Eloquence In A Question #3

After an impromptu Q&A session at Instagram, there were a few questions that really stood out to me. Since this is the third installment of the series, feel free to jump back to the first and second.

Here’s how it works: Have a look at the question, read my answer, and then do one or both of the following: tell me your response to the same question, respond to my answer with thoughts of your own.


What made you come up with such beautiful poems and stories? Sometimes it’s like you’re sitting next to me, giving advice. (*Slightly paraphrased)


Initially, I didn’t have much of a response other than gratitude and that I draw inspiration from everywhere. But then I saw a post by my friend Kindra here and felt I could elaborate appropriately.

Dealing with complex PTSD, constant anxiety, depression, and frequent migraines is like a living nightmare, but it’s worse when the people around me don’t understand what I’m going through. Oh, how many times have I heard, “You’re over reacting.”

Yes, I know my father is dead and won’t just show up in the middle of the night to prey on me like he did all those years when I was a child, but you know what? My body still thinks otherwise. Sometimes it’s hearing irrational thoughts: the worthlessness, failures, and over analyzing. But really, I’m battling years of learned behavior. Not even sleeping pills can convince my body that it’s okay to relax at night. Because, if I let down my guard for one second, if I’m not vigilant at all times, someone — no, some thing will get me.

Most people in my family didn’t fully grasp the severity of what I deal with until I was blindsided at a wedding reception in a restaurant’s wine room. A full on panic attack with tears and shaking hit me like a truck, and then finally they started to see how much something so small can end up pushing me over the edge. It was an eye opener for them.

Anxiety is no joke, and when you or someone you know is dealing with it, real support means everything. Which brings me to why I write, and why I give it away for free. So many people feel alone in their struggles. And they shouldn’t. Simple as that.

People feel as though I’m writing to them because they connect with my words on a level that, to them, feels very personal. And that’s because it is.

How about you?

Stay tuned for the next question.

Cycles Of Time

When the last of the summer’s warmth fades away, leading the way to winter, a distinct scent of wood smoke fills the air as colors begin to shift from lush greens to fiery reds, oranges, and pinks. Those desiccated leaves turn, weathering away through the pull of time and elements as the nights grow longer and colder.

It’s those worn and faded memories, etched into the face of every structure and every tree, that remind us that life happened. Whether it was happy or sad or somewhere in between, life happened and will continue to live on through the cycles of time.

And that is always a beautiful thing.

© Sarah Doughty

Madness at Sudden Denouement

I’m grateful for another opportunity to share my words with Sudden Denouement!

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

I’m more than ordinary madness. I’m not a temporary fix, but I am your devil in disguise. That desire setting you to burn like liquid fire flowing through your veins. Let me make you my paper and write all night with ink on my tongue, inciting those flames to grow. Then you’ll never want anything else.

Sarah Doughty is the wordsmith behind her website, Heartstring Eulogies, author of The Silence Between Moonbeams, her poetry chapbook, and the acclaimed Earthen Witch universe, a collection of novels and novellas, all offered for free (https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/useful-links/). To learn more about Sarah and her books, check out her website (https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/about) and Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13753138.Sarah_Doughty).

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Another Day

“I’m clinging
to the last bits
of my humanity,
like the world
is slowly draining
me of my life force.”

Sometimes I feel as though I’m clinging to the last bits of my humanity, like the world is slowly draining me of my life force. Like it’s a vampire and I’m the victim. I refuse to let go, no matter how much barbarianism I encounter. No matter how much humanity remains outside of myself. I remain. A little pale, and weak, but holding with all my might. And sometimes, that’s enough for the world to let me live to see another day.

© Sarah Doughty