I’m the woman who feels her mind unravel every single day. I’m that woman who will drop (almost ) anything to be loved, liked and to try and be there for people. I am that woman who thinks I am one step away from insanity. One meal away from sitting with others -in the cafeteria suffocating with all the beldam and discourse of those who have held all their pain and confusion inside for too long.
I am terrified I am losing my mind. I have panic attacks, social anxiety, Chronic Anorexia and Bipolar. I’m am that woman who sees every one I love (or now)know that I do love get sick or die around me. Drop-dead.
The black sheep. I forget what I want to say. I doubt my self. I think too much. My biggest secret is I want to be grounded. I do! I seem to be caught up in the cycle of escapism. Escapism not in the form of writing, dancing or talking or being cool with me, but I feel myself inching closer towards ‘the dark soul of the night’.
I want to be saved. I question my faith. Did I ever have faith in anything other than toxins that would take me away from my current emotions?
Yet… even though I am the girl shunned by family and friends, I seem to reel it back in. I wind my mind and wrap it into a neat little bow. Always a different colour. I survive. I don’t know how or why.
Well.. I do. I am a mother, woman, daughter, friend and I have a purpose to fulfil. In my most delirious moments, I find myself inching towards praying to my own mother’s version of God. That biblical character. It frightens me to conform. I don’t want to be brainwashed by society and religion and politics. I don’t want to fit in. I want to be accepted.
I find joy in music and dancing. I find sense in writing. I write to recover.
Did I do a Faustus? I did. A long time ago, in between going to a catholic nun run a school, having Jehovaha’s witness lessons after school and then going to get “drunk” in the Lord’s spirit with, my mates, in the evening. I sought out Satanism. I asked it to take me and I lost my way.
That sounds crazy. I’m running empty on spirituality. Mortality is harsh and fleeting. I cry every day for me, my family, even those who hate me so.
I have to move on and let go. Many say I’m too hard on myself. Do we all feel like a fraud?
Knocking on doors for help. What’s the worst that could happen? I end up alone? Forced to be content with this body, this mind, this personality.
I can’t go back. It’s easy to want to go back when the future is so uncertain. In the distance it reveals that is is not benign. It is a vast tumour. There is no way to stop time. It’s an entity independent of reality.
I’m told I need to look within. look after me. Find my place in this world. I’m still here.
I wanted to die. I nearly did.No bright lights.No memory of the ambulance, the police smashing down my door, the room in Intensive Care.
I’m still here. Every time I think I can’t get through with my day or be with myself, time passes and I’ve survived. I’m reminded of Alan Watts famous clip’ What do you desire?’