When life gives you lemons, they expect you to accept it.

When life gives you lemons, they expect you to handle it.

When life gives you lemons, you're told to shrug it off.

When life gives you lemons, you're supposed to have the strength to turn things around.

But life gave me too many lemons.

Too many lemons to accept.

Too many lemons to handle.

Too many lemons to shrug off.

Too many lemons to find the strength to turn things around.

Instead I ate those lemons.

I threw those lemons.

I was crushed under the weight of those lemons.

And it made me bitter.

It's that time of the month when your body decides to sacrifice the unborn in a flood of blood and agony. You're internally bleeding, overly emotional, doubled over in cramps, bloated and fat - and crave chocolate more than usual. 

It feels like a hive of wasps have been injected into your uterus to clean it out for the next month.

Or like a heavy weight champion has just thrown his belt winning ring side blow into your gut, and your bowels took the full force of the blow. And you've been left alone to deal with it yourself, like every woman does. 

Rain was thundering down on our old tin roof. I couldn't sleep. It wasn't because the rain was loud, or because the wind was howling against my window. Even the thunder wasn't enough to keep me awake. It wasn't because I thought our old shed house was going to cave in at any moment. 

I couldn't sleep because tomorrow was the most important day of my life, and I hadn't told anyone about it. My dad had asked, only just tonight at dinner, if I'd had anything big planned the next day. 

I wanted it to be my little secret.

I'd love to make it home but my instruments just went black. All readings gone - engine failure imminent. I was dead in the water, but still breathing.

I kicked the main console and swore to the heavens. Jack was going to have my hide for this; if I ever made it back alive.

I glanced at my watch. Old analog - a gift from my father before he died - at least one thing was still working. But it was 5:53pm and counting. Sunset was closing in, and once it went dark there'd be no hope of a rescue until dawn. No one goes out on the sea after dark. No one was willing to risk it. But I'd been stupid, thought I could make it in time. Hell of a time to be wrong.

Hurrying to the emergency supply box, I threw the lid off and riffled through bandages and flares, and first aid gear, to find the dated radio at the bottom. It weighed at least a kilo. I mentally crossed everything that the damn thing would work.

Static, then a few clicks, before dying out with a bang. Something white and hot began to ooze out of the back compartment. Disgusted, I dropped the radio and wiped my hands on my shorts. I checked the time - 5:59pm. Sunset was due at 6:01pm, and it was never late.

The silence was deafening, pressing in on my ears as I strained to hear the first signs that they were coming. I could hear my own panicked heartbeat pounding against my rib-cage, ready to burst. My breath was anxious and impatient.

Then I heard it, so sudden, and closer than I had been expecting. Not more than 100 meters away at the most. That spine chilling caterwaul. Dread seeped into every crevice of my body. The fear that gripped me made me feel sick to the stomach. I felt dizzy, sweaty and weak at the knees. I wasn't ready to die.

There it was again. The moan of the dead. The souls of all sailors lost at sea. I knew they would come. It was only a matter of time. Come for me like they'd come for the others. To take me back to the sea. I checked the time.

A sudden thud against to side of my craft knocked me off balance, and I let out a small scream.

They were here.

It feels like you’re falling.

It feels like you’re walking down some stairs, and your foot misses a step. It’s that moment when your heart skips a beat and your stomach leaps into your throat. You panic. You’re scared that you’re not going to be okay.

And then you find your footing and you catch your breath, and you know you’re alright. Except in this case you don’t find your footing. You’re stuck like that. And you’re not okay. But everyone else thinks you are.

You can even trick yourself into thinking you are. You can forget about it for a while. You distract yourself with games, movies, TV, and friends. And then all of a sudden it creeps up on you when you least expect it. Like everything was fine, walking down those stairs, and suddenly you miss a step. But instead of finding your footing, you go crashing down to the bottom. And you’re left there broken on the floor and alone.

You’re reminded that you weren’t okay to begin with, you were just pretending. You forgot, and now you have this horrible reminder that that you’re a fraud.

The bruises are on the inside, and it feels like you’re still falling.