There is a moment, when you look at the calendar, when you look at the clock, and pain physically pierces straight through you. All the seconds slipping through your fingers. Hours turn to days, days turn to weeks, and you're desperate, you're desperate, because it's never enough, because it's never enough time. In that second you're startled, ripped out of the slumber that is routine, and you realize that two years went by, but you weren't really here - suddenly everything you recall, you see it as if some stranger was doing it in your place. You weren't really the person you were supposed to be, because as those years passed you by, you didn't leave a mark, you didn't actually create anything you planned, you stopped telling your story. And it's scary.
I had some bad episodes in the past, but these last few years wasn't it. I wasn't in such a bad state, that I couldn't create. I was even happy at times, I had so many good times instead of staying at home and working on my real dreams. And yet, what do they mean if after all I've been through I'm just left voiceless, trying to figure out who is this new creature staring at me in the mirror. Because creating is my way of understanding who I am and I just got lost without it.
So I need to find it again; and I'll try to start with this blog and my photography. I want it to be more personal, more exciting for me to always come back to. I used to be obsessed with recording, immortalizing everything, so if I put as much of myself in words and pictures again, I hope I won't drift to sleep again, I hope I won't stay a living shell of a ghost.
while I was a boring, ordinary girl, I bought and got given some pretty things
Some of my pictures came out in magazines:
I also had a 6 months photography internship at a nail and make up brand (let me know if you'd like to read a blog post about the experience, or if you have any questions about internships).
sometimes I come out from behind the camera. Sometimes I realize, that I'm not as young anymore, and yet my fears are incorporeal, slippery; they never have a face attached to them.
so how could I have fought them.