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The day my mind detached from my body. He left a shell. I will art through it.
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Cracked and Oozing
12 South, Nashville, Tennessee is a beautiful place, especailly on a sunny spring day. I stumbled around this neighborhood today mumbling to myself, crying from time to time, feeling completely detached from my body and my surroundings, along with feeling just fucking insane. This verge of lunacy is new to me and is both entertaining and terrifying.
Around two months ago I decided to open my very own book of trauma titled “Childhood Sexual Molestation” and since then I have been slipping into insanity. I had made the bold move of confronting my assailant, a move I thought would immediately empower me to become a super version of myself. Instead, it sent me spiraling out of control, hurling me back into obsessive-compulsive behaviors like binge eating and pounding energy drinks in an attempt to feel something different, allowing depression to find it’s old comfortable spot in my mind and under my skin, and threatening my recently celebrated 5 years of abstinence from drugs at the prospect of some fucking relief. Insanity itself is not new to me, but clean insanity is. It’s one thing to be shwanged out of your mind on booze and pills and crazy, it’s a whole new experience to be losing your mind without the help of narcotics. I have no excuse, this is me.
I needed an outlet, a place to put all this out into the world, without judgment. Somewhere I can be transparent and vulnerable. 12 step recovery meetings have been my go-to but I need more, something that all mine, for me, so I turned to this blog. I need to journal to process. I need to journal the process.
I met with a psychotherapist and I am going to start EMDR treatment for the trauma. On my first visit, she kept asking me how I felt physically when I recalled the trauma or anything “bad” in my life and I could not answer her. I physically feel nothing because of this wonderful coping skill called disassociation. You see, even without drugs, my mind has found a way to still numb out the hurt. Amazing.
The thing about opening the book of trauma is that it is not easily closed once its spine has been cracked. Since that first visit with the therapist, I have been in a whole new mind space. I literally found myself talking to myself today, not something I normally do. The disassociation has taken on a whole new life form, I am constantly feeling like I am separate from my...well everything. I am not present.
There has been one fruit of this experience, my artwork. I have been working more and my work is just pouring out. Feels like a cliche but fuck it, I’m owning it. So, I will blog my work as I go along as well.
Here’s to the mother fucker that stole from me in the night. May I heal in a way that is more profound than the damage you caused.
Artzilla
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