This is going to be difficult.
Something has been wrong with me for a long, long time. I first became aware of it nearly four years ago now. I started actually telling people about a year ago. I've lived through periods of manic-depression, self-harming, love and heartbreak, voices and visions, egoism and self-hatred, silence, chaos, invisible wounds and a battle of wits with the Devil. And now, finally, I think I'm having a proper nervous breakdown.
I've been waiting for this for a long time.
Twitching. Barely-controlled spasms. Mood swings so violent as to be almost bipolar. Headaches. Chaotic periods. Insomnia. The desire to destroy. Hyperventilation. Insatiable bouts of lust - I know, that could be put down to hormones, but for me, and at this level, it's very abnormal. Gibbering. Panic attacks. The constant feeling that at any moment I'm going to snap. All this has happened before, but on a much smaller scale. No one's noticed yet; but then, I'm very, very good at seeming fine. I wonder how this will end.
How does one go about bringing this sort of thing up? I've never been good at talking about these things. It's the staring I can't stand. She stares at me. Impatient. Accusing. She's already worked out what she things is going on, and no matter what I manage to say it's her answer that she's going to push. Usually that I'm spending too much time on the computer. In the face of that argument, it's small wonder I don't bother talking to her. Mothers are a handful. Or the other way around.
Anyway. The reason I mention mentioning this is because I've been thinking about taking up asylum for awhile at the mental hospital. Get away to a safe place in a reasonable environment. My other fear about this is that it will be interpreted as an excuse to sit around and mope all day. People get that kind of impression about me and then apply it to everything I do. There's no helping that. They make up reasons for what I do. It's happened a few times. Sometimes it would be valid if applied to a normal person, while other times it's something I'd never even have thought of. A lot of it's because they think I acted without thinking, not fully understanding the consequences. Half the time I let them believe that. It's much easier than explaining my plans. I dread the day they find out about the things I do for no reason at all.
Got off-topic. Anyway, so I understand this is a constructive environment for people who are actively trying to get better. My third and final fear is that it's a happy-smily "positive learning environment" where we get love bombed into submission until all our negative emotions are clouded by a fog of false cheeriness. I know already I'll be able to see right through that bullshit. What I want is a realistic setting that helps people actually confront their problems and get over them. Preferably with grey walls. A padded room and psychiatrist's couch won't be necessary, but it would feel a lot more honest. I know most people want to get through this kind of thing without any kind of pain and trauma but come on, let's be realistic. Strength through adversary. If I'm going to a place of healing I want to do something that works.
Of course, there's always the possibility that my pleas won't be heard. I'll just be left to deal with it by myself and my biweekly trips to see the good doctor. But then, there's always the possibility that I might let myself... slide, a little bit. Let a few extra episodes slip past my faltering defense system. Give in to my destructive urges. Scream at the top of my lungs for the first time in my life. Of course, I couldn't do that if it might hurt anyone... well.
Anyway. Nothing set in stone. Just a few thoughts.
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No, the pills never work. Just ask Alice, I think she knows. They can make you tall, or small, but they don't do anything at all.
And you're right, you cannot plaster over the shadows with happy meals. That is like taking a wound and applying silly putty over it; the infection will only fester, growing much worse than before. Gangrene sets in, and before you know it - amputation. Let's avoid that, shall we?
So how do we engage with the negative emotions without harming ourselves and the people around us? It's not an easy question, and there are no easy answers. Sorry, kiddo. I think it starts with intention and boundaries. Having an intention to get better is an easy one to rally around. Setting boundaries that we won't harm ourselves or others in the process is likewise advisable. Simple rules, and from there we can go beyond good and evil, and get to the grist of the matter. I bet Skeleton has something to say about grist.
That said, there will be pain and there will be trauma. That's what we get when we confront the pain and trauma that's been repressed for so long. No wonder so many do everything in their power to avoid it. Makes sense. Doesn't work, but it makes sense.
In the old days, we didn't have mental institutions. No, when the great crack-up came, we'd go out into the forest, into the jungle, out to sea, up in the mountains... to the wild places. I think there's a good reason for that. First, out in the wild, on our own, we can scream and curse and howl. We can emote, let go, and the wild will take it all in with barely a yawn.
The second thing about the wild is that it's all happened before out there. Been there, done that, and spawned a thousand insects in the bargain. All the patterns are out there, and one of you deep inside will see the pattern that gives you the key to unlock the door, whatever door or portal it is that you need to go through.
Of course, there's risk. Always a catch, huh? There's real danger out there, in the wild. Remember all those fairy tales? Red Riding Hood gets swallowed by the wolf, Hansel and Gretel get shoved in the oven, Vasilisa gets dropped in Baba Yaga's cauldron. That's how those stories really ended, long ago. And maybe those endings were good in a way - they highlight the dangers. Reality is tough like that. Maybe that's why the old ways, the old cultures, they had witch-doctors or shamans to watch out for falling boulders, to mitigate some of the dangers.
Here's a story I really like. It's the story of Psyche (pronounced "sike-ee") a beautiful mortal woman fated to die on top of a lonely mountain, at the hands of a monster. Venus sends her son, Eros, to pierce her with an arrow of love so that she won't be frightened by her impending doom. Well of course Eros is so struck by Psyche's beauty that he pricks his own finger and falls irrevocably in love. He whisks Psyche off to Paradise.
And for a while, Paradise suits Psyche just fine. She gets everything she wants, and at night she and Eros roll like thunder under the sheets. There's a catch, of course. She's not allowed to see the face of her benefactor. Well, one day Psyche invites her sisters to visit, and they are surprisingly less than impressed. "Why, there must be something wrong with this Eros chap," they whisper. "He must be a terrible monster, not to let you see his face." Doubt creeps in.
One night Psyche can stand it no more. After Eros has fallen asleep, she lights an oil lamp in the windowless room, to see his face. It's beautiful, so much a surprise that she drops a drop of hot oil on her lover, waking him. Eros says this is the end, but he wants to know, why did she light the light? "I had to know," she says.
Psyche wakes in the wilderness. Paradise is gone, Eros is gone, there is only her and the wild. She finds a river and plans to throw herself in, when she hears a flute playing. Pan emerges, the goat-footed one. He tells her to go back, go back to her home village and live a contented life. That's one choice, besides throwing her life away. No, that won't do says Psyche. She must be reunited. Well, says Pan, then you must become a goddess, if you will consort with a god. You knew he was a god, didn't you? Go seek out the temple of Venus, and she'll give you further instructions.
Psyche finds a temple to Venus, and becomes her dedicant. Venus sets her to impossible tasks, such as gathering fleece from the Golden Rams, filling her cup from the source of the river Styx, sorting a mound of poppy seeds from pebbles. Psyche improbably fulfills each one. The last one is a trip to the Underworld, to fetch the beauty cream of Persephone, Queen of Hades (seems Venus is a bit jealous of Psyche's beauty, eh?)
Anyways, it's a terrible confrontation, but Psyche emerges with the beauty cream. Venus demands it, this final tithe. "No," says Psyche, now defiant. "This is mine." Psyche opens the container, and breathes in a single vapor. And then Psyche dies.
Not the happy ending you were expecting? You might want to ask yourself what Psyche accomplished in keeping the beauty cream, rather than handing it over.
This is always the case when we forge ourselves in the crucible of becoming, of becoming our selves, warts and all, but healthy. Like that moth I keep going on about. For the caterpillar to become a moth, it has to die for its rebirth (and let me tell you, that's scary shit.) Maybe Doctor Who is a better metaphor for this day and age - regeneration. He'll run out, sooner or later, but until then there's the cycle, the circle, the snake eating its own tail. The trick is not to take it literally - not to throw ourselves in the River Thames and actually drown. That just feeds the fishies.
So... this doctor, you see every couple of weeks. Just how much have you confessed? How much of the story have you told? Do you get told what is happening, or is it mostly a matter of you answering questions?
Sorry, I'm such a chatty cathy today. One last question: Which one of you is responsible for maintaining boundaries with "reality"?
This is the fourth doctor I've seen. Well, psychologist. One asked a lot of questions, one loved the sound of his own voice. One only saw me a couple times before I was booted off to a different system. This one mostly just talks to me while slowly taking me through a diagnosis process. Two questionnaires, a drawing challenge and an IEG later and she still hasn't given me anything concrete. The same procedure: they ask for information, I describe what I'm going through the best I can, and they ramble on about depression. I've never been given anything resembling a diagnosis or even any advice. I just sit on my hands and wait for something to happen, and I get the feeling they're doing the same. Anyway, she knows the basics; the depression, the multiplicity, the "visions". Not so much the things that are harder to put into words.
As for reality... I don't know. Skeleton pretty much runs things on the inside. So him I guess.
I think you're very brave, Nine. Bravery, as I see it, is not a matter of being fearless. I see all kinds of fearless people, and most of the time they're fools, idiots, or assholes. No, the brave ones are the ones who've looked Fear in the face, who've brushed mortal terror, and still carry on. It's action in the midst of fear.
It's good to stick with a mental health professional for a period of time. Even if she isn't particularly helpful, at the time, it can function as a ritual for stability. You can make it your own, you know. You can make it a place to more safely explore the demons that haunt you. The psych doctor may not see it that way, but so it goes. Of course it'd be nice to be in a co-creative conspiracy rather than doing all the work yourself - though regardless, most of the work will be your own. This is a good thing, though, because that keeps you in your power.
Here's something you might not have known. Back in 1928, according to a Webster's dictionary printed then that I've had the privilege to read, psychology was described as a branch of metaphysics. Metaphysics! That is the territory of religion. Well, it was. The old myths, they were really quite vivid, and for good reason. They laid down patterns in the soul, patterns that in that day in age were vital for continued survival. In a world that is changing so fast, we don't have the same foundations we used to. *wistful*
Sorry I keep bouncing around - it's morning here on the other side of the pond, and I have to get ready for work, so I'm just going where my stream of consciousness is leading me. Back to psych doctors. The early process you're in right now is called the intake process. She is giving you all kinds of questionnaires and stuff to get a read on you, to take you in. It can take some time, so be patient. And it goes both ways. You are taking her in, and it's like a dance. You see if you're suited for each other - she may not know how to treat you, you may not feel comfortable with her ways. Or not. Maybe it's a good match. But it takes time.
The thing is, it is *your* process. You are in control, to a great extent. You are the one seeking healing, you are the one who determines what to say, how fast to open up, how much to trust, and where you want to go. The doctor may only now be realizing that depression is a symptom, not the cause. Certainly looks that way to me, but what do you think?
Looking at everything you've written (I've read it all twice now) I think you already know exactly what it is that you need to deal with, and it's not pretty. But getting from here to there, oh, that's the work. That's the journey. It won't happen overnight.
Are you familiar with the Grail stories? Percival finds the Grail, and it slips away before he knows it. He searches for seven years before he finds it again. Seven years. That's... that's a long time, really. But it puts the journey in perspective. Seven years. Mm.
So breathe. Breathe deep, and exhale deep. And... repeat.
EEG. My mistake. (Honestly I'm still not sure about the acronym.)
Everything? Twice? I can't even remember most of it... Since this has always been my quiet little venting space I'm curious as to how you found me, and what stirred up your interest. I personally can't see these conflicted ramblings as anything more than the sad attempts of an arrogant and confused teenager trying to find something meaningful in himself, but then I'm very critical of myself in that way. And I'm very tired. Insomnia as well as the end of the break.
Ever read The Wasp Factory? Screws you up for life, that one does.
I found you through your Donnie Darko bit, and after reading your stuff I was hooked. Like I said, it resonated.
I haven't read Wasp Factory, sorry.
Arrogant and confused, trying to find meaning? Honey, that's the story of all humanity. Join the club!
Okay, I need some help. I've gotten confused trying to keep track of you all. I think there's Skeleton, haich, Whisk, Wraith, Prophet, Styx, Impact, and... Alex and Lank?
Styx, IMPACT, Wraith, the haich, Skeleton, Clarence, Prophet, Whisk, Lank. Nine is difficult. Even we lose track sometimes. Alex is the whole.
But come now, tell me about yourself. You know my story. I'm anxious to hear yours.
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