Discover Top Posts Tagged with #personal turmoil

A Book-ish Round Up: Part 3

Continuing my book-ish round up, in case you are looking for some recs! This time, I'm highlighting two books, both literary fiction!

Death Valley, by Melissa Broder

A woman seeks refuge in the California high desert amidst personal turmoil involving her father's critical condition and her husband's worsening illness. Seeking solace, she embarks on a recommended hike from a motel receptionist. Along the trail, she encounters an improbable, massive cactus with a peculiar opening. Curiosity leads her inside, where she discovers a mystical journey filled with a mix of desolation, richness, humor, and poignancy.

You can run but only so far, I guess. Read this book if you want to read about finding solace online, about a woman who has to be a caretaker, who feels helpless but still is trying her best, and older women!

2. Bright Young Women, by Jessica Knoll.

This book delves into the horrors of America's first celebrity serial killer's final murderous spree targeting a sorority. In January 1978, amidst the Pacific Northwest's terror, the vibrant women of a Florida State University sorority are oblivious until a fateful night of violence alters their lives. Pamela Schumacher's (protagonist #1) decision to stay home saves her from the killer's rampage, thrusting her into a terrifying mystery. Meanwhile, Tina Cannon (protagonist #2) in Seattle forms a bond with Ruth Wachowsky, who goes missing under suspicious circumstances. As Tina investigates, she uncovers connections to the Florida tragedy and sets on a collision course with Pamela, driven by a determination to hold the killer accountable. Bright Young Women presents a new perspective on the case, highlighting the exceptional lives of the victims and challenging the sensationalized narrative surrounding the killer.

I liked it just okay but I see why people might love it. You'll love it if you like true crime, alternating perspectives, and books set in college. It also highlights the victims of serial killers and their family, rather than the serial killer himself!

#Personal Turmoil #f-yourblog.com

This month has brought the following:

My total loss car accident, complete with required doctor appointments due to my jacked up shoulder.

The possibility that my car won’t be fully covered by GAP/Progressive and I’ll have to finish paying for a car that is no longer in my possession because... total loss.

Paying for a truck out of pocket. Thankfully, the person is a friend and will take payments.

Our HVAC system shooting craps on Memorial Day. Thank god for an attic fan and functioning ceiling fans and box fans.

My mother being in an rear-end accident when heading to pick up my soon to be vehicle from repairs. This will more than likely be another total loss accident. Which means another upside down car is out of our house.

Hoping the roofing repairs from the shitastic hail storm of March/April will cost the amount of the insurance check so Mom won’t have to use her CARES check to cover the cost of the deductible.

I’ll say it again... this month can end IMMEDIATELY.

#personal turmoil #beyond done with this month #seriously?#forget wake me up when september ends #wake me up when 2020 ends

Sinner

Bang. The door was met with firm fist. The repetitive banging bleated hollow threats. Beating. Bang. A seemingly futile cycle. The window linings pivoted left and right to the constant breeze. Left, the breeze forcing its way through, howling. Right, the breeze losing force falls, crashing. Left, the linings retreating panicked, rattling. Right, the linings retaliating stubbornly, smashing. An endless cycle, a futile conflict. A casualty of conflicts, light pivoted left and right, pressed into rows of lines with fixed widths reached, for Dewitt.

Booker Dewitt, sprawled lifeless in the arm chair that contained him. His upper body hung over the desktop, his head cradled in his arms. One arm hopelessly attempting to block the stretched lines of light, the other twisting a half empty glass of whisky. The light, an irritation to the dull grey that Dewitt buried himself in. Bang. An Irritation. Bang.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?!”

“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.” A deep voice echoed through the door.

“What do you want?”

“We had a deal Dewitt! Open this door, right now!” The voice pressured further.

“I told you. I’m not going to do it! Now go away.”

“Mr. Dewitt! Mr. Dewitt!” the voice, unfazed by Dewitt’s rejection, continued its harassment.

Dewitt stood fast, not because of strong will, at least not anymore. He remained cradled in his arm, exhausted, motionless in contemplation of the possible consequences. When you lose as much as Dewitt has, inaction seems allot more appealing, regardless of the consequence. He stared at his room, his world. Grey. Wallpaper slowly crumpling away with age. Wooden planks chipped and scarred from neglect. And, the picture of Anna hanging tilted on the wall. Of all the things Dewitt lost, this may be the only one that mattered. His daughter Anna, taken away from him, as punishment for a bad gamble. Dewitt crawled back into his arms.

Bang. The rattling of fist continued. In volleys, like ranks of troopers, firing riffles, onto men, woman, children. Bang. The mind-shattering eruption of fist striking wood. Like powdered artillery, launching discriminatory shells, wreaking indiscriminate havoc. The Massacre of Wounded Knee. The Boxer Revolution. Memories that Dewitt hid from, now returned. Bang. Flashes of red, of blood and fire. Bang. Flashes of yellow, of smoke tainted light, and sulfur tainted earth. Bang. Flashes of blue, of ghastly wounds, and torn fabric. The past painted Dewitt’s grey haven with chaos. Excitement, Thrill, Pain, Sorrow, Guilt. Mixed feelings ripped through Dewitt, mixed feeling that Dewitt tried so desperately to avoid in his dull bastion.

Dewitt, saw the him which he wanted to forget. The him which shot children, which shot civilians, with motives that were built on prejudice and racism. He stumbled to his feet, set to stop the knocking. “I am a murderer.” He dragged himself towards the door. Head still in hands, he trudged forward weakly. “I am a sinner.” Dewitt stumbled across the window still. The fine lines of light scattered, as the window linings were pushed into disarray from Dewitt’s passing. The intoxicating colours, the sick blend of emotions of his past, slowly consumed him. He can not back away from he who was him. The murderer, the sinner, who was blinded by prejudice. He must not forget himself. He must not forget the guilt. It is a burden he must carry. For it is the burden of his guilt, the lost of self-respect that taught him to respect those that he once did slaughtered.

He reached for the door, no longer cowering from his past self, and accepting his current self that was built from his past.

- Eno

#bioshock infinite #booker dewitt #personal turmoil

The Day My Worlds Collided

The Day My Worlds Collided #myconfusinglife #blog #rouletteweekend

It’s odd how things hit you sometimes out of nowhere. Well, I guess they hit you from somewhere deep down inside of you. That secret closet that only you know about. The place where all your feelings hide. The place where all your secrets hide. The place that you think everything can go and be tucked safely away for all time. But, not much unlike a treasure chest, when it gets too full, there’s…

View On WordPress

#life #love #loving two people #personal turmoil #selfishness #the pursuit of happiness

I wake up to day two without them. Without my home...and I feel as I'm just coasting; watching the days just pass me by. I don't know what's going on or what I'm doing. All I know is that time is passing...and my heart and will has gone.

#inner thoughts #personal turmoil