Kiri Callaghan's Blog, page 12

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Depression, Outside Looking In

I don’t have clinical depression, but I grew up around it. My brother, my sister, my father all have–had–varying degrees and diagnosis.

I am certainly not an expert. I’m a compassionate outsider looking in.

But I hope as someone who has witnessed its aftermath, I can help bring some more understanding around it, especially to those with no experience.

First, I’d want to direct you to someone who not only has experienced it first hand, but who can say it far more eloquently than I can, Mr. Stephen Fry.

Secondly, I really need you to understand this seemingly simple concept: Depression is a disease.

I’m going to pull a page from the article I referenced earlier and I want you to imagine that we’re talking about cancer. And think about all the amazing strides we’ve made in medical science to curing it. Think of all that work and how regrettably in some cases all of that work is still not enough to save a person.

Now imagine that we didn’t take cancer seriously. Imagine for a moment that it didn’t resonate that small little ache with almost anyone who hears it. Imagine that people judged you rather than embraced you when you told them you had cancer. Imagine feeling embarrassed for just visiting your doctor or taking your medication. That people told you that you just needed to “snap out of it”, that you weren’t trying hard enough and that’s why your tumors were growing.

Gut-wrenchingly horrible, isn’t it?

This is how our society treats depression. This is also, perhaps, why the suicide rate is nearly double that of homicide.

Yesterday I talked about my brother and how important it was to take care of yourself.

I was approached by an acquaintance who, despite their good intentions, said perhaps one of the most ignorant response I’ve ever heard in reaction to suicide. “I don’t agree with his decision but I respect that it was his decision.”

First, never tell anyone that you respect their loved one’s choice to end their own life–you don’t know the situation. You also do not know THAT person’s mental state and were I far less stable in my mourning process, his words could have caused a whole new set of problems.

Please, understand that suicide is not a ‘do-not-resuscitate’ request.

Second, it was not his decision. And that is the most important thing of all to remember. My brother struggled with mental illness. When we were younger it manifested in violent fits of rage, as we grew, he turned more inward and while those fits were less common, they were more often turned on himself.

He was sick. And because he was ashamed of that, he didn’t get help–he didn’t want help. And eventually that disease ate enough of him that he became convinced he did not deserve help.

Joel was right when he said there was nothing any of us could have done to stop him. However, it would be a lie to say that means what happened could not have been prevented. And that’s why this cause is so important to me.

He wasn’t taking his medication and he refused to talk to anyone about it–friends or professionals.  He had long let the disease rule him.

People deserve to have control over their lives, to be able to think clearly.

Depression doesn’t allow that. You can try to down-talk its impact on people’s lives all you want but it will not change the fact that it is a mental illness. It is a disease, a sickness, a literal imbalance of chemicals in your body. It needs to be treated with respect and above all it needs to be treated.

A person is not weak for needing medication to get through day-to-day. To feel normal.

People take medication every day for their heart, for diabetes, to keep things like HIV and cancer at bay. Why have we got it in our brains that depression is any different?

Maybe it’s that word. The fact that we use it interchangeably for simply feeling sad–for being upset by external causes.

But as someone who has watched it tear at my family for as long as I can remember, please believe me, it’s a very real disease. And it’s one I intend to fight with all my strength.

If you think you may have clinical depression, please see someone. Do not be ashamed of something you have absolutely no control of. There is no just “snapping out” of a chemical imbalance, just like you can’t snap out of having a blood disease or a brain tumor.

It’s a hard process, and it will take time to find what’s right for you. But it can and will get better. And you deserve to feel comfortable in your own skin. That voice that says you aren’t worth it? It’s a damn liar. And it could not be more wrong about you.

You, my wonderful friends, are independently awesome.

Love,

Kiri

Isn’t That The Way Love Goes? / Almost Lover

 

 

Writing, it’s this thing I do–this thing I will be doing a lot more of in the next coming weeks. However, I wanted to share a tidbit of something that I wrote a little bit ago in response to one of Nika’s writing prompts. (If you have never checked out her in Word Play, you should hop to that… like now).

The assignment, as it were, was to write a dialogue heavy scene and out of the given prompts I chose, “Why you just don’t GET it.”I’m not sure if the actual words were meant to go in there, I worked off of the feeling/impression that sentence gave me and came up with the scene you can read below.

And then last night I recorded a song to go along with it. I’ve mentioned before that I like to put soundtracks to everything… and I would like to start trying to marry my singing to my writing more… so here we go:

She was waiting for him when he re-entered the living room. Her hair was slightly mussed and her t-shirt askew, suggesting she’d been asleep when he’d first come in. He should have been quieter.

“…Hi.”

“Hi.”

He swallowed. “I didn’t realize you were home, it was so quiet when I… I thought you were working today.”

“They let me have it off.”

“Right… Good.  Well, I just… came for the last of my things.”

“Ah. That it?

“Yeah, I think so.  I came earlier in the week too–

“I noticed.”

“Yeah… So… there wasn’t much left.  Odds and ends.  Real quick stop.”

“How have you been?”

“Paris is waiting for me downstairs.”

“Oh. How is she?”

“Good… good… We’re uh… seeing a show at the Pantages.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“Yeah…” He pretended to scan the room one last time for anything he might have missed. “Well, I should get going…”

“Don’t.”

He hesitated. “What?

“Don’t go.”

Shit.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought and I don’t think this makes any sense.”

“It makes a lot of sense.”

“I love you.”

“She’s waiting.”

“And I think you love me.”

“Please. Don’t do this now.” His hand was on the door knob.

“No, wait.”

His throat tightened.

“You’re not supposed to leave.  That’s not how it goes.  I say, ‘I love you’ and you say it back and everything’s right again.  But you have to say it back, or… or it doesn’t work…”

“Romy…”

“Do you love me?”

“We drive each other crazy.”

“Answer the question.”

“It wouldn’t change anything even if I did.”

“Why not?”

“Because life doesn’t work that way, Romy, we don’t live in a god damn fairytale!”

She took this in for only a moment. “Then tell me you /did/ love me.”

He sighed.

“Even if it’s a lie. Tell me that if things had been different, we could have been happy together.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Damn it, Julien, this is my LIFE we’re talking about!  Is it so hard for you to tell one little fucking lie?”

“I’m not arguing with you.” He opened the door and her hand pushed it shut again.

“I opened up to you. I didn’t want to but you were insistent. You were determined to make me love you, to show me that I could love you. Well guess what, you heartless piece of shit? You succeeded! I opened my arms and I let you eviscerate me from neck to navel so you could pull back the skin and peer at everything I had inside of me.  You thumbed through the chapters, left your grimy fingerprints all over, and now that you’ve read enough, you think you can just leave me like this?  Wide open, dirty, and ill-equipped to sew myself back together?  No.  You made me love you, so you’re going unmake me before you walk away again.”

“Romy, I…” His mouth felt dry and he cleared both his throat and his courage. “I don’t have time for this.”

Her hand dropped numbly from the door and he exited without further argument.

Of Thanks and Thursdays

This seemed like an appropriate day as any to try to start up a more regular schedule again. After all, one of the things I am very thankful for today would definitely being getting back to a 40-hour work week. While I know everyone was understanding, I missed being able to write here regularly.

50 hours at work, plus videos on my personal channel on top of my Geek & Sundry vlogs, working on Terra Mirum… it gets a tad exhausting. So while I think taking a bit a break from writing here was probably the best thing for me at the time, I’m really excited that I’m going to be able to get back to a more regular schedule.

If you’re in the United States, today you’ll possibly be celebrating Thanksgiving with your family or loved ones.

Either way, it’s fairly likely you’re getting those warm fuzzy feelings you get around the holidays when we remember those things we’re grateful for.

Yes, it’s going to be one of those cliche kinds of Thanksgiving posts.

But you know what? Thursdays are for Happy Thoughts and this is definitely what I’m vibing on today.

Almost a year ago today, we were taking pictures for family Christmas letters. All five of us.

I could spend this post talking about how we miss my brother, and how the holiday feels different without him and while it probably would be a little cathartic at first, I’m not sure how beneficial it would be in the long run.

Of course we miss him.

But I think more important than that is how as a family we’ve been repairing ourselves. It’s been a slow and difficult process–and I don’t think it will be over any time soon.

I know I say this a lot, but if anyone tells you how you’re “supposed” to mourn, shut that down immediately.

The point being that the house I came home to last night was not the one I woke up to this morning.

When I arrived, my father was in my brother’s room on his laptop, like he has been since the funeral, quiet and keeping to himself. We’ve all been sort of keeping to ourselves, I suppose.

But this morning I woke up to my mother starting the turkey and my father prepping grandma’s famous roll recipe (Thanksgiving is one of those holidays where I say, “Sorry intestines” and just grin and bear the inevitable gluten and dairy induced pain). They were joking around with a movie playing in the background.




Since then we made a modest breakfast, chatted, played with the dog…

For the first time in this house, we felt like a family again. And I actually knew that eventually we’d be okay. It wouldn’t be the same, but we’d be okay.

I’m eternally grateful for that.

It’s been a hard year for all of us and we’ve got a lot to conquer ahead of us. But I think we’ll get there.

This was a year of a lot of hard work paying off. I’ve met some amazing people who I’m looking forward to getting to know better and while the past 7 months have been stressful, I’ve had the privilege of working on a game franchise I’m exceptionally proud of.

And of course, and certainly not least, on top of my family and my friends who I’m very blessed to have, I have you. People I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting in person, who I still get to converse with. People who have extended their compassion to me even though we were hardly better than strangers.

In some ways, I’m the most grateful for you. You’re constant proof that the world is full of good people. That even when it seems dark and bleak, there’s hope.

So thank you.

I hope today is full of love for you.

First – A Dragon Age FanFic

So… by now you probably know I have a Dragon Age obsession. I don’t know what it is. I honestly couldn’t tell you–I just like it. And I feel absolutely no urge to excavate any further.

At one point they had a writing contest, which I wrote something for and didn’t even make the top 20–honestly I probably made a semi fatal mistake by blurring the lines of what’s ‘cannon’, or there were simlpy 20 stories told better than I told mine. Whatever the case may be. =)

But failing that I realized I now have essentially what is fan fiction and literally nothing I can do with it–not in the traditional sense, anyway.

So I decided to share it with you:

First

Maker only knew what hour it was. Dark. Was that a suitable time frame? It was too late for the drunks to be still stumbling out of taverns but too early for shop keeps to be setting up their stalls in the market. We’d all been stirred out of the barracks and ushered into the Chantry hall. No one really explained why. Knight-Captain Tavish had mentioned something about depending on the night’s outcome, they would need as many templars as possible. Whatever that meant.

Considering the Grand Cleric herself was present, it likely wasn’t a party…

The chantry doors lurched open; the sound echoed down the chamber, drawing all eyes and leaving silence in its wake. Half a unit of men flanked the accused as she stumbled inside.

She was a wild looking thing–almost fade-born in appearance; they’d have little issue painting her to the public as a monster if it came to that. Deep red locks tangled about a pale face, obscuring the difference between blood and hair. Chains clasped around her wrists and neck, leaving the skin raw and causing her to hunch over herself like a wounded animal under their weight. Yet, despite the elf’s restraints, the gag about her mouth and the faint limp in her walk, her presence spread a fear that was almost palpable in the chantry hall.

Malificar. The word sat bitter and unspoken on every tongue.

Despite our position, safely huddled at the back of the crowd,  there wasn’t a single novice who didn’t look visibly uncomfortable; shifting from foot to foot or stealing glances from each other and passing forced smiles.

The templars themselves were a different matter. Their eyes were hard, lips deep-set in sneers, and a few hands even subconsciously rested on the hilt of their blades. Comforting, I suppose, to see that there wasn’t any bias mucking up the judgement of the court.

She was brought before the dais at the back of the hall to meet her judges: Grand Cleric Adeline, Knight-Commander Carrick of Denerim’s Chantry and First Enchanter Irving whose presence seemed only tolerated because it had been requested explicitly by Knight-Commander Greagoir.

“Aredyn Evani,” Carrick addressed her. He was a pious old bugger that even made Irving seem to have a youthful complexion. “You have been accused of fleeing The Circle, aiding in the escape of at least five other apprentices and conspiracy to destroy the phylactery vault in Denerim. These crimes are no less than treason, punishable by death.” He glanced side-long at Adeline. “However, Her Grace has reminded me that atonement may be found if a soul is truly willing to repent.”

Irving clarified the Knight-Commander’s words.  “My child, the Chantry has agreed to lighten your sentence in exchange for information about the location of your fellow conspirators.”

“Choose your defense carefully, Evani,” Adeline warned as one of the templars removed the binding around the elf’s mouth. “These words may be your last.”

Aredyn took a few moments–though whether she was mulling their words over or merely trying to regain feeling back in her lips, I couldn’t tell.  “First.” There was a fondness in her voice that treated the word like something precious; a low and musical sound that resonated throughout the entire hall. “That’s what they would have called me had I been born outside of city walls. I would have been the First.  I would have had a place. A Family. Respect. I would have belonged had I been born among the Dalish.”

I tried to lean over to Eryhn and ask what exactly a ‘First’ was but she jabbed my ribs with her elbow to shush me. Turns out if you do this in armor, it makes a loud clank that alerts the Knight-Captain standing a few feet away which awards both parties quite a glare.

Ha ha. Served her right.

Eryhn shot me a look but I tried to look too interested in the trial to notice.

“But I wasn’t born that lucky, Your Grace. Instead, I was born in an Alienage. I was born in a slum where I was confined even before my gifts showed themselves and thus this is my birthright.” Aredyn lifted the chains around her wrists as if presenting them as evidence to the court.

“And had you been born among the Qunari, you would be fitted with blinders, shackled in chains at all times and have your lips stitched closed,” Adeline bristled with indignance.

“And how different of a life would that really be?” Aredyn countered with a boldness that would be considered sacrilegious in Her Grace’s presence. “In their tongue a mage is saarebas; Dangerous thing. Since before I was even old enough to understand why, I was called nothing less. Too well have I learned that it does not take a thread or chains to bind a people’s hands and mouth.”

“The Maker commands that Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” The whole room seemed to murmur the commandment along with the Grand Cleric.

Creepy.

“We want control of our lives, not the world.”

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against His children.”

“Anyone is capable of corruption and the abuse of power–” Aredyn tried to speak over them but I had the sense very few were listening.

“They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.–”

“All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands!”

The room went suddenly quiet but I wasn’t sure if it was the volume of Aredyn’s voice that silenced them or if they were merely too shocked to hear a malificar speak the Canticle of Transfigurations.

“From the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.”

Her knowledge of the Chant of light was… impressive. Even growing up in the chantry, I certainly hadn’t memorized the blasted thing. Course… I did sleep through half of my lessons…

“In the past few days alone I have been beaten, chained, starved and gagged. Tell me, what provocation did I give you for that?”

Carrick attempted to speak up, “Had you not been discovered, you and your fellows would have destroyed the phylactery–”

“I attempted no more than any templar in your ranks,” Aredyn countered cooly.

“What?” Carrick’s face was turning red.

“Phlylacteries are a form of blood magic, are they not? Tell me, is it still hypocrisy if the Chantry sanctions it?”

“Aredyn,” Irving warned.

Carrick looked almost purple now.  “We are the Maker’s hand. His will dictates our actions.”

“I will not obey a god who first makes me what I am and then punishes me for it.”

Irving looked away. She had made her choice. As merely an apostate, there was hope. As both an apostate and heretic–she had sealed her fate.

“Who are the others?” Carrick seethed.

“What others?” Impish but defiant.

“The other conspirators. Their names.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I have multiple reports that you were seen meeting with a group of six or seven other individuals in Denerim, most of whom were also identified the night of the attempt on the vault.”

“If you’re so certain there were others, Knight-Commander, I suggest you track them down like any other mage.”

“Had they been mages and not mere sympathizers, we might have already done it and not required this trial in the first place!” It was as if Aredyn was standing at the foot of an Arch-demon without blinking an eye.

Adeline placed a hand on Carrick’s arm and for a moment his rising temper subsided.

It wasn’t going to last. You could practically see his blood boiling beneath his skin. Still, he attempted a calm tone of voice that strained towards a civil tongue. “The lives of your fellow conspirators are forfeit for their crime. Should you cooperate with this investigation, yours can still be spared.”

“Those who bear false witness, and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies.” Aredyn recited the chant as if she were reminding a child about the consequences of dishonesty. “The Maker may be a little murky about magic but his stance on lying seems pretty clear.”

For the first time, I really enjoyed scripture.

Carrick seemed less pleased by the verse. He looked to Grand Cleric Adeline like a mabari impatiently waiting for the command to attack.

Adeline stepped forward a little, steepling her fingertips in thought. “And this is all you have to offer?”

“I will never be the First, Your Grace.” Aredyn looked to Irving and offered a sad, apologetic sort of smile. Something passed between the First Enchanter and his former apprentice. Forgiveness, maybe? “But I am no longer content to be the last.”

Adeline pursed her lips and merely inclined her head towards the Knight-Commander.

“Remove her,” Carrick barked, true to form.

Strange, watching them drag her out, I felt… shaken. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her, but my better judgement–that part I admittedly tended to ignore–couldn’t deny the sense in her words. Even if it was a little blasphemous. Well, a lot blasphemous, actually. Little surprised they hadn’t run her through on the spot with the way she’d been talking but then again, I imagine that kind of thing is frowned upon in the presence of the Grand Cleric… Also inside the Chantry. Killing apostates inside the chantry is bad.

Probably.

“You don’t actually feel sorry for a malificar, do you?” Erhyn asked suspiciously, finally deeming me worthy of speech.

“No one said she was a malificar,” I commented evasively. “I even overheard Knight-Captain Tavish admit no one actually saw her do blood magic.”

“Does it matter?”

I wanted to joke. Something that would erase the the last ten minutes but as I looked back towards the doors, an uncomfortable tightness starting to grip at my stomach. There was nothing funny about what I’d just seen. “No… I don’t suppose it does…”

Ehryn rolled her eyes. “Come along, Alistair. We have to get back to the barracks..”

I lagged behind her. I’d never really liked the idea of being a templar but I was good at it. There was solace in that–there wasn’t a lot in my life I could say that about but…

Was this really something I wanted to be good at?

Bottled

I’m an expert bottler.

You know the sci-fi channel movie of Alice in Wonderland? Where they’re taking human emotions and distilling them into ‘teas’?

It’s like that.

Only my bottles would look something a great deal more like, “Stress”, “Heartache” and “Depression”.

I grew up in a culture that believed in sweeping problems under a rug and not talking about them. There are matters to this day that my family–my extended family–will not talk about or pretend doesn’t exist.

Of course back then I was young enough to go along with it without knowing what exactly was happening. And despite some truly horrible things/experiences–I was an exceptionally happy child. I was perhaps a bit lonely at times–but I had my family and my imagination and while neither were perfect, I was relatively content with both.

And then puberty hit.

Both of my siblings suffered from bi-polar, manic depression which struck, as it tends to, around high school.

So when I also rolled around to that age, all eyes were on me. Waiting. And then proceeded a 4-year long lesson in tough love. And I learned about emotional manipulation, I learned about what people will say or do to get what they want, I learned what it meant to have someone you love not respect you and vice versa. I learned there was a great difference between my beliefs, my friends beliefs and definitely my parents beliefs. I felt different and alone. When I brought up this concern to a church official–oh back when I still went to church every Sunday with my parents–I was quietly accused of “trying to not fit in”. And so I grew depressed and sunk inward.

And my parents started asking questions. But not the questions I had answers for. They started asking if I was tired all the time, they started prodding about all the usual symptoms, it was never a “Did something happen at school?” or “Is something going on you need to talk about?”. And at some point during my routine denial, I decided something incredibly stupid. Instead of sitting down with them, having a heart-to-heart about what was troubling me–the many things that they were–I bottled it.

My parents were (rightly so) concerned that I had depression like my other siblings–they wanted to make sure I got the help I needed, if that was the case since I had always been such a happy person. My mother especially would have always been open to hear me talk, so to this day I’m a little bewildered why I chose to clam up. Maybe I just didn’t want to add weight to her shoulders.

My mother’s a damn rock. I don’t think we’d have much of anything if she wasn’t the foundation. But she also doesn’t get a lot of time for her as a result and I guess… I don’t know.

The point is, bottling is stupid. Pretending to be okay when you aren’t, is stupid and extremely damaging. My brother bottled–he didn’t want to talk to a therapist, he didn’t want to get help and he’s gone because of that.

So I’m attempting to get a little better. I’m attempting to reach out and open up and be a bit more honest about when I’m having trouble. And as a result I occasionally post something vague on my social media. Usually facebook.

So really I think the weird tie-up of this odd ramble is to simply say, before you make fun of someone for that trend of behavior–give it a little thought first. You’ll know them better than I do, so I’ll leave the final judgement of how to respond up to you–but from my own experience… it’s an attempt to reach out… without really knowing how to go about it. Or it’s something I actually can’t talk about–but need to vent out the emotion so it doesn’t linger and percolate.

Yes, there are people who may just be looking for attention. But I think most of the time someone just needs to talk and isn’t sure how to start the conversation.

Reality Not Withstanding

So this piece was originally submitted to the Great American Short Screen Play Contest on June 17th, 2012. It was very well received and I even won second place but had to decline the scholarship since it still was not enough to pay for classes (especially since I would have had to cut my hours down at work extremely in order to take them).

Still, I had a lot of fun writing it, it was a great experiment and experience and one day it will likely find itself in a full length script. Enjoy!

Reality Not Withstanding

by Kiri Callaghan

EXT. A PARK – EVENING

FADE IN ON A COUPLE WALKING BESIDE THE LAKE, WE JOIN THEM IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR CONVERSATION.

MARK, a charming young attorney, is walking side by side with a young pink-haired woman (ELLE). They are both dressed to the nines.

MARK

…It’s certainly nothing like television. You almost never end up defending someone who’s actually innocent. I’m not saying I don’t agree everyone deserves the right to representation… I just wish it wasn’t me that had to provide it half the time.

ELLE

So why do you do it?

MARK

Paycheck is a paycheck.

ELLE

I bet that’s what hookers tell themselves.

MARK laughs.

ELLE nudges his arm with her own.

ELLE

Thank you, again, for dinner.

MARK

Was it too much?

ELLE

Are you kidding? I cleaned my plate. It was like making up for all those months in college when all I had was cup o’ noodles.

MARK

(laughing)

No, I mean, was the restaurant too much? I’m never sure if a place is too fancy for a first date.

Elle crosses her arms subconsciously as the night chill starts to set in.

ELLE

Nah, it was nice. I liked it. I don’t get to be fancy too often. Gave me an excuse to try out my new dress.

MARK

You mean HAILEY COMET: SPACE DETECTIVE doesn’t have a cocktail hour?

ELLE

Surprisingly, no. Well, not officially, anyway. For a few of my co-stars, I think it’s the last five minutes before we’re needed on set.

MARK laughs and removes his coat, draping it over her shoulders.

ELLE

You’re not what I expected, though.

MARK

What were you expecting?

ELLE

I don’t know… A weirdo?

MARK

A weirdo?

ELLE

I don’t know a lot of grown men who’d recognize me out of costume!

MARK

You have very distinctive hair.

ELLE

It’s not natural.

MARK

(feigning shock)

You’re kidding.

(Beat)

Plus, my daughter’s crazy about your show, so your face is sort of all over her room.

ELLE stops walking abruptly.

MARK

Just her room. I promise I’m not a creepy stalker.

ELLE

You have a kid.

MARK

I do have a kid.

(beat)

Is that a problem?

ELLE

…Yeah. It’s a problem.

MARK

You don’t like kids?

ELLE

I love kids.

MARK

Then where’s the problem?

ELLE

Because I’m going to have to meet her eventually.

MARK

That’s a problem?

ELLE

Yeah, that’s big fucking problem.

MARK

She’s going to love you–she already loves you.

ELLE

No, she already loves Hailey.

MARK

What?

ELLE

What’s her name?

MARK

Amanda.

ELLE

And how old is Amanda?

MARK

She just turned five.

ELLE nods and looks out toward the lake.

ELLE

Did you ever have a hero when you were a kid? Someone you idolized?

MARK

Spider-man, I guess.

ELLE

When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with The Little Mermaid. I knew the songs by heart before I knew what even half the words meant. My mom made me an Ariel costume for Halloween and I wore that stupid red wig until it was ratty. My room was covered in shells and fish and every damn piece of merchandise you could think of. So when my seventh birthday rolled around and my mother announced we were going to Disneyland, I was… ecstatic.

MARK

(unsure)

Yeah, of course…

ELLE

And we went and it was wonderful and I got to meet Ariel and I felt like my little heart was going to burst. I’d never been so happy.

(beat)

But then later I saw Ariel after a parade and I snuck away from my parents to follow her back into the cast area. Do you have any idea what happens backstage at Disneyland?

MARK

No.

ELLE

Things a seven-year-old should never see.

MARK

…are you saying you’ll do unspeakable things in front of my daughter?

ELLE

Not intentionally.

MARK

What?

ELLE

No, I mean–I lost my hero that day. Ariel wasn’t Ariel–she was just some horny college kid trying to make ends meet between semesters. It was like realizing Santa wasn’t real all over again.

ELLE turns back to face MARK.

ELLE

Mark, I’m not an intergalactic pop star.

MARK

I know that.

ELLE

Amanda doesn’t. …And I can’t be the one who breaks that to her. She deserves that suspension of disbelief. And she finds out you’re dating her hero…

MARK

…then I’m banging the mermaid.

ELLE

Yeah…

MARK

We really can’t do this, can we?

ELLE

We really can’t.

MARK

But… Can’t we just see if this even had a chance before we write it off?

ELLE

And do what? Sneak around hoping she’s going to grow out of me? She’s five, my viewer base ranges four to fourteen.

MARK

Yeah, but…

ELLE

And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to lie to your own kid.

MARK sighs, feeling defeated.

MARK

No… I really don’t. Wow. This… Really sucks.

ELLE

I’m sorry.

MARK

No, you’re right. My daughter comes first.

ELLE

You’re a good dad.

MARK

I don’t know if I’d say that. I am still imagining doing unspeakable things to her hero. Reality not withstanding.

ELLE smiles and removes his coat from her shoulders. She holds it out to him.

MARK

So what now?

ELLE

Now you head back to your car and I call my friend to come pick me up and we go back to our lives pretending tonight never happened.

MARK

…No, I don’t like that. What are my other options?

ELLE pointedly looks at the coat in her hand which MARK finally takes.

ELLE

Good night, Mark. It would have been great to meet you.

Elle starts off down one path towards what looks like the main street.

MARK

I would have had a great time tonight.

ELLE turns around and smiles softly.

ELLE

Best date I never had.

CAMERA ZOOMS UNTIL BOTH OF THEM ARE AT THE EDGE OF EITHER SIDE OF THE FRAME, HIGHLIGHTING THE EMPTY SPACE BETWEEN THEM.

ELLE and MARK share a look before ELLE breaks the tension and walks out of frame.

MARK lingers and then turns back to walk the way they came, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his suit jacket pockets, coat tucked under one arm.

FADE OUT

 

You’ll notice things are different

We’re overhauling everything!

Thanks for your patience! =D

Happy Thought Thursday 10/4/2012

This is a poem I wrote several years ago, during some writers block. I just started writing and this came out. It was an exercise a creative writing teacher taught me. It seems to shake the writers block for me.



Thoughts on a page


Make it move faster
Think like the master poet
Words into pictures
Pictures into words
Drink it like a long slow kiss
Be mesmerized by its shape
Sink your teeth in
Tasting its refreshing essence
Slowly crawling down your throat
Not quenching your appetite
Starving for more.


—



—

“Knowing I’m waking up next to you makes coffee unnecessary.”

—

The ‘Happy Thought’ Project is an on-going collaborative work focused on the little things that make life worthwhile and make us smile. The goal is to create a collection of artwork (photography, drawings, writing) that bring hope and comfort. When enough content has been gathered, I would like to bind them into a book and donate whatever proceeds are obtained to the Crisis Clinic.

What Kind Of Things Can I Submit?

I accept drawings, photography, quotes, poems and short stories.

Drawings and Photos should be accompanied by a small amount of text (whether to explain or add to the picture) and should be something you personally own the rights to.
Poems should not be previously published.
Short stories should be no longer than half a page in a word document and should not be previously published. I use ‘short story’ loosely. This should be a personal story etc.
Quotes may be famous quotes but please credit them appropriately.
Some editing may be done to make sure spelling/punctuation is correct but for the most part I will try to keep all writing in tact as it is sent to me.

How Do I Submit Work?

For the time being, please send all Happy Thoughts to happythoughts@kiricallaghan.com

Can I Submit More Than One Thought?

Yes!

Is This Anonymous or Credited?

I would like to leave that up to you. If you would like to be credited for your thought, I will use only FIRST NAMES or (for the time being) Twitter handles. When we get closer to turning this into a physical book, we may use only first names.

Please indicate in your email submission if you would like to have your name mentioned. If there is no indication either way, I will assume you wish to remain anonymous.

Happy Thought Thursday: 9/20/2012

It’s that time again! Happy Thought Thursday!

I miss you less and less. My friends were right. I’m better without you.

—

I remember the day I found you my little stray, those big brown eyes and cute little ears.  Now, ten years on I couldn’t live without you. I love the way you still greet me at the door with big wet smooches, the way your furry little butt waggles when you’re excited and the way you eagerly jump in bed every night and snuggle close.  It’s adorable how you look into the kitchen helplessly when your hungry, the way you put your head in my lap when I’m watching Ellen and the way your legs twitch when you sleep like your running.  I’m so glad you are in my life.

-Stephanie

Ummm…Happy Anniversary to you too, Sweetheart

-Your adoring husband Brad

—

“Happiness is rediscovering your turtle slippers after an unexpected 3 mile walk in heels.”

—

The night before my first day of graduate school orientation, I had a near emotional and mental breakdown.  I worried if I had picked the right school.  Had I truly given the other schools I had been accepted to enough consideration?  The program I had chosen is one of the top ten programs in the U.S.  What if I couldn’t hack it?

 

After the welcome luncheon, I was still in a state of near panic.  There had been a PhD student at my table who went to John’s Hopkins before starting this program.  Another student went to Berkeley.  Yet another student came from Yale and a handful of them came from Stanford.  Who was I to think that I could compete at that level?

 

Consumed with self-doubt, I gingerly settled into my seat for my first-ever graduate-level lecture.  Despite my trepidation, as soon as I discovered that the lecture would cover systemic, institutionalized, and individual racism, my entire disposition changed.  There are few things that can compare to discovering that you are in the same room as more than 100 other people who are all geeking out with you about racism.  Bet you never thought that could be the highlight of someone’s week.  Once that revelation hit me, I knew with complete certainty that I had made the correct choice.  With renewed confidence, I think I’m finally ready for grad school to start.  Now that’s what I call a happy thought.