Pieces of Lovely

Tell me   Pieces of Melody   Got a Bucket List for Miles   Film Bucket List of a Will-Be Storyteller   Numbers that mean attempts   

My name is Allison and who knew life would be so confusing?

"I am going to see if I can make out who is right, the world or I."

(via christiangaleofficial)

One of my favorite plays, ugh I love you broverr!!

— 1 day ago with 9 notes

I will be the 5 millionth person to say this, but being alive is so unexpected. Every day is just not the way you think it will be. Your future WILL not be the way you expected it.

I’m 22  and 8 months. I did not expect, by 22 and 8 months, I would have not been in a single actual relationship where I didn’t have my skin crawl over hearing the world “girlfriend” in reference to me. I didn’t expect my only kiss would be in a car from someone drunk who apologized for giving it 4 days later. I didn’t expect that I would be nearly completely out of touch with my one and only sister and roommate of 19 years. I didn’t expect I’d ever be the kind of girl to wear underwear to bed, or the type of girl who would be so lazy about laundry she wore swimsuit bottoms as underwear. I didn’t expect to have acne into my twenties, and I never thought I’d be bold enough to wear red lipstick with jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t think I’d ever just wear jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t expect to most nights prefer the company of TV characters to real people.  I didn’t expect to have come so close to reaching career goals already, and I certainly didn’t expect getting close and then going backwards again. I didn’t expect 3 years to go by since I used my passport without me using it another day. I didn’t think at 22 I would turn on the radio and hear more musicians that I’ve worked with than those I’ve not. I didn’t expect to work on the videos for half of the top ten most played songs of the year. I didn’t expect looking forward to the break in every day when I could call my mom. I didn’t expect to feel insecure about friendships I thought were unbreakable, and I didn’t expect to actually not care about so many that broke. 

I start a new film project in the morning, a small budget, nobody-will-probably-ever-see-it type that’s paying me far less than they should, but it is enough to pay my rent and I am grateful. I watched a country awards show from the bedroom of a girl who I don’t actually like, and I tried not to be jealous that I actually had friends working both on and off-screen in Vegas.  I’m going to bed and there’s a lamp with no shade on the floor of my bedroom that I stole off a set I worked on, there because the rest of my lamps in my bedroom don’t work/need bulbs replaced. It’s been there for 2 weeks.  Sharing my bed is also my guitar, reciepts and petty cash from my last unfinished job, dirty clothes, too many blankets and my sewing kit. I intend to go to sleep on the 1/3 of bed space left, that is far more appealing than cleaning the mess.

ugh life is so weird.

— 1 week ago with 3 notes
http://fygirlcrush.tumblr.com/post/81284742233 →


Depression makes you do silly things like stay up all night to finish a paper that’s already late but spend the time staring at the ceiling and at 8:22 A.M realize that it is 8:22 A.M and you have accomplished nothing and it makes you abandon your basket of groceries in the bread aisle because the…

The post that led to my own attempted post. Hope we can all keep fighting.

— 2 weeks ago with 257 notes
No Reason

I’ve brought this page up repeatedly over the past months, trying to verbally explain what has been going on mentally.  So far the words continually seemed vapid or selfish or just so poorly written I couldn’t allow them to be read. Today is no different, but I saw a post today about another girl who finally got out of bed and then wrote about having a mental breakdown in the middle of the grocery store because the bread isle was too overwhelming, and I just did the same last week. And for her I join my voice to her attempted explanation.

It is 4:53 pm and I am in my bed. I have been in my bed since 2:00 am last night.  On many days, I don’t tend to even get out from under the blankets until seven or eight PM.  I don’t work, or rather, I work freelance, which lately has boiled down to simply don’t work, not by my choice but just as I haven’t been hired. I live alone, and currently there are no humans in my life who directly benefit or require action of me in any way. So unlike many people battling their own minds and hearts who are forced to motion because of the responsibility of employment or taking care of others, I currently have the living situation that allows for complete indulgence of my debilitating mental state. 

Each day I wake up and blink a few times and try to think of what I may need to get done that day. Most days I come up with nothing. I have no pressing projects, nobody calling to ask something of me, no job to go to or errands to run. Sure, my room is dirty and my kitchen is empty, but that only pertains to me and if I don’t give a shit it doesn’t matter.  I usually lay there and spend a few minutes trying to remember the creative things I used to be so energetic about- I might even touch my guitar that usually lies in bed with me, a creepy filler for a human and a pressureful reminder of what I know I was meant to do-but usually I cannot think anything through clearly. My head is foggy. I have no ideas. Or if I do, they’re behind a wall thick enough I can’t concretely capture them.  The only thing that still functions vividly is my daydreaming, and daydreaming brings beauty and momentary transformation, so I curl up again under the covers and wait for dull peaceful sleep.

I was born to create. I have no question about that. I have spent most of my short years battling to gain the tools I’d need to create, tell stories, impact and influence. I can look back at my little life and see the benefits my battling has brought: moving to a city I’d always wanted to, graduating college without debt, working on theater and film sets in various capacity, impressive internships in all of the areas I had interest in, a few random songs and a few random essays and a few random outfits as proof of my creativity. Where did I get the drive for all that? I can’t remember.

No I’m not kidding, I truly can’t remember. I can’t harness the energy or interest that I used to use to fight. I feel passive, helpless, paralyzed. Once in a while I can remember, and I get excited and wild. But then my eager attitude is a separate entity from my physical body. Sometimes my mind screams at my shell.  ”wake up and move! Think of all the amazing things you did, think of all you can! blah blah blah Ben Carson blah blah blah Taylor Swift blah blah blah Wes Anderson!” but those screams may as well be in a sound-proof room in a different country from my sleeping body shell, because the shell does not respond. 

I wake up and look around and think, “what do I need to get out of bed for?” and I wait a beat. And then I answer myself, “no reason.” and uncontroversial uncomplicated rest can surround me again.


— 2 weeks ago with 2 notes