Exhausted. I have to give myself more time, I tell myself. My body is in a world of confusion, that much I am aware of.
I miss the clinic. I miss the clean, crisp sheets, a clean room, and of course that panic button on the pedestal next to my bed. The one button I can press, at anytime, if ever I feel unsafe within myself. When I become a danger to myself or others. I feel free, no shame, to press it. I remember during one hospitalization, I felt so unsafe, I was placed on suicide-watch and a nurse on standby with me , even when I had to shower.
In the clinic, I can call for help with the battle in my mind. The same battle I fight and surrender to, day in and day out- which is about life and death- the meaning of life... you know, Art. It is about existing, and the reason for it. Seeing and making meaning, often to extremes in my case.
Even though the battle is fought with my mind, my body responds to it being real, in a very real way. Freezing completely, or shutting down. My eyes will close involuntarily, my legs have pins and needles , like they’re switched off. Yet, I am aware of a blunt disconnection between myself and it, my body , or this fuzziness that came as a result of big thump?
Sometimes it is truly bizarre. But here we are. Feeling alone yet I know I am not. I am keeping to myself in this wave but I know that everybody struggles. I am huge fan of Human Design and one of the things that Ra says about every design, every person trips, everybody has their thing that they need to solve or find etc. I can’t seem to crack this - I can’t see, to crack ‘me’... I just crack.
Even my life responds in that same real way - always a sequel of rollercoaster coaster of events , intensity and changes mirroring the deep fears inside me.
Ever since I can remember, especially as a child, I have wanted to run away. I don’t know if I knew what I’d pack, but I saw, in cartoons and movies luck Huckleberry Finn, that you needed a stick and piece of cloth to hold everything tied to it.
I remember sharing with one of my therapists in 2019 when I tried to explain the story about why I wanted to attend art school. I explained by repeating that I “ran away” from home the year before and found myself accidentally, and found that I no idea who I was. But before she commented on anything , she asked me to consider that maybe I’m not running away, maybe I’m running toward something. It was that same year that I realized wait, I can’t see myself- literally- in the mirror.
I wish I could cry it all out sometimes you know, but that too never ends.
This is a tough wave. It keeps hitting the same rock, it’s the same pain that keeps surfacing and I don’t know how to love it away. I have been reading my older blog posts, to remind that I have survived myself before. Hurting myself, trying to kill myself off and all I learned from new realizations and revelations.
I have been here before. I’ve been at the end of the rope before.
I -I -I must stay alive. Stay alive.