MET GALA [ H. S ]

MET GALA [ H. S ]

Reads 707
Votes 26
Parts 6

MatureOngoing1h 31m

Last published Sat, Aug 28, 2021

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Every morning, I pleaded for someone to come into my life that understood the difference between being alone and feeling lonely. My life was a privilege. I grew up in a world of fame, of constant love and hate. Yin and Yang. Cold and Hot. War and Peace. Growing up I was constantly taught that I was already vulnerable to that side of the world, the normal. The working class. The place where I should be. I was pathetically susceptible and I wanted to get away from the unfortunate stardom that was created at my birth. Happiness isn't familiar, it's as when in summer I miss the cold and I think I'll never feel the need to shiver again. Or in the winter I'm freezing and I'll never feel the sun blaze rays onto my skin again. It's all temporary, nothing sticks. Too many emotions for a little weak girl that is an industry of powerful strong men. Did I have the courage to show Hollywood that I didn't care how I was thought of? To show that the I, Jeanne Wintour, wasn't so fragile? That I could actually stop the belittling in my head and could eventually turn to love the loneliness. To turn towards the dark and stay away from the flashes. When my photo is taken, I can't decipher the lines between the spurts of light and dark. I don't know who wants me for me. I can't recognize respect. It's all and unwanted mind game. In admits of dealing with my unyielding job, I am assigned the role to mimic the opener of the oscars. The promised comedic relief, alongside and equal to Hollywood's beloved, to host the Met Gala with Harry Styles. •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[BWWM] I was only twelve years old when the world turned cold. The day my mom died in that car accident, I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my heart. My dad, who had always been my hero, suddenly became a stranger, filled with rage and blame. He couldn't see that I was hurting, too; he only saw me as a reminder of his loss. The accusations cut deep. He said it was my fault for being there, for not doing something to save her. For being the reason she was in the car in the first place. In the years that followed, things only got worse. The abuse started gradually-a harsh word here, a shove there-but it escalated, leaving scars that I carried long after the physical pain faded. I was drowning in my own despair, struggling to keep my head above water while my father's anger raged like a storm around me. I only had a break from his anger when I started living with Aunt Dina-my mom's older sister. Well, that was because she found me nearly dead on my bed after I took a dozen pills. I was tired of living. I had hit rock bottom. The harsh whispers that followed me around and the stares at school. I pretended not to notice, like it didn't bother me. But it did. I was alone. Then came Athalia, a ray of sunshine cutting through my darkness. With her, I felt something I hadn't felt in years-happiness. She became my light through the darkness and my lifeline. ••••••••••• ● Warnings ⚠️ ~ Mention of suicide ~ Anxiety attacks ~ Rape attempt ~ Mention of self-harm ~ Depression

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