My apologies for taking a break from my fiction series, but an event happened the other day that I really need to work out before I can get back to my story. Admittedly, A. is probably the only person upset I haven't added a new chapter, but I needed to purge these thoughts from my head first.
I was making dinner on Monday night when I received a text from my mom. It said,
"We just got a card from (nursing home) in (town). It looks like Uncle S.'s writing. It is addressed to you. Do you want us to open it?"
I cannot express how I felt when I got this text. Throughout my therapy, I've tried to accept the fact that I may never know what happened to me. I've tried to accept that I'd never hear from my uncle again, that I'd never be able to ask him any questions about my past, that he was possibly dead. I've just tried to let it go, to shut that door forever. With that one text from my mom, the door has been cracked open.
My heart dropped into my stomach. Instant anxiety. The first contact from my abuser in over 10 years.
The thoughts raced through my head.
I need them to open that.
I need to know what it says.
It might upset Mom.
Doesn't matter. I need to know.
I wrote my mom back. I told her that I wanted them to open it. I also told her that it was ok if just Dad opened it, if my mom thought it would upset her. While my parents both know I'm in therapy for something my uncle did to me, I've never shared any details. Uncle S. is my mom's brother and I think the knowledge that he did something to me greatly distresses her.
I guess my mom needed to know, however. She opened the letter and wrote me back:
"It is a card that says, 'Thinking of You'. There is a note also. 'Well, don't know how to begin so I will keep it short. It's been so long. I hope you and (brother)'s life is good. I think of him also. You were the closest to me. I'm living in (nursing home) probably around 10 years after being homeless. I finally got a tablet and gmail and I'm learning but still not that good. I hope to see you and (brother) one day. (insert email) I love you.'"
I was floored. I had so many reactions, so many thoughts. Mainly anxiety. Anger. Hurt. Questioning everything I've ever thought.
This letter said basically nothing. What was I expecting? An admission of guilt? I think I was expecting an admission of guilt or, at the very least, some answers.
I went to bed on Monday night feeling numb.
I woke up feeling distraught on Tuesday. It was a gray, rainy day but I told A. that I must run. I ran outside with no cell phone, no headphones. Only A. following me slowly in the car. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I ran until my legs and back hurt, and I was puffing on air. I ran until my head cleared minutely.
A million voices pummeled me while I ran. There was an angry voice screaming "HOW DARE HE??? WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS???"
There was also the underlying sinister voice that always says, "Maybe his note said nothing because nothing happened. Maybe he's just a sad, lonely uncle reaching out to his favorite niece."
I ran until I outran these voices.
I don't know how I'm feeling today. All over the place would probably be an accurate description. Luckily, I have therapy tomorrow so I'm hoping my therapist can help me sort this out. I think what I need to sort out is if I'm going to contact my uncle back. Part of me says that's a ridiculous idea because my uncle is manipulative and a liar. Part of me says that due to this, I'll never get the truth anyway. Part of me says I need to at least contact him to tell him that I know what he did, he did not get away with it, and to never contact me again.
There's only a couple of things I know for a fact after receiving this information:
1. My uncle is alive.
2. He tried to contact me.
The biggest question I'm left with is this: Why now? Why did he reach out to me now, after all these years?
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Life After Life
While I was in Oregon, my mom's friend dropped off a book for her to read. If there is one thing I do on vacation besides exercise, yoga, eating, and drinking, it's read. So I began to read the book, called "Life After Life" by Kate Atkinson. It's hard to get into, mainly because there are a million jumps in time in the story. The basic premise is that this girl lives and dies, over and over. In one flash, she dies at birth. Then the next chapter begins with her overcoming a difficult birth, only to catch a cold and die a few weeks later. The chapter after that picks up a few months into her life. Does this make sense? As this girl grows, she dies. Over and over. Always with a second chance afterwards. The point of the story being that she eventually becomes aware she has lived and died, many, many times, and as such, she tries to change the future. It's an amazing book if you can stick with it.
Every time she dies, she later wakes up just after dying. In the same situation in which she died, its just the second time around, she always makes a different decision in the situation. For example, in one flash, she goes downstairs upon hearing her family's maid return from a protest late at night. It turns out the maid catches the Spanish flu at the protest, and gives the flu to the entire family, killing some members. Including the main character. After the main character's death, she then wakes up in her bed, hearing the maid coming home from the protest. Instead of going downstairs this time, she is filled with horrible dread, and pulls the covers over her head to hide. She does not go downstairs.
The whole book is a collection of decisions, and then immediately, shows what would happen if the main character had made a different decision. Isn't that a fascinating concept?
I read this about a month ago, so I've had ample time to ponder the ideas planted by the book. I've often thought my self-destructive path should have ended in death. Perhaps a few decisions made differently would have meant that. I believe my husband has been one of the best decisions I've made, and I believe without him, I probably would be dead. He's the only one who got me to pause in my path, leave the path, and attempt to find a new one.
There was a moment, almost 10 years ago, when he called me for the first time. I almost didn't answer the phone. I watched it ring at least 7 times before I answered it. I stared at that old school Nokia phone, playing Eminem's "Shake That". Because I was scared. I did answer the phone, right before it went to voicemail. But, what if I hadn't answered it?
I was dating someone else at the time my husband and I met. I was in one of my typical, atrociously chosen relationships. He was 13 years older than me, an alcoholic with 2 DUI's under his belt (along with a jail stint), a 16-year old daughter to my 23 years, and he was married. What the fuck was I thinking? At any rate, that relationship could have been the end of me. If I had chosen him, I know I would have kept drinking until one day I would inevitably drink too much. I had no business dating a married man. He told me he was separated, but looking back on the situation, we only met in hotels. Now that I'm no longer a child, I see this was likely a lie and he was having an affair on his wife. I was so naive at the time though, I believed him. Children have absolutely no understanding of the complexity of relationships, especially marriage. Fortunately I answered that phone call, started dating my husband, and eventually, chose my husband over the married man.
There was another moment, probably 9 years ago, right after my husband and I had started dating. As I mentioned before, I was 23 when I met my husband, fresh out of college. I was still living the club-kid lifestyle. While I was in college, I took a job at a bank and I stayed with it after I graduated. After I graduated from college, the bank wanted to put me through a banker program which I happily accepted. In banker school, I met a woman who was probably a little too much like myself. We were immediately drawn to each other, and before I knew it, we were drinking gallons of vodka every weekend. We were at a club one January, me, her, and my future husband. She told me she was going to go do coke in the bathroom, did I want any?
What a pivotal moment in my life. A fork in the road. The husband-to-be greatly influenced my decision and got me to say no, and for that, I believe I am alive. I have an addictive personality, and a dark passenger. If I had tried the coke, who knows where it may have stopped. My guess would be with a needle in my arm and a heart that no longer beats. One path led to life. One path was inevitably leading to death. How in the world did I choose the correct fork in the road?
Which all leads me to an incredibly frightening experience that happened 2 days ago.
I'd wanted to go walking. The hubby wanted to get a haircut. So, he dropped me off at my usual spot and he was going to come pick me up when he was done. I'd walked a quarter mile when a man in light blue SUV drove by me. It kind of gave me the creeps, so after about 30 seconds I turned around. The man was turning his SUV around where the road is big enough for cars to park, where the hubby dropped me off. I felt weird, but kept walking. He drove past me again, and drove about a quarter of a mile ahead and turned off the road. I watched him turn his car around, park, and just sit there. Soon, I walked past him, just hanging out in his car. I kept walking. The further I walked, the more panic gripped my insides. With every step, it felt like my innards were turning to jello. Then my legs started to shake. My mind was screaming, "CALL A! CALL A!"
I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid and to keep walking. But I couldn't. The place where I walk is an abandoned road that runs right next to the highway. I got to a place in the road that was highly visible to the highway and stopped. I turned around. The man had gotten out of his car and was walking behind me. He seemed to be in his 20's, maybe 30's. He had blondish-brown hair that was slightly longer than a buzz cut, wearing a blue t-shirt, black shorts, and blue compression socks. He had a creepy look, or at least my hyper-vigilance told me so. As soon as I turned around, so did he. He walked quickly back to his car, around a small bluff. I couldn't see him anymore.
I called A. as fast as I could.
"I'm having a panic attack. Can you come back and get me?" I said breathlessly. "Hurry!"
Hurry, he did. A. was about 9 miles away, but he turned the car around. I asked him to stay on the phone with me while I kept an eye out for the man. My whole body was shaking, my hands tightened reflexively around my water bottle, filled with ice and water. It would be heavy enough to swing at the man, and then I would jump the fence and get in the highway. Luckily, it never came to that. After a couple of minutes, his car pulled out in the other direction. He drove to end of the road, and turned left.
Just then, A. pulled on to the road and drove towards me. I jumped in the car and asked if he'd seen the man. Turns out the guy just turned left, pulled over, and parked. When we got to the end of the road, the man turned back on to the road and slowly began to drive back down. A. and I gave him the hard stare-down as he passed us, then we just looked at each other. Had he been trying to make me think he left so I would keep walking? We'll never know.
I stayed in the car, trying to calm myself while A. got his haircut.
Thoughts swirled. I felt extremely anxious, unsafe. My mind had already gone to this book, thinking about what had just happened to me. What was it that led me to feeling that awful, awful dread? What turned my legs to jello and panic to jettison throughout my body? Could I just be picking up "vibes" given off by this guy? Or could it be something more?
Chances are, this encounter was nothing.
But what if it was everything? What if this was a fork in the road and I had absolutely no idea? What if I had kept walking? What if he had come up behind me, attacked me, kidnapped me, or killed me?
I'm still feeling quite unsafe. But later that night, I sat and stared into my rescue dog's eyes. There could be a world where neither of us existed. What if I hadn't seen his picture on that rescue site, and emailed them? What if his foster mother hadn't seen and replied to my application? What if the shelter where his previous parents dropped him off had euthanized him?
And, what if I hadn't called A? What if I hadn't gotten myself out of that situation?
What if me and my rescue dog had never locked eyes? Never got to cuddle together watching "How I Met Your Mother" while the hubby works the night shift? Because, what if he wasn't there? What if I wasn't there? And so we sat there, staring at each other, one of us feeling love, the other feeling like there was a chance this moment might never have happened.
It's safe to say I won't be walking by myself down there. Ever again. This incident has been haunting.
Every time she dies, she later wakes up just after dying. In the same situation in which she died, its just the second time around, she always makes a different decision in the situation. For example, in one flash, she goes downstairs upon hearing her family's maid return from a protest late at night. It turns out the maid catches the Spanish flu at the protest, and gives the flu to the entire family, killing some members. Including the main character. After the main character's death, she then wakes up in her bed, hearing the maid coming home from the protest. Instead of going downstairs this time, she is filled with horrible dread, and pulls the covers over her head to hide. She does not go downstairs.
The whole book is a collection of decisions, and then immediately, shows what would happen if the main character had made a different decision. Isn't that a fascinating concept?
I read this about a month ago, so I've had ample time to ponder the ideas planted by the book. I've often thought my self-destructive path should have ended in death. Perhaps a few decisions made differently would have meant that. I believe my husband has been one of the best decisions I've made, and I believe without him, I probably would be dead. He's the only one who got me to pause in my path, leave the path, and attempt to find a new one.
There was a moment, almost 10 years ago, when he called me for the first time. I almost didn't answer the phone. I watched it ring at least 7 times before I answered it. I stared at that old school Nokia phone, playing Eminem's "Shake That". Because I was scared. I did answer the phone, right before it went to voicemail. But, what if I hadn't answered it?
I was dating someone else at the time my husband and I met. I was in one of my typical, atrociously chosen relationships. He was 13 years older than me, an alcoholic with 2 DUI's under his belt (along with a jail stint), a 16-year old daughter to my 23 years, and he was married. What the fuck was I thinking? At any rate, that relationship could have been the end of me. If I had chosen him, I know I would have kept drinking until one day I would inevitably drink too much. I had no business dating a married man. He told me he was separated, but looking back on the situation, we only met in hotels. Now that I'm no longer a child, I see this was likely a lie and he was having an affair on his wife. I was so naive at the time though, I believed him. Children have absolutely no understanding of the complexity of relationships, especially marriage. Fortunately I answered that phone call, started dating my husband, and eventually, chose my husband over the married man.
There was another moment, probably 9 years ago, right after my husband and I had started dating. As I mentioned before, I was 23 when I met my husband, fresh out of college. I was still living the club-kid lifestyle. While I was in college, I took a job at a bank and I stayed with it after I graduated. After I graduated from college, the bank wanted to put me through a banker program which I happily accepted. In banker school, I met a woman who was probably a little too much like myself. We were immediately drawn to each other, and before I knew it, we were drinking gallons of vodka every weekend. We were at a club one January, me, her, and my future husband. She told me she was going to go do coke in the bathroom, did I want any?
What a pivotal moment in my life. A fork in the road. The husband-to-be greatly influenced my decision and got me to say no, and for that, I believe I am alive. I have an addictive personality, and a dark passenger. If I had tried the coke, who knows where it may have stopped. My guess would be with a needle in my arm and a heart that no longer beats. One path led to life. One path was inevitably leading to death. How in the world did I choose the correct fork in the road?
Which all leads me to an incredibly frightening experience that happened 2 days ago.
I'd wanted to go walking. The hubby wanted to get a haircut. So, he dropped me off at my usual spot and he was going to come pick me up when he was done. I'd walked a quarter mile when a man in light blue SUV drove by me. It kind of gave me the creeps, so after about 30 seconds I turned around. The man was turning his SUV around where the road is big enough for cars to park, where the hubby dropped me off. I felt weird, but kept walking. He drove past me again, and drove about a quarter of a mile ahead and turned off the road. I watched him turn his car around, park, and just sit there. Soon, I walked past him, just hanging out in his car. I kept walking. The further I walked, the more panic gripped my insides. With every step, it felt like my innards were turning to jello. Then my legs started to shake. My mind was screaming, "CALL A! CALL A!"
I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid and to keep walking. But I couldn't. The place where I walk is an abandoned road that runs right next to the highway. I got to a place in the road that was highly visible to the highway and stopped. I turned around. The man had gotten out of his car and was walking behind me. He seemed to be in his 20's, maybe 30's. He had blondish-brown hair that was slightly longer than a buzz cut, wearing a blue t-shirt, black shorts, and blue compression socks. He had a creepy look, or at least my hyper-vigilance told me so. As soon as I turned around, so did he. He walked quickly back to his car, around a small bluff. I couldn't see him anymore.
I called A. as fast as I could.
"I'm having a panic attack. Can you come back and get me?" I said breathlessly. "Hurry!"
Hurry, he did. A. was about 9 miles away, but he turned the car around. I asked him to stay on the phone with me while I kept an eye out for the man. My whole body was shaking, my hands tightened reflexively around my water bottle, filled with ice and water. It would be heavy enough to swing at the man, and then I would jump the fence and get in the highway. Luckily, it never came to that. After a couple of minutes, his car pulled out in the other direction. He drove to end of the road, and turned left.
Just then, A. pulled on to the road and drove towards me. I jumped in the car and asked if he'd seen the man. Turns out the guy just turned left, pulled over, and parked. When we got to the end of the road, the man turned back on to the road and slowly began to drive back down. A. and I gave him the hard stare-down as he passed us, then we just looked at each other. Had he been trying to make me think he left so I would keep walking? We'll never know.
I stayed in the car, trying to calm myself while A. got his haircut.
Thoughts swirled. I felt extremely anxious, unsafe. My mind had already gone to this book, thinking about what had just happened to me. What was it that led me to feeling that awful, awful dread? What turned my legs to jello and panic to jettison throughout my body? Could I just be picking up "vibes" given off by this guy? Or could it be something more?
Chances are, this encounter was nothing.
But what if it was everything? What if this was a fork in the road and I had absolutely no idea? What if I had kept walking? What if he had come up behind me, attacked me, kidnapped me, or killed me?
I'm still feeling quite unsafe. But later that night, I sat and stared into my rescue dog's eyes. There could be a world where neither of us existed. What if I hadn't seen his picture on that rescue site, and emailed them? What if his foster mother hadn't seen and replied to my application? What if the shelter where his previous parents dropped him off had euthanized him?
And, what if I hadn't called A? What if I hadn't gotten myself out of that situation?
What if me and my rescue dog had never locked eyes? Never got to cuddle together watching "How I Met Your Mother" while the hubby works the night shift? Because, what if he wasn't there? What if I wasn't there? And so we sat there, staring at each other, one of us feeling love, the other feeling like there was a chance this moment might never have happened.
It's safe to say I won't be walking by myself down there. Ever again. This incident has been haunting.
Saturday, August 1, 2015
The Singularity
I recently read an article talking about famous artists, thinkers, philosophers, and the like, and how many of them loved to take long walks. Aristotle, Muir, Wordsworth, Thoreau, and more. It's been said that Charles Dickens used to walk 20-30 miles a day. While I walk anywhere from 5-11 miles a day, I don't think I could walk 30! Anyways, I was out on my daily walk yesterday when my mind wandered back to something that's crossed it before- the singularity. I'd planned on writing my last bit about my Oregon vacation, but I'll save that for later. I want to talk about the singularity today while thoughts from yesterday are still in the back of my mind.
I was well into my 3rd mile yesterday, when a seemingly innocuous pop song came on. It was "Talking Body" by Tove Lo. For whatever reason, the lyric "On and on. On and on and on" sent a jolt through my body. I've become really attuned to these blips of anxiety as they hit me, so I zeroed in on the feeling right away and began to think about it.
One of the first most intense emotions I remember feeling, even as a little girl, is a feeling that I can't even put words to. It's a feeling of pressure; unrelenting, unabated pressure. It's the feeling that this feeling would never end. By feeling, I guess I mean the pressure. I think I was so young at the time, I did't know what emotion I was feeling. Perhaps fear? Unrelenting fear. The most disturbing part of remembering this emotion is the feeling that it will literally never end. I can put more feelings with this emotion, including feeling so paralyzed I can't open my mouth to make a sound, and something so heavy sitting on my chest that I feel like I'm being smothered. My breathing becomes shallow because I feel like I can't breathe. I'm not sure what the "memory" is that is associated with this "emotion" but this same feeling reoccurs sometimes during Ambien dreams or night terrors. On and on. On and on and on, is how the feeling felt. Never ending.
The girl who grew up with all these feelings and emotions felt lost. Unhappy, fearful, and with an anxious tummy most of the time. That girl soothed herself with make-believe Barbie games, hoards of library books, and her favorite foods. When she turned 12 and the boys took notice, she soothed herself that way. And when she was 16, she discovered alcohol. Then marijuana. Then over-the-counter sleeping pills. Then cigarettes. Sex. Shopping. Anything to fill that void.
What is the attractiveness of all these substances? They numbed the girl. They made her feel like a different person, a happy person whose body actually felt good. For a couple of blissful hours, that skin-crawling anxiety that makes one want to rip their face off would be gone. She would be free. She could laugh and talk to strangers. She could flirt with the cute boy and put her hand upon his arm. She could, for 2 seconds, not think about whatever it is that is inside her that makes her want to end it all.
And what is it? It screams at the girl every single day, telling her she cannot go on even one more second, that it demands something. Because it is never satisfied. It is a pit that will never be filled. It is a black hole within the girl that only seems to get bigger with age. She dances around the event horizon, never getting close enough to reach the point of no return. Coming close, yes, but never fully engulfed by the darkness. She has never tried cocaine or heroin, lost all of her family and support, spent all her money on drugs, and been forced into rehab. She has never cheated on her husband, forcing him to divorce and leave her. She has never had a mental breakdown, forcing her into a pysch eval at a mental institution. Because she dances. She flirts, but she does not fall.
It tells the girl that it will get her someday. Someday, when her guard is down and she's had too many drinks or drugs, it will eviscerate her. It will put temptation in her way that it knows she will not have to will power to deny. Because she is weak. She is bad. She has no self-control. The singularity will find a way to show the world that.
And then, it will win.
Because that's what it wants. Ultimately, it wants the girl to have nothing and no one left so it can end it all.
I call "it" my Dark Passenger. That ol' Dexter reference again. I fight "it" everyday. When I have dark thoughts, I realize it's because I feel like I'm going to be doing battle every single day for the rest of my life. And that in itself is what's unbearable. I picture how utterly long 30 to 40 years could be, and I picture feeling the way I feel every. single. day. It's a scary thought. It makes me wonder if that's why some people actually go through with suicide. Because they can't image having to feel what they are feeling for the rest of their lives.
Does everyone have a singularity? A portion of themselves that's so dark that no light can escape from it? A portion so dark you can't gaze upon it and see anything at all? In my (non-scientific) opinion, it's the singularity that drives addiction. How? The singularity causes a person to feel a certain way. If that person happens to try drugs or alcohol, they are going to discover that these things make them feel better. This will lead to the person seeking them out more and more often, until eventually they become an uncontrollable force in their lives. A person without a singularity isn't going to find the same "relief" that a person with a singularity does and therefore, they aren't likely to seek it out as much. Can't you see this is why some people who try drugs do not become addicts?
It's this belief that led me to follow Amber Lyon and her website Reset.Me. I've been looking into medicines like psilocybin, ayahuasca, and Ibogaine. Numerous studies are showing that these medicines are having a great effect on depression, anxiety, PTSD, and addiction. I'm really beginning to think that in order to feel better, in order to destroy that part of me that says "I WANT I WANT I WANT", I'm going to have to get rid of the black hole. As of right now, I don't know what the answer is. I feel stuck. I'm making progress in therapy, but it's frustrating because I know the Dark Passenger is still there. It still beckons and calls every day. It wants me to drink vodka everyday. It wants me to smoke cigarettes everyday. It wishes it could get its hands on some Xanex, Vicodin, or Percocet. Some days I do great ignoring the requests of the singularity. Other days are an abject failure. I don't feel like I'm getting the bottom of things. I don't know where the bottom is. I don't know what caused the singularity or what traumatic memories linger that makes it remain. All I do know is that the research being done on medicines like psilocybin, ayahuasca, or Iboga are finding that they may actually repair neural pathways. Pathways that may have been decimated by trauma.
Could this be the answer to the singularity? A destroyed neural pathway that could possibly be repaired?
It's a tantalizing thought.
I was well into my 3rd mile yesterday, when a seemingly innocuous pop song came on. It was "Talking Body" by Tove Lo. For whatever reason, the lyric "On and on. On and on and on" sent a jolt through my body. I've become really attuned to these blips of anxiety as they hit me, so I zeroed in on the feeling right away and began to think about it.
One of the first most intense emotions I remember feeling, even as a little girl, is a feeling that I can't even put words to. It's a feeling of pressure; unrelenting, unabated pressure. It's the feeling that this feeling would never end. By feeling, I guess I mean the pressure. I think I was so young at the time, I did't know what emotion I was feeling. Perhaps fear? Unrelenting fear. The most disturbing part of remembering this emotion is the feeling that it will literally never end. I can put more feelings with this emotion, including feeling so paralyzed I can't open my mouth to make a sound, and something so heavy sitting on my chest that I feel like I'm being smothered. My breathing becomes shallow because I feel like I can't breathe. I'm not sure what the "memory" is that is associated with this "emotion" but this same feeling reoccurs sometimes during Ambien dreams or night terrors. On and on. On and on and on, is how the feeling felt. Never ending.
The girl who grew up with all these feelings and emotions felt lost. Unhappy, fearful, and with an anxious tummy most of the time. That girl soothed herself with make-believe Barbie games, hoards of library books, and her favorite foods. When she turned 12 and the boys took notice, she soothed herself that way. And when she was 16, she discovered alcohol. Then marijuana. Then over-the-counter sleeping pills. Then cigarettes. Sex. Shopping. Anything to fill that void.
What is the attractiveness of all these substances? They numbed the girl. They made her feel like a different person, a happy person whose body actually felt good. For a couple of blissful hours, that skin-crawling anxiety that makes one want to rip their face off would be gone. She would be free. She could laugh and talk to strangers. She could flirt with the cute boy and put her hand upon his arm. She could, for 2 seconds, not think about whatever it is that is inside her that makes her want to end it all.
And what is it? It screams at the girl every single day, telling her she cannot go on even one more second, that it demands something. Because it is never satisfied. It is a pit that will never be filled. It is a black hole within the girl that only seems to get bigger with age. She dances around the event horizon, never getting close enough to reach the point of no return. Coming close, yes, but never fully engulfed by the darkness. She has never tried cocaine or heroin, lost all of her family and support, spent all her money on drugs, and been forced into rehab. She has never cheated on her husband, forcing him to divorce and leave her. She has never had a mental breakdown, forcing her into a pysch eval at a mental institution. Because she dances. She flirts, but she does not fall.
It tells the girl that it will get her someday. Someday, when her guard is down and she's had too many drinks or drugs, it will eviscerate her. It will put temptation in her way that it knows she will not have to will power to deny. Because she is weak. She is bad. She has no self-control. The singularity will find a way to show the world that.
And then, it will win.
Because that's what it wants. Ultimately, it wants the girl to have nothing and no one left so it can end it all.
I call "it" my Dark Passenger. That ol' Dexter reference again. I fight "it" everyday. When I have dark thoughts, I realize it's because I feel like I'm going to be doing battle every single day for the rest of my life. And that in itself is what's unbearable. I picture how utterly long 30 to 40 years could be, and I picture feeling the way I feel every. single. day. It's a scary thought. It makes me wonder if that's why some people actually go through with suicide. Because they can't image having to feel what they are feeling for the rest of their lives.
Does everyone have a singularity? A portion of themselves that's so dark that no light can escape from it? A portion so dark you can't gaze upon it and see anything at all? In my (non-scientific) opinion, it's the singularity that drives addiction. How? The singularity causes a person to feel a certain way. If that person happens to try drugs or alcohol, they are going to discover that these things make them feel better. This will lead to the person seeking them out more and more often, until eventually they become an uncontrollable force in their lives. A person without a singularity isn't going to find the same "relief" that a person with a singularity does and therefore, they aren't likely to seek it out as much. Can't you see this is why some people who try drugs do not become addicts?
It's this belief that led me to follow Amber Lyon and her website Reset.Me. I've been looking into medicines like psilocybin, ayahuasca, and Ibogaine. Numerous studies are showing that these medicines are having a great effect on depression, anxiety, PTSD, and addiction. I'm really beginning to think that in order to feel better, in order to destroy that part of me that says "I WANT I WANT I WANT", I'm going to have to get rid of the black hole. As of right now, I don't know what the answer is. I feel stuck. I'm making progress in therapy, but it's frustrating because I know the Dark Passenger is still there. It still beckons and calls every day. It wants me to drink vodka everyday. It wants me to smoke cigarettes everyday. It wishes it could get its hands on some Xanex, Vicodin, or Percocet. Some days I do great ignoring the requests of the singularity. Other days are an abject failure. I don't feel like I'm getting the bottom of things. I don't know where the bottom is. I don't know what caused the singularity or what traumatic memories linger that makes it remain. All I do know is that the research being done on medicines like psilocybin, ayahuasca, or Iboga are finding that they may actually repair neural pathways. Pathways that may have been decimated by trauma.
Could this be the answer to the singularity? A destroyed neural pathway that could possibly be repaired?
It's a tantalizing thought.
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