Writing in the Vineyard Part 1

Trish Brennan
Jul 24, 2017 · 2 min read

Feelings of loneliness flit all around me as butterflies kiss the vines and sweet bluesy music plays softly through the air. Everywhere is beauty for all the senses except my heart which feels dead and yet how can it be because how would it hurt so much if it were?

People chat at picnic tables sipping their wine and laughing while I sit nearby contemplating my pain and my fucking mental illness which is starting to choke the desire for life out of me, which in essence IS choking the life out of me and sometimes everyone I love circles the drain alongside of me. Or so it feels.

Right this moment I feel it in my throat as if it were alive and if I opened my mouth to scream it would leap like a raging thing and choke all the grapevines by wrapping itself all around their woody stems.

Now I hear a horse neigh from the neighbouring (no pun) farm and it reminds me of how weak I am because that horse has a voice much more powerful than I will ever have or be. It also reminds me of the surges of love and joy I would feel just from the sight, smell and touch of these glorious animals and I wonder if I will ever feel those things again. I should probably go in search of the horse to test if my heart still beats but I know I won’t for I am too afraid.

Trish Brennan

Mother of Four, Master of None. Oh. And I write stuff.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade