Oakley Joan Adam's is a 24 year old women living as an event painter in L.A. She paints for weddings, for small company's and on windows. She paints to calm her self down, to express her emotions through color. She was all alone her whole life until...
Black is not sad. Bright colors are what depresses me they're so...empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not. ~ Ann Demeulemeester
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OAKLEY'S POV:
One of the worst things about drowning, is knowing that you won't be able to come back up for air.
The uncontrollable shaking, the need to resurface and fill your lungs with oxygen so strong you want to cry.
Instead, water replaces air. Like when you drink water and it goes down the wrong tube, except you can't cough it out and be okay. Instead, you have to suffer with it. Deal with it.
I don't remember anything after that moment.
I remember seeing flashes of Harry, from the moment we met, to the moment we kissed. When we were intimate for the first time together and when he told me he loved me. When he proposed. I saw it all, only making it harder to leave him.
I woke up in the hospital. Not remembering where I was or what happened.
My head injury was apparently really bad. I can't remember exactly how bad, but Harry wakes me up every couple hours to make sure I don't go into a coma. So I guess it's pretty bad.
My whole life I've felt like I was drowning. The worst part being that everyone else around you is breathing. You don't need water to feel like you're drowning, do you?
But nothing compares to the moment when you actually do. Nothing prepares you for moments like those. When you're on the brink of death.
I remember being at peace, after the need for air suddenly became unneeded. It was easy, death.
But, since then I've come to realize the important things in my life. I don't want it to be easy like death. It's not suppose to be.
I like my life exactly how it is right now, I just wish it didn't take almost dying to figure it out.
That's what inspired my piece today.
A paint brush in my hand, in the room Harry built for me.
The colors black, grey and white coming to play in this piece I call 'On the brink.'
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I'm very proud of this painting. Harry thinks it might trigger some trauma, but it hasn't.
It's been about a week since the incident, and I feel okay.
I feel the same, but drained?
That's ironic isn't it?
I smiled at Sarah and Mitch when they finally told us the news yesterday. But it was almost like I didn't feel the emotion. I just smiled, without meaning it.
