I have a lot of trauma, years of it all piling up. I haven’t talked about my mum on here. Maybe because it’s too personal, and I know she wouldn’t want to be talked about in public after her passing. I at least can say, her passing messed me up a lot.
My mum died of brain cancer in early 2020. It was heartbreaking watching her in her last few weeks, as she lost the ability to speak and move her arms and legs. I became a hyper-empathetic person and her suffering affected me. I couldn’t sleep but the one time I could, I woke up screaming and bashed my forehead into a window, absolutely shattering it. I could have gouged my eyes out if it wasn’t for the fact I woke up right as it happened. In horror at what I was capable of, I slept with my mattress on the floor for the rest of the week.
I don’t want to cover the specifics of how she died, but it will obviously stay with me for life. As so it should, some things should never be forgotten, despite how painful they may seem.
Not too long afterwards, I went psychotic. This psychosis (which I’ve blogged a bit about) was strongly themed around my mother, in some ways. Including that, psychosis was a dark shamanic voyage into eternity. Time flickered in and out before my very eyes. Such pain, ‘hallucinated‘ within my body. Psychosis was a trauma lumped onto a trauma.
Afterwards, I was left with a devastated art ability. Now I had to swallow down a triple-decker-trauma sandwich. I could no longer have the career, nor hobby, nor very joy that I used to rely so heavily on. I was lost, beyond lost, I was a broken person. Unable to find happiness the way I used to, with artistic expression.
This leads me to say, my art ability wavers to this day. It goes back to being horrible in waves. Is it depression, as the doctor says? Or is it something more, preventing me from feeling any inkling of love through art? I can’t afford to be miserable though, because where does it get me other than in a rut of depression?
I tried to heal, as I’ve said in other blog posts, but these three trauma weighed deeply on me. The memories of being pinned to my bed, visualising a void sucking my soul out of my body above me. The confusion, horror and pain, both mental and physical, made me useless and unable to cope with daily life for months.
Then I maybe healed a bit. I went back to school in semester 1 but before long, a fourth trauma hit me. This one was glittering and golden, but still had a darkness. As this incident with me being runaway from home ended with me risking my body in a dark park. This is a trauma that hits me like a brick sometimes and makes me impulsively seize my legs together. I begin to forget it, but it is a grave warning. One for not being gullible the next time, if there is other times, that I go “manic”.
Flash forward another year, it’s the start of March 2022 and I feel the twisted magic rising again. Before long, I’m in a ward, but the voices I am hearing take a turn for the worse. This is still very raw for me, but I will still say. Once I was released from the ward, being alone in the house and overcome by the nasty voices, I attempted su*c*de.
I was rushed into hospital where more trauma had befallen me. Like a miasma in my brain, these voices would not leave me. They told me I was evil, and made me write a list of all the ways I was evil. Some of which included ‘eating fish‘ and ‘being a snob to so-and-so that one time‘! When my dad and his girlfriend visited me, I was a broken husk of a human, completely drained of any semblance of happiness. The cruel words plagued my mind, eternally tormenting me. My mouth was dry and eyes too sick of crying to produce new tears.
This is the culmination of intense trauma, being pushed past the brink of despair and actually attempting the unthinkable. I feel like puking in remembrance of this excruciating experience. But, I’m alive? Please do not comment on this matter, I only talk about it because I need to share. I need to express the horror of what I’ve been through.
This leads me to say, I’ve endured a lot of misery and trauma. Hey, it could be worse, many might think. It has still been a hard slog for me these last few years. I’m scared, because I am experiencing the unknown to this very moment. Often it is kind, but then what was the darkness I have felt.
Above all, I continue to experience something that guides my body whenever I’m alone. Evil, or good? Which one is it? Was there some reason for what it has done to me? Is the devil playing with me? At the end of the day, I am alive, even if I continue to attempt to endure something I don’t understand.
Of course I talk about the same thing over and over, this psychosis, mania and trauma, wah wah. I seem like a whiny bitch who never learns to move on. I would move on, oh, if it wasn’t for how this invisible entity continues to play with me. Whatever this thing is, that relishes playing with me, it has some good in it, I think. It showed me unbelievable beauty June 2021, which has made up for the dark hex which I believe my 2020 psychosis to be.
There is a weight to trauma. Other people may have things that seem more concrete, like memories of physical assault or a verbally abusive person. But mine has just as much of an impact, and is still valid. Simply because it has happened within the constructs of something people have told me ‘isn’t real‘ , doesn’t make the anguish and scars invalid.
I am seeking answers for this magical chaos constantly. Asking and pleading into the void, wondering if there is a reason for me having experienced what I have. This thing, whatever it may be, tells me vague answers through scribbled scrawl using my own hand, over and over. It is playful and maddening in it’s inconsistencies.
Yes I sound batshit-loonie-bonkers.
So I’ve gone on about the same things over and over, in post after post. Where does it get me? Well I’m trying to heal. It is a long process and the road is rocky and full of painful stumbles. But still, I keep going.
Thanks for reading.