A request for a different take of the moment when Taylor pulled Travis into the car. :)
T/w: mentions of depression and medication use.
They'd told me I'd get used to the flashbulbs going off in different directions...there were tricks to make it bearable, ones I've learned over the years from people in the industry who were old hat. Sunglasses helped, but they made me feel like I was hiding. Look down at the ground. Pretend like it's happening to someone else.
They told me I'd get used to paparazzi screaming my name, begging me to stop, getting pissed when I said no. There were things I could do to control the situation, spin the narrative so that the ball was in my court. I've learned from the best ---ignore them as if they don't exist. Tell them to back the fuck up. Pose for a picture, even if it's fifteen seconds, just to get them off your back. When all else fails, run. Run for your life.
They told me I'd get used to living my entire existence under a microscope, to everything I said or did in public analyzed or mutated so badly, it barely resembled what was real. There were ways to avoid public scrutiny so that no one could possibly misconstrue my words, there would be no misunderstandings. Stay home. Avoid all human interaction. Keep your circle extraordinarily small. Don't trust, don't let down your guard for a single second.
Trouble is, while it becomes just part of your daily life, just another thing you have to deal with, it never becomes something you get used to. There's nothing normal about this.
What they don't tell you is that you will lose people. Constantly. People who mean something to you. And yes, that's a part of life...to love someone means you risk losing them. But this is not the same. You have your family, of course, your very close friends, but they stay in your life because they're obligated. Don't get me wrong, they love you, too, but it's that much harder to leave someone when you feel like you have an obligation, whether it's by blood or employment or a childhood friendship...you're bound to them.
It isn't like that around people you manage to drop your guard with. When it's not convenient for them anymore, when they've gotten what they wanted from you, when they get tired of you and sick of living in a golden cage alongside you, when they're envious or resentful that so much of your time, time they think you should be spending with them is taken up by your work, your career, they leave.
They leave.
I've stopped with self blame. I used to cry myself to sleep when it happened, making myself physically ill analyzing what I did wrong, wracking my brain for what I could have done differently, how I can be better. It got to the point where I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, could barely get out of bed.
Antidepressants helped me to realize that anyone who wanted to be in my life, who truly wanted to be there, would. Bottom line. I struggled with the knowledge if someone loved me, they'd have to come to terms with what it was like to be with me. Not just the good parts, but the shit parts, too. The fucking paps and the stalkers and the constant intrusions, the criticisms, the inquiries into our lives for no other reason than to cash a fucking paycheck.
Running away was like sticking a band-aid over a gaping wound. A temporary fix to a serious problem. And I didn't want to run, not really. This was what I'd chosen. I just needed a way to figure out how to navigate the insanity in a way that was healthy. It was a lot of trial and error
When you think you've finally found the person to go through the mud with you, it's a huge relief. You feel far less alone. There's someone to hold your hand, to protect you from the hunters, to hold you back from being the hunted, to remind you that you're indeed a goddamned human being and not a singing, dancing robot programed to perform. That you're an artist, not a machine.
