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FEAR ITSELF IS ONE THING BUT DEATH IS SO MUCH WORSE As I write this tears stream from my eyes, the memory burns so painfully in my head. That bright spark, that role model that number one gone like a flash. seven years of hate how I regret it that much, not being there and disbelieving. Now death has come and taken all that away, the death of a loved one is something, but the death of two loved one in a matter of second is something else. My grandma the only person I could call a role model vanished one minute she said remember the next silence. REMEMBER, REMEMBER, REMEMBER that word twisting, turning and moving through my head I try and forget I try and think of the good times, but all I see is blackness, my grandfather clutching on to life by his fingernails gone, one minute he was there the next minute vanished, now in not one to make a fuss bereavement is one thing but continuing with life comes hand in hand. I try and forget try and not believe but when the pain arrives and the tears wont stop falling all you can do is cry, death is hard and death is even harder when rough patches in that relationship will never become smooth. I hate myself and I hate the world, my grandma and grandfather wont know how much I care because there gone I can cry and protest as much as possible but in the end all that hate, frustration, pain and lies are still a burning vision of the people who I loved gone who will never know how much I loved them.

Dear Alzheimer’s, You’re just a dirty sneak thief. You sneak in and steal from people. You don’t even have the courage to announce yourself. Your nasty cousin, cancer, at least starts with a cough or a pain. But not you, oh no. You waltzed in, and started taking things. Little things. Things you didn’t think would be noticed; like where the car keys had gone, or the reading glasses. “Everybody remember where we parked!” became a family joke. You started taking bigger things. Like conversation. Gone were the days when we talked about so many things over coffee. Now there were questions asked, and answered, and asked again. Trains of thought, derailed before they even left the station. But now, everyone notices. Stolen glances behind backs, eyes rolling like teenagers at hearing the question, again. And, occasionally, “Oh wait, I asked that already, didn’t I?” "You know, I'm just not worth a damn some days." She knows now, that something is missing. But you’re sneaky, she’s not quite sure what’s going on. And while this is cruel, what is worse is that the past is now crystal clear. Phone calls and emails to grandchildren to apologize for things that happened 13 years ago. Knowing for certain, with absolute clarity, what she wore to that Halloween party 40 years ago. You’re getting bolder now. Walking, moving, becomes difficult. You’ve stolen our walks. When we would wander the neighborhood, the park, even the mall. The shuffling gait leads to trips, trips to falls, falls to fear, and fear, to inaction. We ask, “What’s next?” There’s a caregiver now. You’ve taken her ability to feed herself, and care for herself. She’s like a small child again needing help with daily activities like brushing her teeth, and even going to the bathroom. Unmarked boxes, full of “incontinence supplies” start showing up with the mail. Like a small child, she lashes out in anger, and frustration. She knows things are missing. If that wasn’t enough, you’ve taken her spirit, the very thing that made her, who she is, or was. She lays on the bed, not knowing anyone, or anything. There isn’t even any fighting. We know she’s gone, only her body doesn’t realize it yet. We mourn, but we can’t fully, as we try to care for what you’ve left behind. You’ve taken so much. Will you ever be satisfied? Sincerely, molly We all have fears. When i was a teen, and into my early twenties i lived in a part of the US that has high rates for MS, Multiple Sclerosis. It was my boogeyman. Now, three people i know, two of which i went to high school with, are battling it. It doesn’t frighten me anymore. The area i grew up in has been labeled a “cancer cluster." Talking with classmates from high school, we’re losing parents and each other to cancer and other chronic illnesses. i deal with this daily, it’s no longer a fear. But Alzheimer’s. That’s fecking scary. My Grandmother had it; her sister had it; my mother has it; my sister's mother in law has it. My aunt lost her husband to it last year. We’d been saying goodbye to him for three or four years Losing ME, that’s scary. So scary that it can make me cry. This month in the US starts a series of "Walk to End Alzheimer's" events. You'll see commercials for it, hear stories on the news programs, they'll say that "the first survivor of Alzheimer's is out there." If you are so inclined, get a team together, volunteer at one of the events, or find a way to sponsor someone who's walking. For more information on the Walks check here As always, my thanks to tim, @Mikiesboy, for helping me find the courage to do this in the first place xoxo And tonight, to AC, @AC Benus, thank you for looking at this for me xoxo

So, i have been home since March 16, 2020. I think working from home, really brought home to me really how serious this virus is. Yes, i'd read about it and all the deaths in China. Read about people trying to get back to Canada and people stuck on cruise ships. But the Bank doing this huge about face and letting us work from home, really made it real. The first few weeks i really struggled. i felt lost and afraid. i could feel it in my back and shoulders, in my chest. It felt like someone was standing on it. I became borderline obsessive reading the online news over and over. i would read stories of people who had suffered through this and told their stories. Stories of surviving it, of losing people who had been young and healthy. i was absolutely terrified. Michael knew of course, and did His best to calm me. He protects me the best that He can. Friends did the same. I began, at a friend's urging, to try yoga. I have issues with my joints so i found a short yoga program designed for seniors. No kneeling, and it was short; 7 minutes. Frankly i am amazed at just how much doing that short routine has helped me. I feel calmer, and more centered. I no longer feel trapped. If you are feeling alone and afraid, do something. Here is the link to the little yoga program i do. I also like this place. https://www.yogajournal.com/videos/joint-freeing-series I am no yoga master and i do not think i ever will be, but these short times i spend on myself right now are huge, even with the small investment of time. It somehow makes me aware of myself and the inner strength i truly do have. Spend a bit of time on you, try it, allow it. I think you will feel better. Hang in there. We can get through this ... reach out and talk. You are welcome to join us in the Drop in Centre anytime.

It is often very difficult to put into words what you feel. I am better at this with poetry. But, simple hard truths are never really my style. I like them the way I like hungry lions, caged and at a distance, preferably with a loaded gun in my hand. Yet, sometimes it becomes emphatic to tell the truth. And then it becomes hard. For years I have worn many masks; Masks of happiness, of humour, of grandiosity, of known lies and unknown truths. But, beneath all that garbage, lies a scared boy and a vain man and a chimera of sorts, made of all the failures and loses that life puts you through. I hide my true self beneath the said masks because, I fear the naked skin underneath that is vulnerable and raw. Right at this moment, as I am writing this, my self preservation systems are shutting down my brain and my hands are not following my command. My mind is going blank. I thought, I am capable of putting this out, putting my bleeding heart on a plate. But, clearly as always I misjudged myself. May be some other day. Just a little info, I think I am in love with a certain someone, I am not telling whom, so don't ask. And I am afraid, terrified, petrified that if he knows, he will or will not return my feelings. But, if he does, it will end up as a failure sooner than later. And I will be alone once more and the darkness will eat me up whole. That is the subject of my recurrent nightmares, that have pushed me to the end of my sanity. I'm tired of going through the same dream of acceptance and then eventual harsh rejection or worse. It is curious to note that, my mother, who is a lovely lady and the queen of my heart, figures prominently in these dreams, and more often than not, is the source of the discordance, direct or indirectly. Even funnier still, is the fact that she always leaves me at the end of the nightmare. Abandoned by my mother and my lover, I finally drown in heretofore unknown depths of despair and languishment. It is very unlike me to remove my masks and let my rotten carcass breath the air. But, the nightmares have become unbearable, and I want the routine to end. So, I have chosen to make this public (which is also a part of the inner fear). Hopefully, it will end here... or not.

Hey Everyone, I’m posing a question to the GA community. Something I know many creative people deal with. What are some ways you work through fear? I have suffered from anxiety for a long time. This exacerbates fear. I’ve learned many coping mechanisms. However; it’s hindered some goals in life. I’m curious how others cope. I know this community is supportive, not condemning. Thanks for ideas.

I started writing my story Knots during November a couple years back by participating in the National Novel Writing Month. NanoWriMo. The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month. I've now done it four times. Knots was the story of two 9th graders who were best friends. The idea was to talk about the knots they tie in their lives. The odd thing is, they did tie knots, but the knots were not the ones I envisioned when I started. It didn't start out as a story about two gay boys, and in some ways, isn't. I kept wondering if there was a place for it in the regular young adult market because it dealt with young adult sex. So I took the story and began posting it here. I've been editing and revising as I go. The approach to the story is different because I wanted to be different. You'll have to read it to see if I succeeded.