CHAPTER ONE
Nine Months later
Barossa Valley, South Australia
JADA
I never thought I’d hear the words when my therapist tells me, “Jada, this is your last therapy session with me before you move back home. You’ve come a long way. You’re strong and have a lot of courage, which is why your mental recovery has had such successful results.”
To say I was scared was an understatement. No more therapy. No more meds. No more physical therapy. That is what my life had revolved around the last few months. The only two people who knew the real story were Mia and my agent. I instructed my publicist to announce I was taking a well-earned break due to being involved in a skiing accident whilst working in Switzerland. I could easily hide some of the bruises, but I couldn’t hide my fractured ankle and several sore broken ribs; I had to resort to lies.
These lies had been eating at me; I hated keeping secrets. The intense months of therapy sessions helped me reduce my anxiety levels. I’d only just been weaned off my medication, and so far, I felt great. As long as I practised my breathing exercises and didn’t let the anxiety take control over my body, I’d be fine. It was so simple to say, yet so hard to do.
I tried to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. It was hard to disguise my injuries, in particular all the bruising on my face. Big sun hats, sunglasses, and lightweight scarves around my neck kept my bruises hidden. However, the paparazzi still photographed me when I was shopping, walking out of my apartment or even just having a latte at my favourite coffee shop.
Part of my therapy was to try to get out. My anxiety has been diagnosed as Agoraphobia, a common type of anxiety disorder for people who have suffered trauma such as mine.
Instead of using Google to search for fashion events or the latest trends in fashion, I Googled anxiety disorders. I researched everything on Agoraphobia and what it entails. In my case, I hated public places; I was afraid to leave any environment I knew or considered to be safe. In severe cases, people with Agoraphobia considered their home to be their only safe environment. They may avoid leaving their home for days, months or even years. This was not the case with me. I did fear leaving my apartment, but I wasn’t a severe case; however, for someone who suffers from such panic and anxiety, everything feels severe to me.
Oh, how my life had changed. I still lived in fear if I was alone for long periods of time; fear that I was being watched or followed or just feeling unsafe for no reason whatsoever. My therapist warned me that since I was coming off my medication and no longer having my weekly therapy, I may still experience an attack. It may be a particular event, a place or situation, which would undoubtedly trigger my anxiety and send me into a panic attack.
I knew it was not going to be easy and it may never go away, but I could control it. I’d been down a long road, but I was confident I could beat it.
I was strong.
I would win.
***
For the first time in years, I was so relieved to be back home in the Barossa Valley. I was sad, in a way, to leave my glamorous life in Sydney behind, but the last nine months were anything but glamorous. Finally, I’d be back with my family. I had missed them so much; I didn’t realise how much I needed them until now. I needed their comfort, their love, their laughter and most importantly, they needed me, too. At this point in my life, I had to be in a place where I was needed, wanted and loved.
To think, when I left here at the age of eighteen, to pursue my modelling career, I couldn’t get away from the Barossa Valley fast enough. My parents supported me with my chosen career path. They never pushed me to stay here in the Barossa and work in the family business. I never wanted that; no, I wanted to be the most famous model in Australia and maybe even model overseas.
Well, I guess you could say I achieved all those things in the eight years I had been gone. I had never returned home to the Barossa. Never. Not even for a visit. My life was just too busy. I had been living in Sydney for the most part of those eight years. My family came to visit me, but I just never quite made it back to my hometown.
Frequent trips overseas to New York, London, Paris and Italy kept me busy. It was the most exciting time of my life. Now, at the age of twenty-six, it was time to come home. My parents needed me, so I decided to take a break from my gruelling schedule.
Not that I modelled that much anymore. I had given up being a runway model to come home and spend time with my family. After all, in the modelling industry, twenty-six was almost considered ‘old’. In the last year, I had been offered a lucrative deal with one of the most popular department stores Australia-wide. I would be the exclusive model for all MYER stores all over Australia.