The Story of You and I

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Lindsay Lohan for Terry Richardson's Diary

TRUTH

I was inspired to write this blog after I hit rock bottom last year.

I was drowning. I had just returned from New York and was confined to my bed. The curtains drawn, I could barely make out what lay on the floor beneath me. I had just been on a manic spending spree and accumulated a room full of material possessions which at the time I had blindly convinced myself would make me happy – how wrong I was! I had barely unpacked my bags before I was rejecting phone calls from the debt collection agencies. All these 'possessions' only made my already cluttered room even more cluttered and added an extra load of pressure to my bank account that i clearly didn't need and phonecalls I had no time for.

For six long months I laid in this mess day & night. I cared for nothing. That was until I was on the border of eviction. It was move back home - not even an option in this state - or become homeless or get some strength and find a job. A job it was.

Otherwise I could have comfortably spent a very long time in bed with nothing more than my Xanax and my imac. Youtube had become a steadfast friend as had blogs.

Life was not good. I was broken. I didn't want healing. I didn’t have energy. I was convinced the world was an evil place and I wanted no part of it. If I didn’t have such a strong conviction I probably would have had ten Xanax instead of the one I was having and put an end to a lifetime of disappointments. Joy had left my body. It was nowhere to be found. The only reason I held on was the Psalms, one scripture was all my mind could bear, but somehow I had faith that God would make it better. I had a tiny bit of faith. It wasn't enough to get me out of bed, but it was enough to limit my xanax to one instead of ten and just hold on - stay with God. And that is more than enough when you are clutching a way out of this world and life in your hand.

The only time I left my bed was when I awoke from my drug induced sleeps. Usually around 12pm. I would go to Gertrude & Alice to collect my morning coffee and indulge in some reading. This seemed to bring my mind some temporary joy and much needed distraction from my life. Which was close to non-existent.

I FELT like I was the only person in the entire universe to encounter such bitter disappointments and hardships. I felt so alone. No one in my world understood how someone who had the world at their feet, had chosen to lay in bed instead of make an effort to make things better. Truth be told. I had tried and tried and tried and after years of holding everything together, and endless pursuits of trying, someone had come along and pulled lightly on that string and suddenly everything had come undone. That very string I had wrapped around my own hands for so long, holding on tightly was now unravelling right before my very eyes. I could do nothing to stop it.
It was like I was re-living every disappointment, betrayal and hurt that I had pushed to the back of my mind my whole life. Suddenly I could try no more. I was done. I couldn't stop the ball from rolling.

It was during one of these self loathing days that I was sent a link to a blog with a little message saying– 'You should read this blog – she reminds me of you' - well i guess you left me some hope didn't you?

In this blog I found comfort.

The writing was filled with the truth.

Disappointments, regrets, tragedies, all put into words that I needed to hear at a time when I could feel and see nothing more than my own emotions, spitting through the seams, coming out of my pores. It was comforting to know someone else had experienced a similar pain. Suddenly I didn’t feel alone in my struggles, I found comfort in her writing.

It was comforting to know that even she had spent countless days and nights in a dark room with piles of clothes suffocating her, numbness had invaded her body like it had mine.
Most importantly, it brought me HOPE. It brought me hope because she was real. It brought me hope because I suddenly didn’t feel like a victim, I didn't feel ashamed that I had lost control of my life, I didn't feel like the only person to have suffered in this world, to have been dealt a bad card or two. It gave me hope because as hurt as she had been she was now OK. And if she had survived the battles. I could too.

It was just music to my ears to hear truth when I had been blinded by lies.
It brought a much needed companion when I wanted to see nobody - this blog became my friend, my encouragement,
And I guess that is why I have chosen to write. To express my feelings, my experiences, my heartaches and everything in between (and be as raw as I possibly can - if it's too depressing/raw for you - click the x in the top right hand corner and you will read the words no more). When so many people paint pretty pictures of a grandoise life - see facebook for reference - out there someone is searching for the truth. Someone is crying, someone is hurting, someone is drowning in loneliness. Someone just needs to hear something that is not filled with moet and cavier and exclusive parties.
(I mean I am sure I will at some stage post pretty pictures - let's not contradict myself here- BUT.... I also want to paint a picture that depicts reality - which isn't always pretty pictures, lets be real).

I hope it helps someone in the world. Somewhere who feels like another day is one too much, who feels like only bad things happen to them, loneliness invades and takes over, and you don’t want to push through, you are done. You feel so alone.
I am here to tell you, it’s worth holding on you will come out shining on the other end- and to remind you - sweetheart you are not alone on this journey - You really are not - reach out and you will see someone is waiting to come alongside you and just walk with you as you try and figure it all out.

*And a huge thank you to my steadfast friend Rachel Kara who never stopped encouraging me. Rachel your words have been like sunshine on a cold winters day. Thank you Thank you Thank you for your encouragement and never ending love and support throughout it all. This blog wouldn't be started without you. And even if no one reads it, it's therapeutic for me, just to execute my thoughts and my life somehow. xx I love you dearly xx

Days Gone By

He loved the way her eyes would burst wide open whenever he walked into the room, the way she always smiled when he was around. Even when her world had obviously been crashing, she always had time to stop and listen to him. To laugh at his senseless lame jokes. 

How he loved her smile, it was enchanting, even though these days she rarely smiled, when she did, it warmed his heart, there was something in her smile that brought him comfort, it made him feel like he belonged there, with her, like her smile was entirely intended for him. And in that moment he couldn’t think of anything more that he would like to do than to take her in his arms, and press his lips against hers,and with that gesture express how much he loved her, how he longed for so long to just passionately embrace them.....

He wanted to tell her how special she was. Tell her the truth, about how he felt towards her. How happy she had made him. How he felt like a teenager without a worry in the world. Being with her took him back to his childhood, growing up on the sunshine coast, where nothing mattered but getting grubby in the sand, and dragging sand through the house, the laughter of his family that filled the home, the days filled with surf and sunshine, dinners spent around the family table, eating and laughing, when the family was one and the simplicities of life were the most enjoyable and wonderful times in his world. When money and greed hadn't ruled his world. When life has been full of love and laughter.

Those days, he thought. They were precious, when people didn’t care about the fame or the money, they were the days when he was just a nobody. But with her he WAS a nobody, yet the way she loved him, made him feel like an incredible somebody. The way he loved who he was around her, relaxed and easy going, without a care in the world. Free to drag sand through the house, free to throw off his shoes, and run around bare foot, free to just experience life without a care in the world.  that is who he REALLY was. That was the him, the him he had lost all these years ago, all these years of pretending to be somebody else, playing a role, a character, someone the world wanted him to be, yet so far from the person he was created to be.

Finally after all these years of emptiness, he had found himself again - the one he didn't even realise he had lost. He had now rediscovered life's meaning and it was all because of this girl. This girl standing in the room, with her back against the wall, crouched down, her head tilting to the ground, her eyes filled with a look he had not recognised before, a look of fear, a look of pain. Engrossed in her thoughts, turning the beads on her silver bracelet, loosely wrapped around her tiny wrist. So tender and fragile she looked. He wanted to pick her up and hold her, hug her tell her, he would protect her, he wouldn't leave her. ever. But he knew those words would be too much for her to hear, not now he thought. I can't do this now. She isn't ready to hear it. And if he were to be truth to himself he knew those words could be the end of their friendship and right now, losing her friendship was the last thing he wanted.

He gazed out of the window, keeping within his thoughts, but somehow, knowing that one day, everything would have to come to the surface, one day he would have to acknowledge their friendship, these emotions. Her.

© Days Gone By - Abigail Rose

3 Photos above by photographer: Paul Samokhvalov.

The Price Of Love

'What would you care?' he said. His words cold and empty.

‘Because…because I …’ she started to respond....

‘I just would…..’

'Tell me - tell me!!  why? why would you care?’ He said. Realising he sounded quite bitter and frustrated.

She seemed so cold. He thought. So distant – hollow even. Like nothing mattered to this girl. Did she even have feelings? Did she even feel what he had felt? Was he about to find out?
'Tell me? Go on...'he asked. 

Silence filled the room....

He was prepared to walk out the door and not look back. He would leave knowing it was not anything more than a mere friendship. He knew by tiptoeing out silently, he would lose the one thing he had cared so much for, but what use was it if she didn't feel the same anyway? He would lose her either way.

It was like in that moment, in that room, there was nothing more between them than a dear friendship. That she cared for nothing more than being his friend he thought. and that was it. Wasn't it? Had he seen something she hadn't. Had he felt something she had not???? Would he ever know. Or would it simply remain a memory, something he would just shut out after today.

Why would I care, she thought - Why would I care...she knew exactly why she would care, she had so much to say,  BUT yet she remained silent.

.In that moment all she wanted to do was to throw her journal at him, have him read every word, every word that she was unable to speak, every word which was now floating around in her brain, loosely, ready to be executed, ready to tell him why she cared.

Page after page filled of words about him, sylabbles and characters all tied in to form words about HIM. He had filled every thought of hers, this very boy standing on the opposite side of the room, staring blankly into the wall. Hurt. Hurt by the words she was unwilling to say.Unable to say. Hurt because he felt something for her and was now starting to think was all in his mind.

The journal pages overflowed with the way she felt, the love, the pain, the adventure, one page was never enough for him, words would never be enough. She had written so much, yet it still wasn't enough, how could she have written so much about one person and still have so much to say. There was still so much that was unwritten, a story between them that was yet to be told, a future even, a life together. The way he always made her smile, his laugh, his jokes, the way he cared, his caring sensitive soul, his incredible sense of humour, the way he mattered so much to her. The words lingered again in her mind - she knew without looking at the journal, she knew every word that was written in that journal, she knew how she felt....

Silence had descended upon the room, two people now in opposite corners of the room, each one alone with their thoughts, miles away from each other, yet the thoughts remained the same, though neither of them would ever know.

Their eyes met for a moment, catching himself, he turned around and faced the wall, the dark brick wall.

He felt stone cold. Nothing mattered to her - did it? She didn't care.Neither would he.

She walked over and sat in the corner of the room, her head tilted and eyes facing the ground, filled with pain and fear, and ..... the ....desire to just inflict her love upon him. Instead she sat there, twisting the silver bracelet on her wrist, the wrist holding together that very arm and pulling it in so close to her chest, protecting herself, she was afraid, afraid of reaching out to someone else. She had been alone for so long. How could she expose her feelings now? How could she let anyone near her? And then...then...What if? What if? she thought what if what she had perceived to be love had not been the truth?

SILENCE

Silence was her barrier, her protection, it was the invisable shield protecting her heart. Words meant everything, they gave life and they also brought death, words would mean removing that shield becoming vunerable, exposing a raw and ready heart. The armour that had shielded her heart her whole life, it had remained secure, now she was too afraid to remove it, for if she did, SHE would lose her security, place it in the hands of another, and what if ...what if he wasn't ready to hold it carefully, if he wasn't ready to recieve it, .and take the greatest care of it and it's fragility. What if he wasn't? she thought. What if he threw them back at me.and what if? What if she thought...HE DIDNT FEEL THE SAME?

She knew a bare and exposed heart, is like a flower, it could be warmed by the love of the sun, or destroyed by the coldness of the snow, her heart faced the same risk that flower did each day, springing to life, not knowing what the day will bring, although the flower didn't have a choice, it sprung whether it lived or died was up to the weather. she however did. She didn't have to open it.

She could remain silent and protected.

The thought of a snow storm hitting her heart, the frost would kill it she was not so sure she wanted to take that risk. It was much safer to live behind the armour. To remain silent.

After a lifetime, it was a great risk, greater than anything she had ever risked before, greater than the risk of losing her life, for she had lived with a broken heart before and she was as good as dead, her heart contained everything...was she willing to open up and trust him with it? 

Here's me

 

It's been a tough few years, and I am coming out of the tunnel of darkness - one I never thought I would emerge from. But 

'It is for freedom that Christ has set us free' 

So I am free indeed.

Future welcome. I am so happy to play with you.

This is the happiest i have felt in almost two years - when the world I thougth I had built on a solid foundation, had instead been built closer to the shores than I thought. It took one wave to wash it over and have it crumble to nothing.

I have let go of the past and am no longer afraid of the future.  

I am going to focus on what I love doing best, playing dress ups and taking photos. Well more like what I enjoy doing to add sunshine into my life.

xx