Chronicles of Ashley Tompson: Episode #1

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Dear diary,

Ok, this already sounds stupid, but I must progress. Diary, my life is a flaming pile of shit on top of a flying pig with no hope of a safe landing. No really, I don’t know when I fell off track but I did, and I didn’t only fall off track, I fell off the track, down the mountain, got caught in a current and then shot off a waterfall. Today, I had an awakening that put all things in perspective. My 320lbs of weight, my life where I have 1 friend I see maybe once a month, and the people I talk to the most is my parents. My life as a 22 year old university graduate who has never been kissed and has no fucking clue what I want to do with my life.

My life full of ambition and great ideas that are buried by fatigue and mental health problems like, depression, anxiety, and low feelings of self worth. My life so full of issues that what I mentioned is just the start of the list. After said rude awakening that put everything in perspective, I did what any self respecting Gen X would do, I went to Google and the almighty Google wizard told me some weird shit, but the main thing that kept coming back up, apart from pictures of Ryan Gosling saying “You Go Girl”, was keeping a Diary. Google says a diary is a good way to let all this pent up emotion out and after today’s day, I thought, why not start talking to a piece of paper. Really, what could it hurt? Well I mean I am at 2 paper cuts but that’s beside the point. Let me get to today’s events and all this will make some more sense.


“You did what?” I ask her in shock still wiping the sleep out of my crusty eyes. I slept a lot lately, like 3 times a day so this wasn’t too unusual.

“I decided to go to a spiritual retreat in the forest surrounding Blair mountain and because technology is not allowed I need you to drop me off. You know I twisted my knee, I wouldn’t be able to walk there from the car drop off and I’m too far away from the shuttle bus.” Mom says.

“Ughhh” I said. I was the opposite of spiritual and here I would be going into WooWoo town, and I meant that with the upmost respect, I loved my mom, I respected her beliefs but I didn’t find going to drive her an hour and half away as something enjoyable or something I remotely wanted to do.


Of course what I wanted didn’t have jack on my sense of duty as a daughter or on my mom’s nagging pleas. So here we are on a swerving road up a mountain, my mom sitting next to me, her eyes closed and her arm out the window as she soaks up the sun. She looks like one of those plants leaning into the sun’s rays and I don’t think she would be offended by that if I told her. She is a tree hugger after all, and I meant that quite literally. While she does her plant thing, I’m eating chips, which my mom pretends not to see, and holding the steering wheel in a death grip. My anxiety spikes up and down but when it does I eat more chips and try to tune in to the music drifting from the speakers. Today was not a good anxiety day, it was a “what the “f” do I do with my future now that I graduated” kind of day with a splash of “I should eat more chips because it’s the only thing that fills the void kind of day”. My mom beings her arm back in the car and turns to smile at me.

“Want me to put the chips away sweetie?” she asks

I give her a glare which makes her bite her lip and look at me in concern, I hated that look.

I stuff as many chips as I can in my mouth in a last attempt to fill that hole in my soul and then hand her the bag with force.

“Fine, Take it” I tell her through a mouth of half eaten chips. She takes the bag quickly, as if afraid I’ll try and take it back but then drops it a moment later with a “WATCH OUT!” I look up and my heart skips a beat as I see a deer in the middle of the road. The car swerves, chips fly everywhere, and I swear I see my life start to flash in front of my eyes, and then life pauses for one chilling moment as the car approaches the huge ass dear. My heart sputters, chips hit me in the face, and I can’t help but feel that collision and injury is imminent.


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