The Discovery - Chapter 6

Ah another busy weekend has passed and Monday has arrived. It's book reviewing time and I need your critiques and suggestions. I am posting my latest chapter of my book. Please comment and let me know what you think.

Love and Hugs ~ Kat



Discovery


It’s been a week since I visited the Gallery. Yet every day I awake I find myself thinking about it over and over again. Sometimes I wonder if I am dreaming. Wondering out loud to myself, was it real or did I just imagine it?

Ever since that day however, my mood has changed. Besides the feeling of being puzzled about the reality of the place I have visited it has changed me inside.

No longer do I feel happy or joyful.

I can’t even seem to find anything to smile about. Loneliness and anger fill my insides. It has become something that has begun to consume me.

A piece at a time.

One day at a time.

It’s becoming harder to remember what it was like before I went there.

I can’t even remember what one day was like before that fateful day.

The day I walked into the Gallery has forever changed me somehow.

After leaving the gallery that day a nagging thought kept coming back to my mind.

“You have paintings in there too. Don’t you want to see them?”

What was that supposed to mean?

I don’t paint.

As a matter of fact, I don’t possess any form of creativity of any sort in my body. I’m not a fan of most music, I hate art of any kind, I can’t take a decent picture if my life depended on it, and I can’t carry a tune. So how is it that I supposedly have works of my own, hand painted by me, in that crazy stupid place?

I knew once I was standing outside, I should have never entered there.

Why did I after all?

Even now sitting here on my couch, with my old fleece blanket tucked around my shoulders, I can’t remember why. Just one of those, you just have to do it moments I guess.

It’s the only thing that seems logical at this time. I mean what else should I think.

Oh wait, I had a delusional breakdown? That idea at this moment, sounds like it actually fits.

Yet, somehow I felt compelled, pulled, something wanted me to venture just a peek inside its black ominous doors. No one would even know and No one knew where I was anyway. So deep inside me somewhere, I answered that still small voice and said, ‘sure what the heck!’

Little did I know where I would end up a week later.

Depressed, blue, melancholy, and just plain devoid of all emotion.

I simply sat here in my apartment for the last week. Unmoving, unable to get dressed, shower, or even eat for that matter. Empty bags of Oreo cookies, Doritos Nacho Cheese, and Ruffles Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chips were the evidence scattered all around my living room, that food must have passed through my lips at some point. Although I can’t remember eating any of it.

Since I am a free lance writer, work isn’t a problem.

Deadlines are.

I have one coming up in a few months to put the finishing touches on my third novel. Hopefully this will make enough money that I can take a break for awhile. But even the thought of picking up my laptop and generating some new ideas is escaping me

I don’t want to.

I simply want to just sit here and relive dreadful times in my past.

No one even cares any way.

My parents have long outlived me and have moved on to their happily ever after, and they never graced me with siblings to whom I may share some of my grief with anyway.

My editor just wants the book complete and then perhaps will leave me alone if his commission is big enough I suppose.

Yet as soon as I close my eyes, I am back.

Back in the gallery.

Back where it wants me to be.

It calls to me.

Tells me to close my eyes and come back if I can’t be there in person.

My days are empty enough anyway.

I wake at noon and find myself reaching for more pills or something to just put me back in my silent sleep so I can go back. Nyquil, Percoset, Vicodin, Xanax, even alcohol if I can remember to drink enough and not throw it up before I pass out. Sleep keeps me sane.

I can’t wait to go back to sleep. I find peace there.

Peace from everything going on in the day before me.

I dread waking up.

It’s depressing and I hate it.

Life is going on and I am simply not a part of it any longer. I don’t want to be.

Life sucks at this point.

Nothing I do will make a difference to anyone anyway so why bother.

Perhaps just this once I won’t wake up and I can stay in my peaceful sleep once more.

But I am afraid. I am afraid of being alone.

I don’t want to die.

I just want my life back before the day I visited the gallery.

An evil seems to have followed me home and now it’s like my personal escort waiting to take me back.

The thoughts about my paintings keep nagging at me as well. What paintings?

So I try and pass the time today. I look around me and see nothing within reach I can take to put me back to sleep which is good.

I know if I just take a shower, a warm soothing, relaxing shower, perhaps I may just feel a tiny bit better.

But I lack the energy to get up. The blanket is so warm and comforting. Like a hug when you need one the most. Like the hug I need from my husband, but who sleeps in another room. He doesn’t know what is going on in my life.

He knows I am troubled but doesn’t know how to fix me. Fix what is broken on the inside. We’ve been fighting on and off, some big and some small fights for weeks now. We used to be so happy. So perfectly made for each other. People used to say we seemed like the perfect fit. Destined for one another. Soul mates. Life had dealt us the Royal Flush and we were it.

Sure I could chalk some of it up to family responsibilities, getting married too soon, having kids way to early before we even had a change to get to know one another. But we were on the fast track and we felt nothing could go wrong. How wrong it all seems now huh?

Too many years have separated us and now I feel that we are perhaps too far apart for fixing any more. Perhaps we have grown apart. We both want separate things to make us happy. Although I am certain I can’t quite put my finger on what would make me happy again.

I am too lost. Too much has been said that can’t be undone. Too many broken promises lie unfulfilled. Too many lies have been revealed. Trust is now gone like dust in the wind after a breeze has come and taken it away. I can’t remember how to get back.

So I sit. I count the hours in the day. I sleep as many of them as I can possibly can away until the kids call and require some task for me to fulfill. Some errand that only mom can do. Once their needs are taken care of the only thing remaining now is more time.

Time that lies between sleep and me. Sleep where time can change. Dreams could bring back what is missing. Wishes of what could be different in the morning. Possibilities of something new and exciting that will wake me from this sick hell I have found my way into.

All I know is what brought me to this place and what keeps calling to me in my dreams. I must go back. I must see what lies within that place that has kept my life on hold and happiness someplace I can’t see any longer. I must go back to the gallery.