Diary: Fact, Fiction, Fantasy

By A E Davis

Diary: Fact, Fiction, Fantasy is the story of a woman who one day realizes she no longer recognizes herself. Her identity has been lost in the role of mother, wife, and employee. As she works to get back to herself by chronicling her days in a series of diary entries, poems, and essays. These writings have become her therapy. Let's go along as s

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. Davis
• Release date: Oct 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578255651

A E Davis

A.E. Davis lives in Forks Washington.To learn more connect with her online:Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100010118710198Twitter: @forks_davisGmail : [e-mail]

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Preface

There she is sitting, broken and afraid. She tries not to wear her heartache, loneliness, and disappointments as though they were the very fabric that weaved her favorite sweater. She gets up each day and tries to look her best: matching accessories, cute heels, and make-up – an attempt to mask the sadness visible in her face, her eyes, and her forced smile.

Most days, she can keep her emotions in check. Her wants, needs, and secret desires are usually subdued by work, kids, problems, and friends. But sometimes, those distractions are not strong enough to keep those matters of her heart tamped down. She has stepped into the unknown and daily reminds herself that yet still it is better than what she has known.

She wishes she could have answers, not all just some. She wishes her future could be mapped out, and her destiny plotted on GPS. The journey she has been on has been rife with potholes, detours, and tolls. She longs for smoother road.

Her matters of the heart are in charge today. She works to calm them, quiet them, and still them. She has tried music – needs a tune or two to calm this heartsick beast. Unfortunately, music is not saving the day. She isolates herself and tries to keep everyone away. She needs a moment to get herself in check. Her life choices are what brought her to this place, and her next actions will be what frees her.

She must be careful, she must be mindful, and she must remember and have learned from each mistake—no repeats allowed. She hopes that in her loneliness, her natural need for affection, and a companion that she does not find herself in a desperate state, and once again makes the wrong choice. Out there in this big old world, there has to be something better for her, meant for her, prepared just for her. Not something she’ll have to force, as with a limiting relationship ladened with restrictions.

She wants to be someone’s focus not just their distraction. She understands her worth and wants he who also knows and wants to be multiplied by her value. She now knows that making something times nothing leaves nothing. (y x 0 = 0). If only she had remembered that from grade school; but oh well, she lived. She learned. She hopes.

So, she does what she knows best, she withdraws from the world and goes to her safe place of fine point ink, white pages, and black lines. She eternalizes her thoughts and unburdens her soul… one word at a time, line by line, one paragraph after the other, and page by page. Before she knows it, her outlet has turned into chapters.

She has written about many things: love, sex, wants, needs, anger, fantasy, and her truth. Some of those topics have been revisited, and will be brought up again on an as-needed basis. Her story is never-ending…at least until she is no longer able to write.

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, I was voted by my young, still green to the ways of the world school-aged peers, MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED. So far, I’ve only succeeded in having babies. Don’t get me wrong, I love my babies and I know that I can’t see them leaving this world before me. Just the thought of that brings tears to my eyes and makes my throat tighten, but I never knew my married life would be like this. Lonely, stressful most of the time than not, unbalanced, and isolating.

Something has changed within me. I have been feeling so overwhelmed. I have lost my spark. I look back and remember how simpler things were when I had one child. Sometimes, I wonder why I didn’t stop at two. It was perfect, one girl and one boy. What was the driving urge in me to have the third? Oh, I know, I wanted to have that love child; have an actually planned pregnancy. Then, along came baby number four, which sent me on an emotional roller coaster. I experienced so much inner turmoil over not being excited about my pregnancy; the guilt of that for the first four to five months of my pregnancy was almost too much to bear.

There was something in me that always knew I didn’t want to be a grown-up. At my high school graduation ceremony, I cried and it was because I didn’t want to leave and be sent out into the world. Yes, I was going on to college, but not because I wanted to; because it was what I was supposed to do. It was expected of me. I took classes with no direction or inkling of what I wanted to major in, and I went to a school where most of my friends were going, because I was too afraid to branch out on my own. Not to mention that my parents decided to divorce the year I graduated. Oh yeah, and then, there’s the fact that in my senior year- the year that was supposed to mean so much, my mom took orders to go to Korea. My parents are still in dispute over whether she had to go, or chose to go. To me, that doesn’t matter. All I know is that I was left alone with a house full of guys and I was miserable. My grades suffered. Some quarters I barely attained a 3.0 average and one quarter I didn’t make the honor roll. Out of my whole primary education that scar is forever on my academic record. My father treated me like I was witch hazel. I would come home from school, mind you, I was also heavily active in varsity basketball, after practice or a game, and some nights I wouldn’t get in until 8:30 or 9 o’clock. I would still have a ton of homework to do and need to eat dinner. He and my two brothers would have been home and had dinner but he would make me clean up after them. No matter how I tried to protest about how much homework I had to do, how tired and hungry I was, or the fact that I hadn’t made any of that mess, it did not matter because I had to clean it up. It was so unfair. I think because I reminded him so much of my mother. It was the reason he took a lot of his pain out on me. He was so full of anger. Now that I’m older, I can understand that part. He was after all going through a separation, which led to divorce. But I don’t understand how he could have treated me so badly. He talked bad about my mother and told me things that I didn’t need to know; which I care not to mention.

All of those things increasingly chipped away at the relationship my Dad and I had created. I was a true Daddy’s Little Girl. He was my superhero and did no wrong. My dad was my first boyfriend; he showed me how I was supposed to be treated, what to look for in a man, and taught me to respect myself. Unfortunately, with the breakdown of our relationship, came the crumbling of all my ideas of saving myself for marriage. I remember setting annual goals for myself to maintain my virginity. Sure, I was put on birth control my senior year in high school, but that was only a precautionary measure. I had no intentions of giving it up to the boys in high school. In part, because I was considered a nerd, taller than most guys, skinny, tom-boyish, and a card-carrying member of the IBTC. You must know what the IBTC is; it’s the "Itty Bitty Titty Committee."

Because I was friends with all the guys, I was privy to a lot of information and I knew for a fact that several of them were virgins and they were hell-bent on not being one when they walked across the stage. They were on a mission to bang anything moving and they were targeting the girls that they knew were giving it up. All my guy friends knew that wasn’t happening on my end.

Somehow, the breakdown of the bond I shared with my father made me feel like being a virgin no longer seemed to matter as much. I felt as though my dad didn’t love me, and if my dad didn’t love me, then what was the point in loving and respecting me enough to wait? That difficult year destroyed my fairy tale ideas of love, marriage, and life. I ended up giving myself to the first piece of dick that came along: a stranger. I was so messed up inside that I didn’t feel bad about what I let happen once it was over. To this day, I don’t have any regrets. I know that it was a mistake I made because of my immaturity and my inability to rationalize. One thing that I did learn from that experience is, it should have mattered and I will be sure to tell my children that no matter what, they matter.

Never Say Never

Once upon a time in a land of unbroken dreams and all promises fulfilled, lived a wide-eyed dreamer of a young girl who thought she was the She-Ra of strong will. As a teenager, she was so innocent and idealistic, but at the same time, she could be judgmental of her peers in the ways they chose to get their thrills.

She couldn’t see at that moment in time that they were shaping their stories, in the very first acts of each own’s growing novels. Drafting non-fictional stories that would be real page-turners. Making their lives so much richer that they’d never be able to give it all away in a will.

She remembers saying she’d never ever suck a dick, and be compromised by boys that were slick. If she never would have said never aloud, maybe her friend would not have been ashamed to come forward to say that she had done it, only to have her business talked about in a crowd. If she hadn’t been so ignorant and critical, she should’ve said, "No, don’t give THAT boy head. He will just