.: Entry Four :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I am now, unemployed. So I did it. I quit my job. I had to. It was killing me, emotionally and physically.

I have experienced many forms of extreme stress. But this was different. This was the kind of stress that drains your body until you feel like a dead weight from dawn till dusk. This was the kind of stress that made you feel emotionally crippled and drained and so full of anxiety that it slipped into your dreams every night and ate you up there too. This was the kind of stress that pushed my mental health to its limits and sent me back to my counsellor.

People call me strong. This place, it made me feel weak. I have survived so much already, so much more than I should have. I don’t know how, but I lost my whole-ness. I felt less than half alive. I feel less than half alive still. Though that has more to do with the incomprehensible pain that is plaguing every moment. See in the real world. I have damaged a muscle or two. I am recovering, but it is slow progress. But in the world that matters to me, basically any other world but this. I am fine and I am healthy.

That’s the thing, about being a deliberate creator, you are always moving towards your desires. I want to be fine, I want to be healthy. So that is what I am, inside.

I resigned, I felt backed into a corner, it was my real power play. Stay and fight for something that was eating my soul alive. Or choose my health and happiness. Not all of my family understood that choice. Not all of my friends did either. I tried my best. And I think, on both sides of the coin, their side and mine, we tried to make it work. But the fit changed because people change and grow.

That’s the thing I have talked about with my counsellor. Growth. I am not the person I was this time last year. I learned the power my thoughts have, and now, I try to choose them wisely. See I know that there is something amazing and wonderful coming. Whether it is him, he who should not be named, or whether it is a break through when it comes to writing. Something impossibly awesome is coming.

See ever the optimist right?

My name is Elliot Parker. I am strong.

I am choosing all these better feeling thoughts. Where I was and where I am screams change. It screams growth. I used to live in my own pain, my focus was the pain and the hurt, and the fresh heartbreak. But now I am thankful for all that it taught me when I thought I couldn’t survive, because look at what happened. I survived. I changed. I have grown and changed so quickly that the emotional distance from the past to now, it feels like a chasm. I can’t go back; it can’t reach me. So yeah, I changed. I grew quickly and the mould that I used to fit into that they needed, I can no longer fit or fill that. That’s ok. I appreciate them for the change that they helped bring about.

I truly appreciate the dreams that it helped foster because all of this really did make one thing very clear to me. My health and my happiness are a priority. I am a priority. It is ok for me to be the priority.

My name is Elliot Parker, today I changed my life.

It’s not an exaggeration. One change fosters another, and that is where the next change appeared. My focus. I did something I haven’t been able to do in so long. I sat and read a book, the whole of my conscious day. I read a book, and I let myself enjoy it. No analysis. I told myself off for guessing the plot because I just wanted to read it and enjoy it. Just like I used to. Before this became my life. Before the power of suggestion, before the power of deliberate creation took over my life.

Today I suggested to the universe, not anything particular, just this one phrase “today, I want a good, happy energy to flow through me. I want a day of ease and peace.” Sure it had its moments. But as a whole it was delivered. Only the right interruptions made it through.

Ok, so I can’t call Jonas an interruption, unless I add a word. Jonas is a welcome interruption. While he may be a fountain of wisdom, he is also a fountain of humour and laughter. When I am told I did something good or great by him it honestly makes my day, because I know he means it sincerely. With some people, you can just tell. Want to know a secret? Jonas, he is an inspiration. Because he is an inspiration, he might, well actually he does appear in my stories. He can be pretty easy to spot if you know who you are looking for. And with the story I am planning… Jonas, he is a great curveball to change the direction and flow of the story.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I am addicted to stories, in particular, this damn book I’m reading. It’s so hard not to say “I know what’s going to happen, the plot is obvious”. But that is the problem I can say that about life. That is why I have been sort of, kind of, maybe, just a little bit, avoiding Clover. I’m sorry. I really am. But I know she is happy, she is getting on with a really good guy. And that is the problem. I am doing my best to resist spite. Proximity and exposure to Clover will not help me remain in control of my words. It will not help me create something good or great. It will not help me change the world in the right way.

.: Entry Three :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I had the dream, again.

It always happens the same, no matter where I am, what I am doing. I can be pulled away without my knowing. At first I didn’t understand.

I appeared in the room, dusty, crumbling, bare. Exposed brick work, floorboards. It looked unassuming, uninviting and downright shabby. Then it happens, the dust of the brick sort of crumbles to the floor. The floor ripples and rumbles and crumbles away. The wood breaks apart. Then they shoot up. Old, antique, battered bookshelves. They pop up from the tears in the floor. And there they are. Volumes and volumes of stories. Some have matching leather bound covers. Others, like this one have yellowed pages and faded covers, bent spines. They are loved.

When this first started, I would open a cover and begin to read the story, when I did that, I got so immersed, literally. I would be pulled into the story and, Robin’s he was the first. I had to climb his ships rigging to go up to the bird’s nest. I HATE HEIGHTS. But I got pulled back out before I completed his little challenge. Turns out I was just simply a stow away in his story. There are worse things to be.

Have you ever been hated by an author or writer? A little tip and guidance, never wrong a writer, we get our revenge in print. I am just as guilty. There are people in my stories I base on people I know or have met. Oh boy do I love hurting those characters.

ANYWAY… moving swiftly on.

My own anxiety slipped into this dream once. I was having lots of problems with work. A boss that I have a particular issue with burst through the door and started to yell at me. I kept telling myself that this is a dream. I can change a dream, surely I can? I know most people can’t but I can because I am me and I am strong. I can do this. I did it. I told her to leave, suddenly my comfortable sleepwear (leggings and a vest top) disintegrated and transformed. I had black jeggings on, a black lace vest top and black crop top underneath so a tiny hint of my tattoo was visible, and my favourite biker jacket. I told her to leave and the look on her face was priceless. She wanted to fight me. My own anxiety and agitation wanted to fight back and cripple me in a dream. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want it to win. Not again. When she left I noticed that the room was becoming clearer. More in focus.

The print of the title in the books was clearer, a little less soft on the edges. The leather bound books, the ones gilded in gold, the embossing, it became more tangible. The whole of the room had more texture. It had a smell. The air had the smell. That old book smell. There was a painting on the wall. For now, it just looked like the sea. But that was fine. The dream had become more real.

But this was new. I had more control. I was in control. I wanted a good dream, here it was. I had asked for a good dream before I fell asleep. And now, my dream was becoming clearer. I was pushing it forward, pushing the dream to progress to grow more. This change, the bleeding of my real life anxiety into my special place, my happy place this was new. And it had to mean something. Perhaps the intention I had entering my sleeping world was growing. Perhaps the inclination and the strength I have been summoning wasn’t just an “in the dream world” kind of thing. This was an adventure that I was asking for. This was a world that I had control in when I shouldn’t. I was breaking the rules.

That is when the phrase “you are a deliberate creator” began to make sense. I had heard it before. I had been told it before. I had never understood. But here I was in this dream, it had been the same dream for so long that it was a reassuring place, an untouchable safe place for me to just relax and not have to really worry or think. And I had changed it. Something I had never been able to do, I had never been able to turn right instead of left while climbing up the rigging which was something I was curious about, trying more than once if I could do it, just once. But here, I changed something big. I had done something big. I had created the change and then changed it again. I could alter the unalterable. I had done yet another impossible thing. First I had survived in the real world, more than once, something that was meant to but could have destroyed me.

My name is Elliot Parker, and I love to do the impossible.

The dream sort of dissolved while I made sense of it and came back into the waking world. I wanted to cling onto the dream refusing to open my eyes and face the day.

Admittedly, I didn’t get out of bed until the urge to pee was crippling. I kept trying to go back to the dream, but it had slipped through my fingers like sand.

But it was the deciding factor, aside from this dream, I have had nightmares, dreams, whatever they can be called; I have had full blown night terrors about work for so long that I am struggling to remember life without dreaming about work. I am a writer, plagued by dreams about a job that is most certainly not writing. Before this job, I had dreams about my stories, about my characters. Since that job, nothing but terrors of work full of anxiety. It has to stop.

.: Entry Two :.

My name? I am Elliot Parker. And today I made a mistake.

I am an idiot. Ok, no I’m not, but I kind of am. You see. I want my friends to be happy, I really do. But I also want to be happy. These two things, they don’t always go together. I wish they did though. So that stupid thing I did. I sort of introduced my friend to someone that I have what you could call a crush on. Clover is a nice girl really, but she does sort of leave a trail of broken hearts and scorned boys behind her.

It was an accident really. I wasn’t careful. I ended up introducing Clover and Stan; and they hit it off. He’s a good guy, a really good, sweet, kind guy. She needs someone decent, someone who isn’t the average douche bag. That’s where the problem came… I have two choices. I tell Stan about her past and what she really is like towards the men in her life; or, I tell her not to fuck up this time and to make a genuine effort with a good guy. I know what I really wanted to do. To tell him about the last few guys to give her attention. But when she is the best of herself, she could be a good match for him. I came too close to putting a knife in to go for what I wanted.

I didn’t do it.

My name is Elliot Parker. And I put her first.

I told her not to fuck up. This was a good guy. And honestly, it’s not the first guy I have wanted that she has set in her sights. The first one, she really fucked him up. He had trust issues before, but now, well, I can’t see him having a relationship for a very long time. A healthy relationship, to be specific, he has even more trust issues it seems. Years ago, he was sweet and kind. A different kind of Stan. But one I liked all the same. But he was what she wanted. I wanted her to be happy, so I walked away, just like I am now.

But to be honest, he’s not the guy to hold my true attention. Sure it smarts a bit, having a card taken off the table. It would smart more if he was the only thing that I wanted.

And other than the odd crush on a fictional character, guys seem to come and go quite a bit. There may just be a handful that have stayed in my life and will stay in my life. None of them are related to me either.

To be honest, I would quite happily retreat back into these other worlds that I love diving into. I could Netflix and chill on my own for a week straight and not give a damn. Though for me, it is more satisfying to read an entire book series in rapid succession, pretty much day and night. Those days, are ecstasy. Nothing like avoiding reality.

Truth be told, I want my safe place. The books and the stories. I am anxious. I really don’t want Clover to hurt Stan, or even vice versa. But now, it is out of my hands. They both deserve to be happy. If that is each other, then well, that’s fine with me.

I’m fine. I’m fine.

I hate that the itch and the urge to be bad is just there, on the tip of my tongue. I hate that it is so very easy for me to do something that I shouldn’t because it would cause a little ripple. But little ripples, they grow. Just like the ones I tell myself over and over again.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am fine. I am a good person.

I want to believe that I am a good person. But the temptation to be bad.

My name is Elliot Parker. No matter what I am, good or … bad, I am magical.

So perhaps I wanted to pair Clover and Stan up. To clear the cards on the table a little?

After all, mixed energy is bad energy. Bad energy grows quickly; the effects are much quicker to see. My indecision for Stan, cleared up quicker with competition, one that I won’t enter, for their happiness and for my own. I don’t want to cause a fight.

I made the mistake of crossing over two areas of my life. Now, I have to tidy up the mess, but I won’t, I mustn’t. They are adults. I can’t look after them all the time. They have to learn for themselves.

She better not fuck up.

Ok. I care about both of their happiness. It’s not like I can put some kind of anti fuck up device on them. I need that device if it existed for myself.

I keep telling myself that their happiness means more than my own. Its basic math. Two people’s happiness is greater than my own. Right? Right? WRONG. Stupid girl. I should be happy too. But they seem to be getting along. Interfering now, that is bad. If I interfere now it is done for no other reason than spite. Spite is bad. I am not bad. I am not bad.

I know Jonas and I joke, but I am not bad. We both know it. As wise as he is though, I can’t help but feel that there is a free spirit constantly surging through him. He is one of those people that I admire. He broke free of the rat race and did something he was passionate about. He does what he loves. His enthusiasm transcends in his work. His enthusiasm is contagious. For me, he is proof that it can be done, proof and wisdom that I can do it to. I can be everything that I want to be and do all that I want to do.

.: Entry One :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am not your average woman. I like to say I am a quarter of a century old, it feels more fun to me.

I spent my life reading stories, living in other worlds, I never not once thought I would be living a story myself. For me, other worlds, they were an escape. Now they are my living nightmare. I used to read as a child you know. For fun. No kids I knew loved it as much as I did. No kids I knew actually requested veggies to go with their dinners either. But here I am. I ate all those damn veg and I am still five foot two. Don’t believe the lies they tell you that it makes you grow up taller. Just eat the damn veg. Wait! I revise that, eat a balanced diet.

See, there is more to this story than what meets the eye. I have to be careful what I say, I acquired a… gift. And now? Well… now I am trying to learn how to use it.

Like I said before; I spent my life reading stories. Hiding. I spent my whole life in all these other worlds. Somehow I went from a reader to a writer. Now, I create worlds. I guess I always have. But now, I am learning to be careful with what I think, and say, and do.

My name is Elliot Parker. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I want to forget.

But sometimes, just sometimes. I am bloody brilliant.

I tried to lie to myself once. Ok more like a hundred thousand times. I tried to live in denial. But deep down… I always knew. I wasn’t right. I was different. It took a long time to accept that and an even longer time to embrace that.

So I bet you want to know about my gift?

I will get there. I promise.

When I started writing, I started to look at the world. I started to look at people. I noticed things, small things at first. The nuances of a facial expression. Soon I noticed more in a behaviour pattern. But it got worse. I stopped enjoying reading so much, when I noticed I was predicting plot twists and outcomes from the first few chapters. TV? Well, I could ruin a soap plot before it even began to develop. Slowly even that trickled into life. That’s when things got harder to gloss over.

I noticed patterns in those close to me, I predicted the future before it happened, then slowly I tried to experiment to change it. To change the outcome. And it worked. I had started to become a monster. That’s what I am. I know what people want to hear, I know what they want me to say, what they need me to say. “It’s ok”, but it’s not. Not anymore.

I started to change the lives of the people I cared about. Sure they had free will. If you can call it that. I didn’t always know what I was doing. What outcome I really wanted. I’m what you could call self-destructive. I’m not going to lie. Well. Actually, yes, I am. If I know what people want to hear, it means I know what they want. I know what they want from me. They always want too much. It means I know more than I should. It means I pick up on the unseen energy like an instinct and in a split second I can tell a lie, in the other half of that second I have to decide if I want to push for the truth or accept it for what it is. Now? I only let one of two people lie to me. One of them is myself. One of them, I love, unconditionally… That doesn’t mean I will always accept that lie and let it grow. All lies grow.

I keep telling myself I am a good person. When really, there is the greatest capacity with in me to be bad. And oh, how I want to be bad. I want to live without the consequence of guilt or regret. But that doesn’t happen for people like me. When I do bad, I feel it, it haunts me, in my sleep.

I have this dream. As a writer, I always say a character has a life of their own, they have free will, to a degree. The characters in stories, they are real, they have lives, and they write stories and they have dreams too. I couldn’t understand, in this dream I mean. I had been transported to this boarding school, as a teenager. I found myself in a magical world that transformed and inside it, thousands of books would appear crammed inside of bookshelves. That’s when I first realised the power in a character of a story, a world other than this. I saw the thimble from Peter Pan and the tiny clothes from Alice. That’s when I saw Robin’s book. The cover was green and the pages were old. I saw his dream. He wanted to run away with Marian and become a notoriously philanthropic pirate. Who’d have thought it? That room with the books. That’s where I met him. Another one like me. A creator of worlds. A story teller. A writer.

He said his gift was being an impossible thinker. He loved the impossible and finding a way to achieve it. Like me. This room with the books was a secret. Our secret. This place, was his, this was his spirit dream. His name, he said Adrian Kraig. I don’t know how he knew I was different. Just that I was. I still don’t want to believe what I know. I try to fight it every single day. Like I was never meant for this life. For this world sometimes. But what I do know, is I am what could be called a powerful creator.