There comes a time in everyone’s life, I think, where your view of the world changes, where everything changes, forever. For me, it happened on 12 March 2011, when I was fourteen years old and had everything going right. The day dawned bright, cheerful, mist still hanging around the hills in the distance. I jogged up the hill with Sparkie at 8am, cheerful and light-hearted, the cool breeze washing over my skin. At 11pm I was walking out of the John Hunter Hospital, legs feeling like lead and my eyes scratchy, a mixture of shock, grief, and guilt churning in my gut. And just like that my life was split in half.
I used to think things would “get back to normal” eventually. The old saying that time heals all wounds isn’t totally true. We’re still hurting, three years later. We probably always will be. We were broken and shattered and it took a long time before we found our feet again. Some days it feels like I’m still drowning in the feelings of that day and the weeks, months, that followed it. And then I reach out for my best friend, my Sparkie, because she’s always there.
When I write, my feelings seem to flow off my fingertips. Talking isn’t as easy. Words get tangled up and come out wrong, so mostly I don’t even try. But writing is different. Writing is a way to sort through my feelings, make sense of my emotions, and give them to my fictional characters. This time of year especially, my fan fictions tend to be heavy on emotion and light on action.
Right now I am listening to three different songs – Jessica is singing “Hang On” by Plumb, the phone is playing Newsboys’ “Save Your Life,” and I have “You’re All I Have” by Snow Patrol coming through my headphones. Kind of appropriate, I think.
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