Erasable

Alessandra Dubois

Description

December 14, 2017 My inner light went out. Increasing perfectionism and despotism upon the body got me physically and emotionally burned out. Fear was devastating me from within, yet life struggled for another chance to breathe a retrieved inner freedom. Day one I started writing, and I have never given up since. Yours, A.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
• Date de parution: 29 janvier 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781647503741
• Langue: English

Extrait

Erasable
K eep Q uiet; F uel t he P ain.
Alessandra Dubois
Austin Macauley Publishers
2021-01-29
Erasable About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment The Lights Day One: Sometime in December, 2017 Day Two: Still in December Day Three: You Know It Several Days Have Passed As to How Many, I Do Not Know Throwback to December 14 th Yet Another Week Has Passed Still in December Three Days Since the Therapist’s Meeting His Suggestion, a Letter to My Father Moment of Truth: The House Metaphor: To Anyone, and, Maybe, Most Importantly, to an Absent-Minded and Lost I… Finally Seeing the Beginning of the Real Fight and What to Expect April 27 th , 2018: The Avicii Wake-Up Call May 2 nd : The Lotus Flower October 2018, Ten Months November 3 rd , 2018 Spill the Beans On Sleep… As a Start Before Drifting Away On Unexpectedness… On Benevolence… November 22 nd Thanksgiving Day Ask My Favorite Artist, She Knows Les Mille et Une Nuits A Glimpse of Closure Undisturbed Rolls Royce Life Free to Think Yet Not Allowed to Ignore Real Christmas Tree A Peep into Tradition Christmas Wishes and the Sweater Present The Year 2018, I Have Not Seen The Year 2019, I Hope to Live Under Construction Landmines in the Battlefield Tick-Tock Bang Sending My Wishes on Christmas Eve Wishes on New Year’s Eve New Year Square Peg, Round Hole Knock Knock Monday, Somewhere in January Tuesday, Still January Barriers so High Yet Must Be Overcome Burned Scared to Remember December 14 th , 2017 Remembering the First Months: Despair? Twelve Away on February 6 th , 2019 Mid-Winter Holiday Last Days Away Spectator Mill for Life Upstream One Year and Two Months Sameness in Portraits An Active Volcano Drama Eruption In Came… Cornell Memories, Past, and Present Reaching Out Benevolent Mindfulness Vulnerability, Perhaps a Key A Dinner Party Cycles Ashes Time in a Jar International Women’s Day 2019 Mind Disruption Time Machine A Different Kind of Disorder Energy Emergence of the New Season Burning Burning, Day After Audacity No. As Simple as That April 1 st , 2019 The Following Day: Me in April Ghosting Divorce Marianne’s Day-to-Day Spontaneity An Upsurge of Spontaneity Ephemeral Vongole Veraci Asparagus Are in Season Symbols Oh Holy Us Egg Hunt One Whatever to Stay Alive Meet Cute Saying Goodbye Walls Crack Fix Me Room for Color Cold Fabric Unpinned Shaken Tightrope Mother’s Day 2019 Perception Takes the Plural Form Back, Yet Unwelcome Nuts Are Hard to Crack Blank Sheet of Paper Translucent Dame Blanche Reconciliation Gift The Candle Wick The Last Straw Prelude to Life Afterword
About the Author
She hit the brakes that fateful December day in 2017. Some would say she had a flawless course: she received her master’s degree in translation studies with high honors and continued on the same route to get an additional diploma in management and a first work experience in an embassy in Brussels.
It was until that day, when she could not get her legs to take her onto the subway, she was 25 and everything was about to change. The “me” person giving voice to the words had tried so hard to be perfect in order to please the “everyones” and “everything” that she completely forgot about herself and got lost.
Dedication
Livia,
My person.
Copyright Information ©
Alessandra Dubois (2021)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Dubois, Alessandra
Erasable
ISBN 9781647503727 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781647503734 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781647503741 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020921991
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgment
Dear Reader,
Now that you have met me through these lines, perhaps you can imagine the pain that has been ravaging my family for all these years. By the end of the day, emotions such as incomprehension and helplessness were always overcome by love and patience. Time is the key to unlock the silent tears of the soul; time nurses the body, if only you would allow it. Whenever I stopped listening to my inner cries, my parents and my sister were there to echo the voices of benevolence and care. My writing and my being, I owe it to them. They were and still are the northern lights giving me hope to nurture future dreams and to reach for thousand and one stars.
I also wish to thank all the people I have met over the years, for inspiring me and for creating a lasting memory of gratitude and faith. I wish to thank you all for that little je ne sais quoi that makes you unique and loved. To all the other souls, lost and found, please listen to your inner voice and do not quiet down your inner light, for it will disappear without you noticing.
Lieve Poppy,
Diep van binnen weet ik dat je het zal halen,
Dat je weer, op een dag, zal stralen…
Knuf en kus,
Mamsie
Poppy darling,
Deep inside I know you’ll get through this;
That, one day, you too shall bloom...
Kiss and hug,
Mommy
Dear Reader,
Dear you out there,
I hope you do not mind for me to contact you (‘after all these years’ might be a little too dramatic an opening, but it has been quite a long time since I have been wanting to write to you). Avant toute chose , congratulations are in order, for I am sure that you, as a person out there in the world, have already journeyed up quite a few miles. Oh, I wish I could take a sneak peek inside your atelier, your secret garden, your safe haven, or just your successful life. Perhaps you do not hear (or read) this often, but I wish to remind you that you are, dear Reader, a very talented person, open-minded, with a unique experience in this world, and I have no idea how many further incredible miles you will travel. So what are your future projects? How do you plan to take care of yourself and your soul? Do you have spare time over to read?
For some time now, I have wanted to send you this little piece of writing. I have, however, never pressed the ‘send’ button. I am wondering if you would be interested in this manuscript I have been writing for a little over a year now. You would be reading about what I have been experiencing lately, and even though this life script is far from finished yet, I would like for you to read me. It is about the burnout reality I am ‘stuck into.’ I have hit the brakes. The text also introduces some questioning about being too honest and too good a person until you erase yourself and disappear behind a cloak of invisibility. This girl, the ‘me,’ giving voice to the words, has tried so hard to be perfect in order to please the ‘everyones’ and ‘everythings’ until she completely forgot about herself and got lost.
Perhaps you will find this description too foggy, but I wish not to give too many details, for I do not know how these few lines will be received. Also, I do not wish to scare you, dear Reader, but I want this story to be told by myself in order to protect and save the other lost and wandering souls.
I do hope life is treating you well, and please know that I mean it when I say ‘take care of yourself.’ Please do.
A bientôt, j’espère,
Alessandra
The Lights
Tears running down my cheeks.
Slowly. Silently.
Or are they tears?
Pain in the back of my head. Taking over my legs.
Ignoring the pain.
Pushing through it
I can’t feel my legs.
Is this my new routine?
Is this my new normal?
I wonder where the tears go when I keep them from slowly running down my cheeks.
I wonder what my head looks like when the inside is burning.
Whether my legs will hold me up when they’ve gone numb?
Keep pushing through the pain.
Keep walking on those legs.
Before it all goes blank.
And what remains are ashes in my head.
Numbness taking over my entire body.
The lights just went out.
My light just went out.
Livia Dubois, October 2019
Everyone, save me.
For as long as that inner roar still exists, the little lion will struggle and learn how to become king.
Day One Sometime in December, 2017

Dear Mou,
I did it. I have finally decided to write down these letters. It is blurry as to how many there will be or what I will put down in each and every one of them, but I do know one thing for sure: we both need this to have closure. To finally start to live without the fear of losing me. Better put, I have finally found a way to convert my inner fears, guilt, and frailty, or so I thought, into a source of energy to write the story of the last couple of years and, most importantly, the last few months. I will not lie, nor will I hide the tough but accurate and relevant facts that have all led to the person I have become, that someone – your little bear – that has changed from one day to the next and that has been blaming herself for too long a time now.
Perhaps we saw it coming but never realized how deep the scar had been clawing its way to my very heart and soul. Perhaps we were not ready to accept it, and I do not believe I still grasp the concept of being ‘prison forced’ at home, feeling almost like an inmate