Is It An End, Or A Beginning?

For six beautiful months, he was my world. My best friend, my lover, my protector, my light in the dark, the reason I kept hanging on so tightly to this world. He showed me a life I’d never had before, one that didn’t leave me with a bitter emptiness I had no means of filling. He taught me things I never thought I’d learn, and helped me to rediscover a worth in myself that I’d long forgotten. I remember the night he saved my life, and the night I stayed up all night because he desperately needed a friend. I remember him telling me things no other soul knew about him, and how excited he once was to see me or hear my voice.
Whenever I’m sad, I think about the way he used to call me at four in the morning because he missed me and wanted to hear my voice, or the way he’d ring just to hear from me even if I’d be seeing him in a few hours time. I remember the way he’d talk to me about his family or his job like nothing had ever in his life made him happier, and the pride in his eyes when he talked about his brother and sister. I remember him reaching for my hand in times of weakness and sorrow, or telling me I was beautiful for no reason at all. I remember the way he used to get scared when I was low, and how desperately he fought to keep me with him.
We were inseparable. Never more than inches apart when we were together - which was during most of our spare time. We have millions of inside jokes that will never again be touched, and memories we’ll never discuss for fear of hurting one another. We used to be able to finish each other’s sentences, and know what the other was feeling, or when they needed a friend.
For four terrible months, he was my worst enemy, vowing to protect me from anyone who hurt me, but being the biggest source of pain in my universe,
He left my life, because someone new came along. Someone who proved only to manipulate, deceive and destroy him. All the while dragging him further and further away. They sunk their teeth into him, and locked their jaws, breaking him down until he was hardly the man I’d loved for so long.
He started attacking everything I said and did, claiming I was irritating, demanding, needy, obnoxious. He let his girlfriend text me from his phone, things I never wanted or needed to see. He’d ignore me, put me down, shut me out, but still demand I be there for him when he needed or wanted it. He became someone so toxic that slowly, I disappeared within myself, terrified of talking to anyone for fear he was exactly right.
Each passing comment broke me down a little bit more until I could hardly breathe without wondering if I was annoying someone. I’ve always been insecure, but I swear that was a new sort of low, even for me. My best friend, my rock, my love became my worst enemy. A part of me left when he did and I don’t think I’ll ever get it back.
Don’t get me wrong, we were never a couple. The idea was never a fantasy of mine, I don’t dream too big, and he’d never for a second consider it. Which is okay. Our friendship was more than blessing enough. But, I’ve never been closer to a single human being in my life. And I don’t know if I’ll ever open myself up enough to be that close to another one, or even him if the universe let’s us work something out. I hope it does.
But one night, I almost died, and I realised how valuable my life really is, and how easily it could disappear and I realised I needed to tell him some things, so one night, after he’d finally come back into my life - I told him about my diagnoses with depression and anxiety, I told him how the night he called me, I was planning to kill myself, I told him he saved my life. And then I admitted that since getting out of hospital those very same doubts and insecurities that drove me to a brink, had come back with a vengance, and he held me, refusing to let me go, his words were choked up, making me promise to keep living, telling me he loved me, that I was worth so much more than that.
But very quickly, the same man who couldn’t stomach hearing from me more than once a month when he was with his ex, returned. The same man who broke plans, ignored calls and texts, and made promises he had no plans of keeping, returned.
And now I’m faced with this hollow feeling. And dread, knowing that I don’t have a lot of options, and the outcome of every single one, is me crying, hurting and losing the person I love more than anything in this world.

I don't really think this will stick around

I love coming home at early hours of the morning. The idea that the world is just starting to wake up, while I've not even gone to bed seems somehow romantic to me. I love the chill of the morning air, and the first few birds beginning to call. I love the early morning smells and the echo my footsteps make against the otherwise almost-silent hour. It's my favourite time of day. The sun is almost rising, but the streetlights are still on, and the few drivers around are still using their headlights. I've always loved it. I guess a lot of that has to do with the solitude it affords me. I don't mind being alone, I enjoy my own company.

This is short and poorly written and I know that, but  I'm operating on only a few hours sleep and I don't really know what else to say.

Keep dreaming,
Emmylou

Bruised and Beat Down.

The title of this post is the first song ever written by Attack of the Mannequins. It would also have to be one of my favourites right now (both the band and the song).

(left to right:) Harrison Frued, Austen Kosasih and Jackson Freud - 01/01/2012 at House Of Rock

It's not often that I find myself so completely drawn in by a band to the point that their music is all I want to listen to. I suppose that's not so strange alone. In our lives we often come across things that we fixate upon, that consume us and in a weird way almost make us forget what life was like before it was a factor. There's nothing at all wrong with that. It means we've found something tangible. Something that we can connect to, that can - in our darkest hour - offer comfort and solace from the demons and monsters lurking in our minds and lives. It's actually really amazing when we do find something this powerful, this significant.

I suppose what serves to make it strange, is the fact that the bassist of the band Attack of the Mannequins (Austen Kosasih) has become one of my closest friends over the last couple of months, and the singer and guitarist (Harrison Freud and Jackson Freud respectively) are also friends of mine.

A lot of people I've mentioned my fandom to, have found it hard to distinguish the line between band and band-members. As amazing as Harrison, Jackson and Austen are, alone, they're three dudes who I can talk about comic books and Watchmen, and Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings with. They're the guys who make fun of me, and invite me to hang out with them after their gigs, that ask me random philisophical questions at stupid hours of the night. They're just friends. Just guys. But as a band, they're something else. It's the music I connect with. That being said, the fact that I do know them so well as people, probably helps in reaching this connectivity.

I'm proud of my friends for everything they've accomplished, for the energy they've poured into this, for the commitment, and their genuine appreciation of their fans. I'm so darn proud.

... and i thought tumblr was confusing.

After what feels like a decade of trying to find a site that would meet my blogging needs suitably, I stumbled upon Blogger and after the prompting of a couple of people, decided to make myself an account.

I'm not sure how frequently I'll write, or how much I'll pour into this. I'm not certain whether or not it'll even make a whole lot of sense, but these next few months are going to come with a lot of really big, really scary changes and I feel like having something like this is definitely going to assist me in coping.

I've always been a writer. Ever since I was a little girl, my imagination has been my salvation in some truly dark and daunting times. I've sought solace in the words I unload onto pieces of scrap paper, and the heroes and villains, and universes my innocent mind created. Even when writing autobiographically, like in a journal or previous blogs I've had, I found that simply unleashing my thoughts and feelings truly helped me make it through an awful lot of experiences I'm not sure I would have, had it not been for writing.

Anyway, Blogger confuses me, but I'm going to stick with it and maybe, I'll make it out of here alive.

keep dreaming,
Emmylou.


Next Post: Likely to have something to do with my favourite band: Attack of the Mannequins.