The monster leers at me with dull, sunken eyes, its mouth agape and spittle smeared across its chin.
Its grey skin is plagued with more yellowing warts than unusual. Its long hair is lanker, greasier, and more dishevelled. I’m sure its hooked nose is more crooked than I’ve ever seen it before.
It’s the last thing I want to look at first thing in a morning, but it can’t be avoided. It took up residence in my bedroom years ago; it’s almost part of the furniture.
I turn away, sick to my stomach, and retrieve my day’s outfit from the wardrobe. Black trousers. Loose grey t-shirt. Black, fine-knit cardigan. Black ankle boots. As close as I can get to an invisibility cloak.
I run a brush through my hair and that’s that — I’m ready. I don’t bother with makeup. Couldn’t bear it.
In the bathroom, I brush my teeth while avoiding eye contact with the monster that lurks in there. It’s a little smaller than the one in the bedroom and easier to ignore if I concentrate hard enough.
There have been times when curiosity has got the better of me and I’ve snatched a glance at it. The shortest of glimpses of its repulsive flesh under the harsh bathroom spotlights — its skin pale and thin enough that I can see the blood pulsing through the veins beneath it — is enough to make me retch…
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Why won’t he text? Is he dead?
No, don’t be so stupid. He’ll have just forgotten.
That’s nice, isn’t it? Forgotten the love of his life. I must mean an awful lot to him if he can’t even be bothered to spend 3 seconds texting me.
Seriously, though, why would he forget me? Shouldn’t I be on his mind every second of every day like he is on mine? Continue reading “Is He Dead? | Flash Fiction”
If you’ve ever struggled with your mental health, or you’ve known somebody who has, the short stories in Concealed will no doubt resonate with you in an incredibly powerful way. If you haven’t, you can treat Concealed as a window into the minds of those who battle with mental illness. Continue reading “Concealed: A Compilation of Short Fiction by V.P. Grey | Book Review”
The undulating swell of the sea had always put her mind at ease whenever she looked out across the coast. She’d think how peaceful it must be to be rocked by the waves and carried by the tides. How indulgent it must be to stretch out her arms and allow the water to take her wherever it wished. Continue reading “Off to Sea | Microfiction”
Social media interaction is the first thing to fall by the wayside when I’m depressed. Long story short, it’s because I hate myself so passionately that it’s almost funny.
My self-esteem tends to be pretty low on a regular basis, but when depression takes hold it gets even worse; I find myself hating everything about myself and tearing myself down in every possible way. My appearance, my personality, my ability to write – everything about me sucks. I’m the real life Britta from Community – I’m the worst. Continue reading “This is Why I Suck at Social Media | Blog”
In February I made a (risky) executive decision to stop taking antidepressants without checking with my doctor first.
It’s kind of a long story as to why, but let’s just say that my faith in my GP’s knowledge of antidepressants had run dry. And I kinda figured that I know my brain better than anyone else. My thoughts on my own brain weren’t really listened to by my doctor in the past, and it didn’t go well for me (Biggest. Understatement. Ever). So, I turned to Google for advice and weaned off the meds myself. Continue reading “I’m in a Trough (Whinge Part 2) | Blog”
Writing makes me miserable. But I do it anyway, because sometimes it’s just the tonic I need.
I’ve suffered from depression on and off since I was a teen. There have been moments where I’ve thought, “Shit, this thing is going to kill me,” and times where I’ve thought, “Wow, I’m so happy I can’t imagine I’ll ever be depressed ever again.” I was wrong on both counts. I’m still here, but I’m still working on my mental health every single day. Continue reading “Writing Makes Me Miserable: On Writing and Mental Health”