Even Angels Fall

A huge thank you to my truly amazing family and friends for all of your constant and unwavering love and support over the years. I appreciate just how lucky I am to be surrounded by such an incredible group of people and I love you with all my heart.

The biggest thank you however, must go to my wonderful grandparents, who are still loved and missed every single day. My Grandma Rose, my Grandfather Robert but most of all my beautiful Nana Mona, who actively encouraged my writing and creativity from a very young age. She was my greatest supporter, my biggest fan and my best friend.

There are honestly no words to describe, just how much I miss her.

In Loving Memory of

Samantha Rhodes

and

Johnny Duckett

There is always hope in the depths of despair.

“It Can’t Rain All The Time…”

T
he bright, mid-afternoon sun pours through the open window, as the soft, summer breeze makes the trees outside sway together in a gentle dance. Abbey Miller turns her face towards the sunlight and closes her eyes, feeling the warmth on her skin. As the birds sing and the leaves rustle softly in the wind, she allows her thoughts to slowly drift away from her.

“Abbey…?”

She reluctantly opens her eyes and returns to the present moment. Sitting across from her is Dr Morris, with a pen resting in her right hand and a clip board balanced in her lap. She watches Abbey curiously.

“Writing about your experiences, actually putting them down on paper… it has been proven to be an effective tool when coping with trauma. I feel you might benefit from this… you may find it an easier way to communicate?”

Abbey shifts uncomfortably in the large leather armchair. How can she be blamed for not wanting to ‘communicate’ when she is so aware of Dr Morris assessing her every movement, enthusiastically scribbling down more notes because she rubbed her head or cleared her throat. It’s not that Abbey doesn’t trust her. She is clearly good at her job. The many certificates of achievement and qualifications that are framed and mounted neatly on the wall speak for themselves. She is patient and understanding, as all therapists ought to be. She just doesn’t get the point in being here. What difference is it really going to make? Everything that has happened to Abbey in the past 18 months can’t be changed or altered in any way. She can’t take back all the bad decisions she has made.

No, there is no point. In Abbey’s opinion, no amount of ‘communication’ is going to make the slightest bit of difference what so ever.

“Would you at least be willing to give it a try? You could write in the form of a story, or perhaps a diary… whatever you find easiest. And then in our sessions we can go through what you have written and discuss it together. Does that sound fair?” Abbey sighs quietly, nodding in response as Dr Morris flashes a brief, reassuring smile and seemingly satisfied, once again begins to add to her notes.

As the sun sets over the beautifully landscaped gardens outside, Abbey sits in her room, staring in frustration at the computer in front of her. It is dark - the only light coming from a small desk lamp that is balanced precariously on a pile of books and CD’s. She watches the cursor flashing at the top of the screen, her mind completely blank. Why on earth did she agree to this? How is she supposed to put her tragic, dysfunctional life into words? She exhales the smoke from her cigarette and twists it into the ash tray, running her hands through her long auburn hair. She looks older than her years. Only 19, yet her pale green eyes reflect the maturity of someone much older, someone who has been through more than the average teenager. Someone, in fact, that has been through more than the average person ever will.

Eventually, she reaches for the keyboard, hesitating for a moment before she begins to type…

‘Have you ever taken a step back and looked at your life?

Are you where you expected to be? Or do you often find yourself wondering ‘how the hell did I end up here?’

I seem to be asking that question a lot these days - and as I reflect on the circumstances that led me to this point I still find it hard to believe.

Trinity and All Saints Rehabilitation Centre is somewhere I never expected to end up.’