Short Stories

Our Short Stories page exists for those users who may not feel able or maybe just don’t feel they need to contribute a longer article.  Also, we have moved some of the comments that appear on our “Contribute” page here so they get the attention they deserve.

Feel free to leave a comment or shorter article here and we will publish it on this page.

This could be a great outlet for those who don’t feel able, willing or ready to publish something longer.

 

  1. First up here is a post we received from Fredthewebguy. Anybody can post short stories to this page. Thank you Fred.

    “As someone who has been dealing with depression for a while, more so in the last 8-10 months (although I had an episode about 10 years ago that eventually passed but came back in spades) I’m both hesitant and eager to share my experiences (more so hesitant). Part of it comes from a sense of pride, a sense that has nearly and in some cases clearly cost me friendships and even relationships. Part of it is a struggle I’m only now facing outright which is also including me trying to determine whether some of my actions towards myself and others in my life is the result of me truly being mentally ill or simply me just being an asshole and it conflicting with what seems to me a me that is clearly not an asshole. I’m so far not convinced either way but in the spirit of self-preservation, honesty and growth I’ve had to consider many perspectives, all of which is connected in some way with my worldview.

    When it comes right down it it, my needing to reevaluate my sense of purpose and connection with the world around me comes down to what seems to be a matter of accepting and managing both my own anxiety and anger while not shutting out others thinking I’m doing them a favor by doing so. The only thing being an atheist has to do with any of this for me is not feeling I need to look outside myself for the strength and courage I need to try to make the progress necessary, apart from reminding myself that I DO have people who ARE there and willing to listen, share a hug or laugh over a few cups of coffee or cocktails. No judging, no threats of Hell, no pleas for praying for help.

    The combination of grasping on to my own strength and will as well as the support and no-nonsense words from the people in my life far, far outweighs anything that empty supernatural blatherings presumes to offer.”

  2. At one point or another the illness get’s too much and the mask has to slip.
    So you all get to see the pathetic, petty, selfish fuck up and human cunt garbage that hides behind the pretence of me being a reasonable, even likeable, human being. In reality I am just a hateful mess of guilt, shame and recrimination. I am an idiot who does a half hearted impression of someone with half a brain I sit here and wait for everyone to find out just how stupid I am. I am Beyond ugly, physically repulsive, a distended and corpulent mess of fat, stretch marks and scars. My reflection makes me want to vomit. I am a consumer, a machine for taking without giving back. I am without a doubt a spectacular waste of all the oxygen and other resources that goes into maintaining myself as this useless blight.
    But why? Did Mummy not love me?
    I’ve now spent more than half my life wondering that. She’s ill you see. Far more ill than I am. A delusional schizophrenic diagnostically. I wonder many things about Mum. Does she believe I exist for one? Does she ever think about us? Does she still believe the malevolent forces of the SQA (the Scottish Qualifications Authority) are moving against her and hiding secret messages in number plates? Does she still think there are recording and listening devices hidden in the TV and Radio? Does she still sleep with a knife under her bed?
    Is she still looking for Batman?
    Did she ever hear me knocking 0n the door every time I went up just to try and see her over the past 15 years? Was she always out or did she just ignore me?
    Twice I’ve been in love (properly anyway). Once was passionate and bordering on mutual self destruction – it ended messily. The other was stable but amazing. So of course I had to run away. Run away before the mask slipped.
    It’s all getting a bit disjointed now.
    I don’t like myself very much and I want everyone else not to like me as well because that makes it easier.
    I don’t drink because I know that would probably let me jump over the last few hurdles that stop me from not being here any more. But it worries me how much I want to be drunk.

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