365 days of darkness.

 

It’s been a year today and even the sky is weeping.

A year. The darkest 365 days of my life.

I went to see a movie a couple of weeks back, about a fourteen year old girl who loses her twin sister in an accident. In the ending scene, it’s been a year since her death, and everyone is smiling, laughing, remembering their sister/daughter/friend with joy. A pretty butterfly comes fluttering in through an open window, they all get excited, ”of course it’s her!”.

This is all like science fiction to me.

It doesn’t get easier. It gets harder, with every passing day. The pain is as excruciating today as it was 365 days ago, if not more so. Each day without her makes it all the more obvious that she’s not coming back.

You should have met this girl, you should have seen her light up a room, you should have met me back when I had a best friend that would be mine forever. I was so different then. Stronger, brighter, wonderfully naïve. I had the glow of someone who knew she’d won the friendship lottery and would never, ever have to be alone again.

Imagine having found that person, that one person, your person. Who gets you, who sees you for exactly who you are and who loves you endlessly because you are you and noone else.

Imagine looking forward at the rest of your life with such excitement, dreaming, wishing, making plans; safe in knowing that whatever happens, you will get through it together.

Then imagine losing it all.

Imagine spending eight months watching your one person fading away, getting weaker and more tired, but never giving up hope. Imagine holding her hand when she’s in so much pain she can barely breathe, telling her about all the amazing things you’re going to do together as soon as they’ve found a cure and she can finally leave that stupid hospital bed.

Imagine praying with all your might that you’re not wrong. Though knowing, deep down, that you are.

Imagine kissing her goodbye, telling her how much you love her and that you will see her soon, so very soon; imagine leaving her hospital room at 2 am a cool September night and then never talking to her again.

A part of me was relieved, that afternoon of September the 21st 2010, when Fanny’s older sister Lisa called me and told me it was all over.

A part of me thought is was all for the best. That she could finally rest now. We could all rest.

And then she would come back. Stronger, healthier, happier than ever.

I still can’t fathom that she didn’t. That she just kept on being dead.

We even buried her. She has a grave. The way dead people do.

And I’m supposed to move on.

My chest was torn open and my heart ripped out, my hopes and dreams and plans crushed and scattered on the ground, and I’m supposed to move on.

I wake up every morning knowing that she’s gone, and I’m supposed to move on.

I really should. Everyone wants me, needs me, to. Just live my life to the fullest and maybe now and then, when it’s her birthday or when a song comes on the radio that we both loved, I should wipe away a tear and say that wow, what we had was rare and magnificent and I’m grateful I got to experience such a beautiful friendship.

I really should. Because the people in my life all think it’s very sad that I lost my best friend and that it must suck for me, and they listen to me and comfort me the best they can and tell me to take one day at a time and that time heals all wounds, they tell me that once and twice and a hundred times but eventually it gets a bit old, nothing new and revolutionary happens really, it’s the same tears over the same girl who died of the same fucking cancer and isn’t it time for those wounds to heal soon, at least a little bit?

I know how boring it is that I don’t know how to move on. I know I’m supposed to think of Fanny with light and joy in my heart, I know I’m supposed to see a butterfly and think that it’s her and smile and feel like she’s with me, watching over me, and so on.

I’m so sorry that I can’t. I’m so sorry that I wake up, this morning just like every morning, stunned with pain. I’m sorry that when I see a butterfly all I think is that it’s a terribly sneaky insect, hiding behind its pretty wings so that noone will see what a creepy bug it actually is.

It’s been a year today and I’m supposed to move on. I’m so sorry I can’t. A part of me died with you and I’m afraid the ability to move on was located somewhere in that part.

You are too beautiful to get over.

Honestly. You should just come back. Maybe the reason I can’t move on is that I’m not supposed to. Because you weren’t finished. We weren’t done. Not even close.

I’ll be here, waiting.

Because what else is there?

 

I miss you.

Black sequin dress, a gift from my best friend Fanny's mother, from her boutique Räddningsplankan. Leopard print tights, H&M. Black and white studded brogues, Nelly.com. (They're on sale, 99 SEK!) The bag I inherited from Fanny after she passed away.

(Photos by Amanda.)

Last night, I drove into Stockholm to go to a movie premiere with my little sister Amanda. The film is called "Jag saknar dig" ("I miss you") and is based on a book that was my favorite when I was twelve, so I had been looking forward to seeing it for the longest time.

The tagline on the poster is "How do you survive losing a part of yourself?" - a question that I have been trying to answer during these past eleven months.

In the movie, 14 year old Tina loses her identical twin sister Cilla in a car accident, and after a lifetime of being part of a twosome she's suddenly left all alone, forced to try and find a way to go on with her life on her own. Let me just say this: I didn't put on any makeup before I left the house. At least I know myself that well. 

To my Swedish readers: go see the film. The acting and the dialogue is occasionally somewhat awkward, and yes, it's corny at times. But you know what? It's all okay. Because it's also wonderful, made with warmth and love and it's heartbreaking, to all of us who's lost the person we were closest with in the entire world and to everyone who can't even stand the thought of losing that one person who keeps you going. Basically, it's a film for everyone who could use a reminder to cherish the people in our lives, to never take them for granted, to never let the sun set upon an argument.

"How do you survive losing a part of yourself?" I have been asking myself that every second, every minute, every hour of every day for almost a year. And I still have no idea. I honestly don't. I don't even know for sure if I want to. But I'm working on it, I'm looking for reasons to live on and for ways to make it possible.

It wasn't until halfway through the movie that I realized I was wearing a dress given to me by Fanny's mom and a bag I inherited from her after she passed away. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn't. But I remember too well the first time I saw that bag, when I opened the door and let her into the tiny apartment Ronnie and I were living in at the time; she was wearing her green coat and a knitted beret and those tan leather boots I gave her because they turned out to be half a size too small for me. I ooooh:ed and aaaah:ed her new bag and she showed me the gorgeous lining print inside.
Of course I remember it. I remember everything.

I HATE THAT I NOW OWN THIS BAG. I can't even tell you how much I hate this godforsaken fact.

Anyway. On to other things.

The girl who dies in the film is in love with this tall, brooding rocker guy with eyeliner and lots of hair covering one side of his face; he's in love with her too and he writes her a song (before she dies) that they play about ten times (at least) during those two hours. That would have been pretty unbearable if the song wasn't quite great. I listened to it at least ten more times in the car, driving home in the dark and the pouring rain, and I have to say it's still just as good. Come on, listen to it!

The singer (Ludvig Nilsson) plays a big supporting part in the movie, but it wasn't until I got home and saw this video that it dawned on me why I think he's weirdly hot. Like, I don't necessarily find him that excessively hot, but I knew he reminded me of someone who is so ridiculously sexy that some of that sexiness spills over onto him. Suddenly it was all so obvious: he looks so much like Shane McCutcheon (The L-Word), a.k.a. the hottest person (allright, tv character) in the whole world.

Oh wow. This post sure jumps from one subject to another with uncomfortable speed. That might be because I'm only pretending to write this in the morning (you know "last night I drove into Stockholm" and so on), but it's actually 2:16am and I'm incredibly tired. (I figured 2:16 might be a bad time to upload a post, so I'm scheduling it for tomorrow morning. Plus, then you'll think I'm up and about at 9:30, when I will without a doubt be sleeping like a baby in my bed.) The cats are already sleeping next to me on the couch, and I think I just might follow their example.

Right - today, no, technically yesterday - is/was this blog's three-month-anniversary! Yay According to Annika! Thanks a billion to everyone who's reading and commenting, this blog would already be dead and gone if it wasn't for you. I can't even believe how many people (we're talking hundreds of thousands!) have stopped by so far, and the numbers seem to keep growing for every day that passes. Thank you again for taking an interest in me and my life. Blogging does take up a lot of time that could potentially be used for something more... I don't know... cleaning/exercising/reading/guitarplaying/work-related, but the amazing friends I've made in these three months make every second worthwhile.

Fall Favorite: A Floral Print Romance.

Flower print dress, H&M. Boots, Skopunkten.

(Photos by me.)

On Thursday, only hours before I was to leave New York City, it hit me that Emiliano still had the tripod plate to my camera in his bag. This is indisputably a tiny little problem considering all the horrible things happening in the world, but it does mean that I won't be able to take outfit photos for a few days. Oh... noo! Come on now, guys, don't cry! (Hahaha, I'm hilarious, I know, I'm awesome like that.) My dear, dear friend Anna might come out here today, and I'll make sure she takes some photos, even if I have to use the Imperius Curse on her.
...
...

...right. As if I'd ever, ever, ever use one of The Unforgivable Curses. Pffft. What do you think of me?! Luckily, Anna's such a good friend, she takes outfit photos without complaining even a little bit. You hear that, Ronnie? Not even a little bit!

Aaaanyway. I thought I'd share another of my favorite outfits from last fall - since I know there has been plenty of cats and photos of delicious food in this blog lately, though not a lot of fashion.

My thoughts when I look at these photos:
1) I MISS THAT DREEEEEEESS!
2) Wow. I so wouldn't style that dress like that if I wore it today...
3) ...which I can't! Because I gave it away! I MISS IT!
4) Why did my eyebrows look so much thicker and fuller than they do now? It's not like I've used a tweezer on them since I was, like, sixteen. (No, I didn't fill them in with an eyebrow pencil. I'm terrible at doing that and I can always tell in photos if I did it or not.)
5) I totally wish I knew how to do my hair like that. But I don't. I merely improvised and, by chance, it turned out quite nicely, if I may say so myself (and I hope that by now we've established that yes, I may).
6) THAT DRESS! I miss it!

As you've probably guessed if you've read this far, I don't own this dress anymore. When I visited my dad and little sister Wendi in LA earlier this year, my sister claimed that she loooooooooved it, and because I happen to loooooooove her, I immediately said "you can keep it". Just like I do with every piece of clothing Wendi expresses an interest in. I can't help it! Honestly. Come to think about it, I believe she might be using the Imperius Curse on me! (Nope, I don't put it past her. She could definitely use one of the Unforgivables. She's one dark little creature, that one.)

Either way, I gave it to her, even though it's the most comfortable dress I've ever owned and I wore it all the time. Wendi, if you read this: you'd better wear it, like, constantly, or I will take it back! I'll fight that spell with all my might! I'll be all like, Accio dress, and you'll be like, Expelliarmus, but sorry girl, I'll totally block that one.

Okay. One more thing that I can't help thinking when I look at these photos... is that exactly one week after they were taken, my best friend in the world went to sleep and didn't wake up again. And then I didn't really feel like taking more photos of myself dressed up in nice clothes. It didn't make any sense. I guess it still doesn't, but at least I'm doing it. And that just might be a microscopic baby step in the right direction, towards some kind of future life where maybe I can't only smile and act happy, but actually feel it, too.