[ wearing Dunnes tuxedo jacket, TopShop necklace ]
Photos by Allyssa Heuze
There are mornings when you don't wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but on the wrong side of existence. Those are the mornings when the only option is to seek refuge in the warmth and darkness under your sheets. When the only thing your stomach can handle is a cigarette and a flood of tears. And when absolutely anything verbal thrown at you can quickly turn from comforting to soul-shattering.
These are the mornings when everything around you feels like it is moving too fast, and you are caught in the middle, curled up into a ball, eyes forced shut in silent hysteria.
Last night I unintentionally revisited the past and was surprised by how raw and open to taunting my wounds still are. It hasn't really dawned on me until recently, that I had made the mistake of disregarding some of the pain I was feeling in the past, and how I have therefore shot myself in the leg by now having to allow myself to have my days taken over by this seemingly forgotten sadness. It is as if I had skipped the task and danced around the process in such a convincing manner, that I myself am taken aback by the intensity and alarmingly brutal resurrection of all those feelings I had tried to convince myself didn't exist. Now I stand here, puzzled, apprehensive and perplexed beyond words and I have but an idea of how to make any of it go away. The only seemingly obvious option is to wait and allow time to work its wonders. Oh what a vicious process this is all turning out to be….
It's just all so fucking infuriating.