Chantal Christie Weiss
Bio
I serve memories and give myself up as a conduit for creativity.
My self-published poetry book: In Search of My Soul. Available via Amazon
Tip link: https://www.paypal.me/drweissy
Chantal, Spiritual Bad/Ass
England, UK
Stories (99)
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He Loved Porn More Than He Loved Me. Content Warning.
The discovery In the darkness of dawn, groggy, I prized myself up out of my cocoon-shaped duvet. I knew he'd already gotten up as I’d felt his warmth leave my side; he needed to get ready for his early morning shift. Eyes fighting to open, I leaned onto the door frame of the front room, and as my focus adjusted, I saw him kneeling in front of the armchair, slowly pleasuring himself.
By Chantal Christie Weiss6 months ago in Humans
I See Dead People
The memory of my first out-of-body dream is vague, as opposed to the lucidity of the myriad I have encountered since. I was seventeen and had been working twelve-hour night shifts, 7pm to 7am, and in the mornings, when I was finally home, I would collapse into bed and pass out from fatigue.
By Chantal Christie Weiss6 months ago in Psyche
Revisiting The Shame of My Sexual Assault . Content Warning.
I was sixteen when my sister’s boyfriend, fourteen years my senior, pushed me back and had sex with me. My sister, who also became his fiancée around that time, had been staying overnight in the hospital with an ectopic pregnancy. Her first or second, as I recall.
By Chantal Christie Weiss6 months ago in Humans
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 Weiss6 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 Weiss6 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 Weiss6 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 Weiss6 months ago in Humans
