the sun throughout the endless skies.

These thirteen letters are my name,
Who is now the most hopeless, You or Me?

Next bit of TPP on 18th April 😉

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The Panic Project #4: The Doll House

The cool wind blows gently, flattering the dusty-white frills of my dress, but my fake skin cannot feel it. I am alive but there is no sound echoing in my chest. I can move my limbs, though everything is so big and far away, I cannot reach them no matter how hard I try. My breath gets quicker, though my lungs seemingly cannot get enough air in it. My chest hurts, though there is nothing in it. Only the unbearable weight of emptyness sits calmly on my shoulders. My bones would crack under it, though I can only feel the structure of a hand-made body relentlessly resisting any force.  

The whole world has become transparent and terrifyingly solid at the same time and I got lost in it. Like a huge cage, of which I cannot see or touch the cell bars.

Tears would roll down my delicate face but my shiny eyes remain as dry as a desert. When I try to speak my voice sounds like a far away whisper of a wandering stray ghost. I’m shouting but no one out there can hear me. I would run away but my short legs take me nowhere.

I am silent, sitting unmovingly with my emotionless face, deemed to ceaselessly wait for someone to take me with themselves. But who could be that someone? Who would want such a strange creature I have become?

This cannot be reality… Can it?

Next post on 4th April. Stay tuned!

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Going Back

The thing that shakes my whole existence, the one that makes me feel as my real home, wherever it is, is calling for me. You know what it is already, don’t you? I am talking about music 🙂

The story of the Tiny Monster is very close to me, I think from the stories I’ve posted here I am the most satisfied with that one. Also, that was the second story of mine that was read by other people instead of simply landing in the depths of my thoughts and my desk.

I do miss blogging, since I’ve started work I don’t have much time to come up with anything new, I don’t even have time to think about my stuff. I’ve felt a bit strange lately, and I realised that’s because the imaginary world of mine is left a bit abandoned, without any visitor. But it’s still there, and I don’t want to forget about it.

So, today I’d like to invite you to (re)read with me one of the stories that had the most powerful effect on me.
 Viridian (Part One) along with the song that inspired it.