Chantal Christie Weiss
Bio
I write memoirs, essays, and poetry.
My self-published poetry book: In Search of My Soul. Available via Amazon, along with writing journals.
Tip link: https://www.paypal.me/drweissy
Chantal, Spiritual Badass
England, UK
Stories (86)
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I Sedated My Self-Hate with Self-Destruction
My mother once told me that I was such a pretty newborn that she felt moved to place a purple flower at the head of my crib. I was taken aback by her words since, to me, she was a woman who wasn’t especially maternal. I’d grown up with a sense of ugliness and felt a mistake.
By Chantal Christie Weiss5 months ago in Psyche
Wishing For Parents
Feeling the frigid, fierce force of the loss of control: my flat, my car, and just recently, my computer — all vanished, all gone. I stand silently still, summarizing and simulating the same old stories and thoughts, wondering why I am unable to wilfully wheedle out, through these wuthering heights, access to my true potential, even though I’ve shovelled so deep, and deeper down, into an already burrowed ground.
By Chantal Christie Weiss5 months ago in Poets
You Filed Me Away
I remember your face playing out alien emotions, unable to authentically see my aching heart. How I once adored you, but the bleeding throbs that ricocheted from your rejection ruptured a long time ago. Now there's just a silent stoic simmering rage, repressed into shoots that rotted my roots, embedded into the edge of the threads of my life.
By Chantal Christie Weiss5 months ago in Poets
Ageing Like a Fine Wine
“Your 40s are good. Your 50s are great. Your 60s are fab. And 70 is fucking awesome!” ~Helen Mirren I found it surreal the day I turned fifty, seeing those two numbers standing to attention: five and nought, splashed all over my birthday cards. It felt curiously deceiving.
By Chantal Christie Weiss5 months ago in Humans
The Promotion
Bella had grown bored with her job at the accountancy firm; she'd worked there for far too long. During her days, she felt restless, watching the clock and thinking about her evenings of being home and chilling with Oscar, who, like clockwork, would be waiting for her at her front door.
By Chantal Christie Weiss6 months ago in Fiction
