***TRIGGER WARNING***
The following content is mature in nature and could be distressing and emotionally overwhelming for some readers. If you are currently feeling emotionally vulnerable then you are urged to return and re-visit this post at such time that you feel better prepared. The following subject matter could include: medical/mental health diagnosis and procedures, chronic pain, drug use, obsessive compulsions, anxiety and panic attacks, bi polar induced mania and depression, PTSD, mood swings, anger, rage, sexual/physical/emotional/psychological/spiritual abuse and/or suicide.
“And no Grand Inquisitor has such frightful torments in readiness as has anxiety, and no secret agent knows as cunningly how to attack the suspect in his weakest moment, or to make so seductive the trap in which he will be snared; and no discerning judge understands how to examine, yes, [dishearten], the accused as does anxiety, which never lets him go, not in diversion, not in noise, not at work, not by day, not by night.” (1)
Søren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety
Story I:
Human Wreckage Adrift
My episodes, these cruelly aggressive and violent assaults, are acute and they wreak persistent havoc upon my life. Upon my mind and body. Spirit. Soul. Daily walkabouts into Eden’s garden are thwarted, more often then not, by engagement with, and molestation by the enemy. Brutal chaos. Madness. Insanity. A frenetically paced and chaotic waltz with visions of my tormentors conjured up by my very own mind. My feet, despite their concrete shoes, seem to float along, skimming the ground. I cannot feel them beneath me. Grounding forces seem to dissipate. I am not present within myself. It isn’t real but everything is too real. Time doesn’t make sense. My head is a helium filled balloon floating far above my shoulders. In the moment I can’t comprehend what is actually going on within me. I watch myself from far away.
Where am I? Who am I? Where am I going and what am I supposed to be doing right now? How did that happen? How did I get here? God damn it! Confusion. I can’t make a decision. Can’t finish a thought.
The maddening skip of the needle upon your favorite record. Intrusive and fragmented thoughts bombard my mind. Memories. Their continuous onslaught is physically and emotionally crippling. They come with precision. Unrelenting and unforgiving. Ferocious. All of the random this and that followed by the that then this all swirling and blurring together and organizing themselves into a singular and beautifully melancholy composition in the key of destruction.
I can’t breathe!…I’m going to die…Get off me!…I can’t move….Please!…Run! Hide!…Get under the wood pile! Quick!…Don’t breathe!…Don’t move!…He’s going to get me…Please god. I don’t want to die!…I don’t want to take my clothes off…They’re are all talking about me…They’re all laughing at me…They all know…Don’t hit your sister!…Make yourself disappear…Dana, I’m going to need you to come back to me now…I don’t want to go out on the playground…I don’t want a hug…Well, if you’re right then I’ll be ok either way. But if I’m right then you’re in trouble! Hahaha…I just want to fucking kill myself…I can’t go to work right now…I should just go up to the roof and jump off…You just keep working hard…Don’t touch me…I’m scared you’ll laugh at me…I need to get out of this classroom right now…Was I appropriate or did I talk over the top of them? …I don’t want to get on the bus…I don’t want to play piano anymore. I don’t want to be in any recitals…Can I help you Mom? Are you okay?…pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man…They beat me up!…Whose clothes are in my closet?…I don’t want to be alone with the minister…You’re gonna have to get rid of that anger son…If you kill yourself we’re not going to have a memorial service for you…What? No. Nothing’s wrong…Come over to my house. I want to show you my new records…Get on your hands and knees and crawl across the floor…Ow!…Stop hitting me…Stop!…Ow!…I see stars…Oh, my god!…I’m going to bleed to death…I don’t want to read any books this summer…Oh, don’t you go and start crying now…But, I want to go with you Dad…Grandma’s gone…Never mind…I’m sorry!…Stop it!…I don’t want to die!…Get him!…Kill him!…Fuck him up!…I’m surrounded…We are going to burn to death…Ha, ha, ha…Get out of my room!…I’m going to learn to play this thing…Let me go!…Ow!…Let me go!…Get away from me…Ow!…We just can’t leave you boys alone…There’s someone at the door! Be still! It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok…We’re moving…I’ll show you mine if you show me your’s…You’re a brat…GIVE ME MY PANTS!!!…Hide!…You need to toughen those boys up…I need to teach you how to fight…Where’s Dad going?…Let me in ! Let me in!…I’m dizzy…I can’t get up…The room is spinning…Vertigo…These pills make me violently sick…I feel like I’m going to throw up…Grandma?…Wake up Mr. Benjamin. It’s all over now. You did great…No! You don’t understand…Ow! My back…Ow! My head…Ow! My ears…Ow! My knee…Ow! My face…I can’t move!…They popped my ears…I hear bells…Stop hitting me…Stop it!…Ow!…My hand is stuck in the mixer!…That pounding is driving my crazy! What? You can’t hear anything?…My back!…That shouldn’t hurt like that…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry….Let me go!…Will they hold me against my will?…I don’t want to play basketball anymore…Spin, repeat, spin, repeat…Run! Run!…Benji’s gone!…Benji’s home!…I love you. I love you too…Bruno was hit by a car. He’s dead Dana…Fuck you!…I’m freaking out. I really need help!…Are you going to lock me up?…Turn around and put your hands behind your back…You just had a bad day that’s all…Then that damn war broke out…I want to go to the hospital…My fingers went all the way inside my head!…I reek of cigarette smoke. It makes me sick…Dana, why are you acting like this? Why are you getting so angry?…I have a new family now…You have not one, but two slipped discs…His prancing steeds are harnessed to a star…You have lumbar arachnoiditis…I can’t study…I don’t want another needle poke…Stop it! You’re going to set the house on fire…You’re a hero Grandpa!…You two are just whiny babies…I don’t want to tell them my name…I don’t want to have my picture taken…I have no money…I’m hungry…I have no place to live…Sir, you can’t sleep in the park…Fucking gaper…When will Mom be home?…You are all equally responsible…But Grandma wanted ME to have the family pictures…If you kids don’t stop it I am going to go down and throw myself off the bridge!…I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t love you…Get out of there right now!…Those days are over son…God dammit Dana!…But I don’t want to stand up in front of everyone…I don’t want to sit in the front row…He’s just fighting that damn war again…We can’t help you here. You need to go somewhere else…Grandpa died this afternoon…My back feels like its on fire…Do we have to go to Dad’s this weekend? Will you take us back to Mom’s?…I’m going to run out of food and money…I need to get out of this store right now…Listen to me. Listen!…I am not going in there…Mr. Benjamin is not an accurate historian…It’s a bleeding rock…You were just kids then…My teeth hurt…My back hurts…My legs ache…My tailbone is burning…I can’t move!…Help me please!…It hurts so fucking bad!…I want to die!…Shoot me in the head…I don’t want to hurt anymore…Just fucking kill me!…Mr. Benjamin, we are not here to control your chronic pain…Some of the people that come here have actually tried to kill themselves…Make yourself disappear!…Go to the principal’s office Dana!…Shut the fuck up!…Stop it!…We’re gonna get you!…You have cancer?…I swum with the sharks…You just have to keep talkin’ about ‘em…Sir, please calm down. You’re scaring me…Why are you rubbing your temples Mom?…Don’t you think love is a bond that knows no bounds?…You have a right to the air Dana…Dana? That’s a girl’s name!…I don’t want to go anywhere…I don’t want to go outside…I don’t want to be around people…I’m telling the truth…The wolves are going to get me…The coyotes are getting closer…I asked him and he said he doesn’t remember it happening…I can’t breathe!…I’m going to die…
©broadexpanse
I can look calm on the outside. Socially appropriate. I’ve had to learn how to protect myself. Hide everything. Keep it close. Keep it secret. People who see me have no idea they are meeting a madman. My wounds are invisible.
Damnit! I don’t want to talk to anyone. I can’t. I can’t use my words right now. I speak a language few can understand. The portal from thought to tongue translates imperfectly creating run-on sentences full of incomplete thoughts. Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talking. I hate the sound of my own voice. I am irritable at my inability to explain myself. I really want someone to talk though. But I don’t want to be around people. I worry that I look totally intense and insane. Mean and scary. Unapproachable with my furrowed brow. I feel impulsive. Absolute terror and fright. I am angry. My mind rolls along at a terrible pace, my tongue can’t keep up. Nervous. Confused. Trapped. I get myself into messes. Burn bridges. It’s all just miscommunication and mis-firing of the synapses. Another bruised and battered attempt to make a good first impression. Fuck!!!! I can’t breathe. Run! Get away. Fast! I’m sick. Wait! I don’t want to be invisible! I want to be seen.
I am constantly overwhelmed and exhausted, to say the least. I can never stop. Can never relax. I can never seem to stop moving. I mean, I try. I really try. I promise myself I will sit down and relax and hours later I’m still frantically moving. Sometimes I cry aloud that all I want is to sleep through a night like a normal human being. But, like a marionette reacts when its strings are pulled, so do I. The imaginary puppeteer, my masochistic muse, constantly has me up when I just want to be down.
Pace-pace-pace, pace-pace-pace, pace-pace-pace, pace-pace-pace. Sit. Stand. Pace-pace-pace, pace-pace-pace. Sit. Lay down. Can’t sleep. Can’t even blink. I put my head to the pillow. I cannot release myself from the power outlet and the electricity is surging throughout my body. Everything vibrates. Hums. The sound of water flowing through the pipes in the walls. Gushing then dripping. I hear things no one else can. The silence is deafening and the deafening never silent.
©broadexpanse
My weary brain, round after round, continues its game of Trauma Tetris. The needle continues to skip. I hate being awake at night, in the dark, alone. It is not a safe place for me. It is actually quite dangerous. In the middle of the night, alone, I stand before an invisible firing squad composed of my past tormentors and abusers. Attackers. People that hurt me. Stalked me. People that didn’t listen even when I was SCREAMING RAPE! FIRE! Those who didn’t believe me. Protect me. Their individual projectiles fly at me all at once as a singular force. I am helpless and have no way to fight back. I become frustrated. Angry. Violently angry. I yell at the world. I break things. Smash and throw things. Punch walls. Refrigerators. At best, I destroy replaceable things such as cell phones, remote controls, iPads and televisions. At worst, I demolish possessions most treasured. My lack of self-control frustrates me. My actions, and inability to control them, are a source of great shame. Humiliated, I punch myself in the face over and over and over again. I bruise and blacken my eye and my cheekbone. I emerge from terror attack induced blackouts covered in bruises, with bloody knuckles. Scratched and clawed.
©broadexpanse
I have never attempted to take my own life while lucid. Nevertheless, death becomes an obsession. The idea of being dead. Death seems a comfortable state in which to dwell. To rest. I am desperate for rest. A reprieve. I walk for hours. Forced marches through the city. Miles of city. I wear through the soles of my shoes. On wet days, dry days, sweltering days, long cold nights. Why can I not kill myself? Why can’t I put an end to it all? Fucking why??? Where do I get this unwavering determination to keep marching forward? I could simply throw myself in front of a train. We have plenty of those here. People do it all of the time. It is far from a sure method though. I do not own a gun. Never have. Never will. I should just leap from a bridge. I do live in Bridgetown after all. Instantly I can think of eleven beauties that span the river Willamette. Plus the Vista Bridge. Suicide Bridge. No water below. Only asphalt. Absolute guaranteed death.
And yet, some mysterious antidote to hopelessness lifts my spirit. Again and again I am soothed by some sort of life-affirming force radiating from deep within me. Sending me my greatest inspirations. Nudging me along. I hear my Grandmother’s words, We are sure proud of that one right there. My spirit is buoyed. This internal fortitude, and its origin, has become an obsession for me.
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