Not that I would change a thing, I just want to do it all again.

My darling friends,

I'm so tired. I'm sick and I'm lonely and I'm exhausted. I can't post any outfits because I'm too worn down to get dressed. When I feel like this, I can't even imagine that I'll keep blogging; I can't see how it will be possible for me to write about myself, my every day life, how I'll ever put on nice clothes again and go outside and take photos and post them. It all seems unbearably hard, almost impossible - and what's worse, I can't see the point in any of it. Not right now.

The reason I started this blog was not that I thought people would admire me, tell me I'm pretty or that my clothes are cute, that I'm a good writer or that my opinions are interesting. It definitely wasn't because I have any illusions that I'll start earning money from it or become a so called "blogger celebrity". No, the reason was very simple: I felt all alone, and I desperately wanted to communicate with people, someone, anyone. And it worked! You wonderful people, who comment on this blog or e-mail me, have become the group of friends I simply don't have "in real life". But just like I have serious trouble staying in touch with friends outside of the internet, I don't see how I will be able to keep all of you in my life. And the reason is exactly the same: I don't feel like I've got anything to give. I'm nothing but this sad, lonely girl who lies on her couch and watches Grey's Anatomy until she falls asleep at 5 am because she's scared to go to bed alone, who won't talk about anything but her cats, who bites her fingernails down to the flesh, who wants to eat but can't find the energy to even make a sandwhich. Who can't take care of herself, so how could she ever be of any use to anyone else?

That's how I feel tonight.

Yes, I truly am Little Miss Sunshine.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've had the most painful period cramps all day, throwing up and feeling ridiculously sorry for myself. Or maybe that they found premalignant changes during a pap smear back in August, that I've been worried out of my mind ever since and am having surgery in ten days and I'm just not good with surgeries, I'm not good with being sick, I'm not good with hospitals and pain and needles and maybe I shouldn't watch so much Grey's Anatomy because people constantly die on that show from the most routine procedures.

Or maybe it's because my boyfriend is making a film in another town and he's never home and even though I'm happy for him and proud of him and even though I've gotten better at it since the cats came into our lives, I'm still not exactly comfortable with being by myself. My head starts producing the bad kind of thoughts and noone is here to tell me they aren't true (and that even if they are, they won't kill me).

Or maybe, just maybe, this all is somehow connected to the fact that my best friend in the world, the only best friend I've ever had, the only person who's ever really, really known me through and through, was buried a year ago today.

I wrote her a song, it's bad, of course, since I'm not a particularly musical person, not like she was. But I still think she'd be proud of me, she might even like it. It starts like this:

Once or twice or a thousand times, I have wished to live my life all over

Not that I would change a thing; I just want to do it all again

Break the same rules, play the same games

Feel that way you made me feel

I'd make the same mistakes, make them twice as bad

If that's what it takes.

Corny, yes. I'm a corny person.

Fanny, I am so so so so so sorry we had to bury you, but I hope you were there to see it, because it was beautiful. And it wasn't one of those funerals where people are calm and collected with eyes that are just a little red, no, we cried, we cried so much that we couldn't breathe; you had been dead for a month and still we all cried so hard that now and again it drowned out the voice of the priest, because that's how broken our hearts were, that's how impossible the thought that you were really gone. And the huge church was filled with family and friends who all love you, crammed, people were standing in the back. You touched the hearts of so many. You changed my life. And I am so grateful. I'm so sorry we had to bury you. I'm so sorry that it's been a year and I still haven't figured out a way to bring you back. But I think about you every second of every minute of every day and there is no way you will ever be forgotten. Ever. If I'm lucky enough to have children, I will tell them all about you and they will feel safe knowing that their godmother is an angel who's watching over their every step.

So: That's how I feel tonight. It's embarrassing and agonizingly pathetic, but that's life. I'll get through this night, I'll get through the next one, and I'll keep gettin through them until the sun rises again and I'll wake up without feeling like I've been stabbed in the heart. And on it goes. The good with the bad and the bad with the good.

Maybe I shouldn't have told you all this, but I have noone else to tell. And you are my friends. However sad that might sound.

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?

 

The last rays of sun.

Black leather jacket, Sofifi. Black hat, Romwe. Cropped t-shirt and black denim shorts, Forever 21. Leopard print tights, H&M. Black platform boots, Jeffrey Campbell Everests from Nelly. Baryshnik and Biianka wear amazingly fluffy cat fur (baby, they were born that way) and collars from our local pet store.

(Photos by me.)

It's proving to be a real challenge to take outfit photos as it keeps getting darker and darker with every passing day. The low, right before sunset light I'm depending on for my photography seems to think it's a great idea to hide behind massive rain clouds almost every night, turning most of my shoots into very wet and not exactly successful occasions.

In other words - managing to capture a couple of rays of sun last night was quite the pleasant surprise! Unfortunately I still wasn't that happy with how the photos turned out, at least not the ones of me - my kitties never fail to look sensationally cute. It's in their dna, they can't help it!

As you can see, I simply cannot get enough of this leather jacket. It's just like with red lipstick - sure, outfits might look good without it, but they look so much better with it. Let's say that I will try to change it up a bit, but I can't promise I'll succeed! Well, I guess that if I must have a "signature item", I can easily think of a lot worse items than this. It's so soft and warm, and I love the fact that the sleeves are the perfect length. (What can I say - tall people generally have long arms, and I'm no exception - which means my wrists are usually uncomfortably cold from October all through March.)

Yesterday, I received a comment that said my photos are "booooring", because they "don't look different". At first, I thought that was a bit rude - come on, I'm doing the best I can, I never claimed to be frickin' Annie Leibovitz! - but after seeing these photos above, I must agree that Ms/Mrs/Mr Anonymous does make a valid point.

Ooops. Ummm... Well. I have no excuses. I surrender. You're right! Oh, and my boyfriend agrees with you, as well. He really can't understand why people would want to look at photos of the same person every single day. I tried reminding him that he has to look at the same person every single day as well, and I don't hear him complain. (And he's not even the slightest bit interested in what I'm wearing.)

Plus - hopefully the photos - boring or not - aren't the only reason why you wonderful people keep coming back here. I guess I'm hoping that you, for some reason, think I'm nice/funny/whatever in other ways, too. Because as sad as it may sound, I'm not a person who's surrounded by a lot of friends in real life, and it's a true blessing to get the chance to communicate with all of you through this blog.

I'm not saying I don't have friends. I do. I just don't have that one person that I can call and tell all of those random things that come to mind, that I can discuss my thoughts and feelings and ideas with at any given time. I used to, but I don't anymore. They say relationships might come and go but friendships are forever; well, when your best friend is an angel looking down on you, it still gets pretty darn lonely. So if you've found that one friend that you can share everything with, the huge, life-altering moments and the tiny randoms, don't ever take that friendship for granted. Cherish it, nurture it, and make sure you're the best friend you can be.

Thank you for everything. You make this life less lonely.

Happy Birthday, Darling.

Today is the 26th birthday of my greatest love, my best friend, my soulmate; my darling, dearest Fanny. The most loving, vibrant, bright, beautiful, caring, funny, brilliant person I've ever known.

Or, it would have been.

The next time you have a couple of dollars you feel like you could live without, please use them to save lives. There are tons of cancer research foundations out there that will turn your money into opportunities for mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandparents, daughters, sons, friends and lovers to keep their most loved ones alive.

There is a fund in Fanny's name at Cancerfonden - I'm not sure if it's possible to donate to this specific one outside of Sweden, and I'm not asking anyone to give a single dime, just to remember that it does happen to us. It's not the kind of nightmare you wake up from. No matter how badly you pray, wish, or hope.

Nearly 8 million people die of cancer every year. World Health Organisation claims that "deaths from cancer worldwide are projected to continue to rise to over 11 million in 2030". Please, please, please, let's do whatever we can to prevent this from happening. When it's too late, it's too late - but there are still millions of lives that can be saved.  

In less than a month, it will be one year since Fanny passed away. I'm not even close to finding a way to live without her. I doubt I ever will. But all I know is that I will keep looking, because what else is there?

Happy birthday, darling. I hope that whever you are, someone will bring you breakfast in bed; a tray packed with wrapped gifts, rooibos tea and a huge piece of delicious cake. I'm so sorry I can't be there. So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry.

I love you endlessly.

(The video at the top of this post is a song that Fanny recorded with some of her dear friends six weeks before she lost the battle against her illness. I hope you'll listen to it. Because she was not only the best person to ever walk this Earth, she was also an amazing singer. And words cannot describe how unfair this life is.)

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.

To my greatest love.

 Black sequin 1920's style dress, a gift from my best friend Fanny's mother, Kerstin. Black lace socks, Lindex. Black shoes, Vagabond.

I'm so glad I decided to wear this dress out to dinner tonight - and to be honest, I'm almost as glad that the sun sets so late during the Swedish summer nights! I didn't have time to take photos before we left, and I really wanted to capture this look. I've e-mailed these photos to my best friend's mom and hopefully she'll see how grateful I am for this dress. Or more so, for the fact that she still thinks of me and cares about me. 

I would like to share something with you. I've translated a piece I wrote last summer, as one of my weekly columns in a Swedish magazine. Before you read it, I just want you to know the story behind it.

A Tuesday of January of 2010, Fanny called me. Nothing unusual about this, since we called eachother about ten times a day, whenever we couldn't spend every waking hour together. But this particular time was special. In the worst possible way a phone call could be special. 

I was sitting on my bed in the tiny sublet apartment I was soon going to move away from, the sun was shining, reflecting glitter cascades in the snow outside my window. And she told me that the doctors had found a tumour. That the pain in her right shoulder was not an infection, just like it wasn't calcific tendinitis or anything else they had been stating - or, rather, guessing - during the last month. It was osteosarcoma. It was cancer.

The sun was still shining. I couldn't believe it had the nerve to do so. But it did.

Six months of chemotherapy and radiation later, it was all over. No, not over. Fanny was still alive. But the doctors declared that they had done it all, and the tumour was still growing, faster and more aggressive than ever. There was nothing else to try, no miracle to hope for. We were going to lose her. In every way that mattered, it was over.

Only a handful of people even knew that Fanny was sick. She didn't want people to worry, she didn't want their pity. She didn't want to say goodbye.
All she wanted was to spend the time she still had left with the people she loved, the ones she knew loved her more than anything.

And I was so, so alone in all of this. Every week I had to write a column about my life, my thoughts, my feelings. And I couldn't write one word about the only thing on my mind, the only thing that mattered to me. The one thing that was tearing me apart, ripping my very being into pieces. Every word I wrote felt like a lie, a damn joke.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to write something that was true. So I wrote this. It's not a column, it's a letter. A way to say all that was on my mind, without letting anyone know what was really going on. A way to tell the truth while keeping her secret safe.

When I wrote this, in my bed in our beautiful house that I had barely even noticed I was suddenly living in, I didn't know if Fanny would still be with us when it was published. All I was praying for in that moment was that I would get to keep her. That was all I ever prayed for.

There was never a doubt in my mind. Nothing to ponder or think through. 

I'm not ashamed to call it love at first sight. I knew straight away, I was sure: we were meant to be. You were going to become my best friend.

If only I deserved you, if I'd be enough. If only you wanted me.

You did.

These words are all for you.

In a few weeks five years will have passed since we met, that very first time. We've lived a life time since. Just kids back then, that's how it feels. Like I grew up with you. Half an inch away. No, closer.

The luck I've had.

It happened in the blink of an eye. From one moment to another you were mine and I was yours and the air so much easier to breathe. I suddenly had nothing to hide, no need to defend, to pretend, to try and be all those things I'm not. I got to start over - clean, pure, the sorrows of my childhood forgotten, the sins of my teenage years forgiven.

Nothing I didn't dare to tell you - no topic was too small to discuss for hours, no issue too big, too dark, too hard. When no answers were to be found, we looked for them together. When there were no words, we invented our own.

All those years, we had so much time. So much! No limits, no ends. So much time. We talked about forever like it existed, let the minutes turn into hours and the hours into days, months, years. So much time.

And school ended and reality took its place. It could have changed us, let us slip away, grow apart, the way friends do when life takes a new direction. But I never feared. When there would be no time we'd make some. When life would try to pull us apart, we'd hold eachothers' hands, ever so tightly. Never let go.

I was right. Of course I was right.

There were never any doubts that you would become my best friends. I knew straight away, I was sure. But I could never have dreamt of all the things you would come to be.

You've become a part of me. I am who I am because of you. Because you've believed in me, supported me, comforted me, completed me, challenged me, questioned me, healed me, loved me.

You're so much more than my best friend. You're my sister. My greatest love.

Before you came there was noone. Noone will take your place.

So much in this life is evanescent. But not you. Never you.

If only there were words to explain how grateful I am for everything you give me. If only there were sentences strong enough, if only there were.

If only.

But maybe this is all it takes. Maybe it's enough.

Maybe no words are needed. 

You already know.

(She did read it. She fought for so much longer than anyone could ever have expected. In the afternoon of Tuesday the 21st of September, she finally went to sleep. Since that moment, not one second has passed. I'm still stuck. Right there. Holding hands, ever so tightly.)