20.4.14

#10. One Picture. One Story. || Suicidal.

No picture this time. No place to feast your eyes on except for the words that are being shared here. 

"Be brave and look at me in the eyes because I do exist, I do harm people in front of you, harm you, I do harm whole lives, whole families. I'm a bad choice even if some of you don't notice me."


 This is the tenth "One Picture. One Story", we are so happy of being part of this project, of seeing it grown to be, close to our hearts. Today we make an exception, for all those who are suffering and feeling alone, for all those who think they are alone, who think no one cares and who cry behind closed doors and hide behind long sleeves. Because we do care, your family cares, your friends care. This story we are posting here isn't ours to claim for, but since the moment we read it, we knew we had to share it. We really hope it reaches those who are in need of help, we really hope it helps them.

It's a story, heartbreaking, but a story. Source of the story: kittenzilla

Suicidal feelings.





  • Don’t ever say no one cares.
  • 12.4.14

    #9. One Picture. One Story. || Familarity & Unfamiliarity


    WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you.

     
    img source: Love-Athetics

             Grabbing my coffee from the usual Starbucks, I started walking the way I had been travelling since I started working at Dr. Nelson’s office, two and a half years ago. The steam warming my face, I drew a calm breath. The Dr. was generous with my holidays, if not with the pay. It was n’t a much crowded road, but then the small town of Woodtread didn’t boast many people either. Some people found the atmosphere morose , but the quiet suited me. I could do without claustrophobia.
         
         It was n’t until I reached 'my' place that I broke out of my reverie. I had stumbled upon this lone piece of  scenic beauty and had been captivated ever since. I leaned across the railing and gazed at the sea spread below me. It was beautiful. My father who had been a marine biologist for 20 years before he passed, always said that you cannot just look at a sea. You gather it with your eyes and you can never let go of the memory again. Maybe it was the sea that had forced me not to leave this place when I was fresh out of college, hunting jobs and drinking way too much tequila.

    6.4.14

    #8. One Picture. One Story. || The Dress.

    WARNING: Look carefully at this picture because it has so much to tell you.



              They say it is worth it, all the hard work and constant anguish is worth it. That all those tortuous months are repaid by a few minutes. That momentary happiness encroached to us is unique, in that window of time,  we are special and we are blessed to be able to possess that allurement. I believed it, I grew up with the thoughts of that special moment, 'my' moment, jostling in my mind, I grew up with the excitement of wanting to experience that kind of happiness, but now, after three years of forced smiles and faked obedience, I wasn't so sure and it is for that reason only, I am here, standing still in front of a door with a sign saying 'EXIT', ironies of life.

               I was hesitant.

            I was afraid of taking the wrong decision, my palms were sweaty but I felt that if I did otherwise I would lose myself forever. My body no longer belonged to me and that made me choke in the gloomy darkness that prevailed, uncomfortable to the bone. Feelings that were stuck in my head for quite some time now but which I wasn't able to get out of my mind.

            But not today.

          I had been chosen to be the showstopper, the model deserving enough to wear the dress that would close the show of the trendy fashion designer of the season and that privilege was taking its toll on me . Months of hidden anguish, intensive working out every day, diets, tests ... I had been torn apart to to fit into that dress. It seemed like the roles had been reversed and the dress had become a human being who had to find the perfect clothes, and those 'perfect' clothes were me, I had to shape myself so that I would fit in the dress. But I couldn't complain, I was fortunate, they said.

        After many months of work, the result, the feeling of having achieved the goal lasted only for a few seconds, the time that takes you to walk through the catwalk wearing the dress. Seconds in which the pressure and anxiety were palpable in the air. Because, ironically, the protagonist weren't you but the dress, you were only the necessary means to show it, like some disposable item.

       The fashion show, and with it the whole event was over. My work here was done, but I wasn't sure I wanted to go through it once again, that I wanted to go back into the world of fashion.

            I was lost in my thoughts when a feminine voice interrupted me, asking me for help, she gestured at me so that I would accompany her. I was dragged to the bathroom and there I found another one of us, another model, lying on the floor. The demands and pressure had failed her. You could tell she had not eaten in a long time and that the little food she managed to force down her throat had taken care to expel itself as vomiting. I was told that she had fainted, and as a result, had received a blow on her head. I went outside and asked for help from the event managers, who after several shouting matches from me, had paused their celebrations long enough to call an ambulance. When I saw that peace was beginning to be restored, I  walked away from the bustle. I wasn't able to do anything else.

          This whole situation had rushed my decision and without even showing a sign of doubt, I walked out the door for good. That simple act gave me back my dreams, made ​​me feel like myself again, the owner of my body and soul. I closed my eyes in contentment as the breeze tousled my hair and the sun's rays caressed my face.

         At the same time as I walked out of the door, at the same time as I undid the chains bounding me to that world, other girls, some with less than 20 years of life behind them, went through the door, walking inside the building, condemning themselves to become mere objects, mere means to distribute a product.



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    All the stories found in this blog are written by both of us, and are original. Don't use them without asking our permission first.