➸ AFTER THE STORM

CHAPTER II -THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

MORGAN - DIARY ENTRY: MARCH 2023

"Even when I'm not there, I'm always in the scene the director just called action; it happens even when I don't consent to it; it continues like a loop. Once a fairytale, now is a nightmare."

Choices can be the easiest thing in the world. For example, you don't have to think about choosing the best color between two options or whether you want strawberries or oranges. But there are hard choices, too. For example, what job you're going to have after university is down the road, what your major is going to be when you get there, or what school you want to apply to because you haven't done it yet.

Well, I'm experiencing hard choices when deciding what school I want to attend, as well as classes and my major.

Everyone knows I love art and writing; it's basically my life; who doesn't like a form of Escapism?

That is how I have been living for the last two years or maybe all my life, and I know that is not the right thing to say. I'm supposed to say I'm better than ever after what happened.

But I'm not I stay up all night, and I run up on two hours of sleep and coffee or any caffeine in my reach. I work at a bookstore and recommend books to people.

While my friends are studying and partying, some jungle men like it's a professional sport, and others are falling in love. But I didn't know everyone had moved on until I looked up from my haze of heartbreak or whatever type of limbo this was.

I don't understand what this feeling is. That is something I keep saying to myself in my head. I don't understand a thing. But I pretend to by smiling, nodding, and saying things that no one will because that is my role in my friend's lives. But something I don't say out loud is that I don't see them as friends; I see temporary placeholders because I know that they will come and go and leave me. It's not something to be scared of. It just happened, and I made peace with that.

My therapist advised me against negative thinking, noting that I have a complex and effective support system.

I'm awoken from my thoughts when my phone buzzes to life; I jerk slightly at my desk with my journal in front of me. My phone is to my left, and my colored pens are to my right.

I mostly use a mechanical pencil and color-coordinated sticky notes with my colored pens. It is like my thoughts will be organized on paper even though they were not organized in my head.

There is a sketchbook in front of me. Somehow, I have a sketch of a garden. It looks normal at first glance, but if you pay attention to detail, it's not.

Plants are growing out of human remains. They look about a couple of weeks old, and a normal person would freak out.

But for some reason, the sketch feels familiar to me.

These weird sketches were created without my say, so my hand is like a third party bringing it to life.

Like a mother to a child, but the only difference is that it is not my design.

The designs come to me when I'm dead asleep or just living. I guess it doesn't scare me because I'm past the point of letting that emotion be a part of me.

I love how the image comes to life. It is all in black and white, and some areas are Grey around the edges that blend together so beautifully. There are many different scales of grey.

The strokes blended in the grass, and the young girl had no eyes, only assuming that the wildlife ate them. I don't know who did this, but I told myself it was all in my head, and none of this was real. It's just my over-imaginative imagination.