Being Kooky: My Progress

Some would say there’s psychological and metaphysical danger in speaking candidly of spiritual progress. Many in parallel paths to mine swear themselves to secrecy to preserve the integrity of their work. I’ve always walked the middle ground between keeping most gnosis to myself while sharing the truths which validate my experiences, attempting to share what I know in digestible ways.

CW: Mentions of suicide and abuse

This is similar to my conscious work in destigmatizing and opening up about mental health issues, sharing what I’ve learnt in ways some people can relate to. There are certain things I’ll never speak graphically of outside of my marriage or talk therapy. What I will do is do my best to join into a global conversation with the knowledge I’ve gathered that I use to help myself live easier.

I will speak frankly, in words I use often, that I’m still cycling through the phase of swans and doves, Albedo Cygnus. I see what I am and what I’m to do, but I still struggle with my addictions and traumas. I am still near the end of conjunction and beginning of putrefaction.

I’ve made drastic life changes I never in my life thought I’d make, ceasing communication with my childhood best friend of almost twenty years, moving back to my childhood home where I’m planning on starting a family, and dedicating myself to the arts despite having long since dropped out of art school.

I’ve accepted that even if I weren’t mentally ill, I would be seen as crazy for being sensing and communicating with essences and spirits. I’ve proven to myself time and time again that I remain consistent when manic or depressed, medicated or unmedicated, alone or socialized, so I don’t need to prove myself to anyone else. Those who want to believe will understand why I still speak my truth.

Someday I’ll go back to the train tracks. I’ve been preparing myself for years, and the time is nearing. I knew the second I left that one day I’d return, not out of curiosity but duty. When I was young, I knew I could never be a doctor like Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H but I wanted to be a healer. Those railway tracks aren’t haunted, they’re wounded and I have to stop the bleeding. Maybe I was born to perform this task, maybe this is just the next step long coming.

Someday I’ll tell the full story of the child and the young man who took his life, but I’d like it to have a proper ending first. It began over seventy years ago and as I am, I’m not worthy of telling it.

So I’ll tell you that I’m believed by those who know me and have experienced what I can do, and that many of my stories are corroborated with witnesses, including this aforementioned one.

It’s ok to step away from the Other if it’s triggering, if it’s existence causes you suffering or negativity. It will let you go, I promise. Be aware of who you are and if you’re feeding your mental illness. I’ve had plenty of experience with hallucinations and delusions, there is no other confusion or fear like it. I made the choice that if what I consider ‘spiritual’ ever weighs me down the same way my symptoms did, I would leave it all behind. I still will if it ever comes to that, despite my lifetime of dedication.

Not once in my life have I felt burdened by my beliefs or abilities. I’m grateful to be who I am. In many ways it was the spirits I believed in who had me seek the help I needed when I believed in little else.

I won’t tell you of the train tracks yet, but let me tell you of the bathroom. 

One night, lost in a sea of delusion and hallucination, I began painting the walls with my own blood. I had been seeing indescribable images and hearing voices as though hearing a physical person speak and nothing was familiar. I was desperate and wanted to die, but I didn’t want to die alone. I’d been disconnected from my spirituality and my frail social life so I didn’t know who to call upon, the living and dead were unreachable past my mania. So, I painted a sigil in my own blood asking for a compassionate witness, demanding it.

As I strung the noose over the door and secured it, I heard a sound in my inner ear and felt my mother arrive in the same way I feel an apple kiss my soul. I experienced it on the same sensory plane I do many esoteric things, but not the true physicality of hallucinations. Psychosis could trick my mundane sensory organs but my mysticism had only been blocked, not warped.

My apartment was empty, my mother wasn’t there, but I wasn’t alone. I felt a presence I couldn’t see with my physical eyes which saw the demons of psychosis clear as day. The relief I felt was as immense as the moment my lover began breathing again after nearly drowning, as powerful as the relief after my abuser finally left me to sob and shake, or the way I felt realizing I truly could be loved. 

Bleeding in that bathroom with the rope in hand, something reached around my shoulders and touched the back of my head. I felt more than compassion— I felt what I feel when meditating with yarrow or napping under a tree, I felt healing and hope for life, not in the same way humans share these sentiments but in the way earth’s energy makes itself known.

I hadn’t had a spiritual or paranormal experience in almost a month, which for me is unheard of. At that moment I realized I was sick and I needed help because somehow I hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even cared until I was at the brink of suicide and in need of a witness. I wasn’t myself, why had I never questioned the images I knew weren’t visions, or the voices with no origin? None of this was how I’d known the world to work.

My progress is that I haven’t experienced a manic episode in many years and I’m more dedicated to my spirituality than ever. In some ways I’m still stuck in my old routines but to be where I am today, I have had to make drastic changes to how I live. I’m learning new ways of being. I’m consistent with my medication and therapy, I track my mood, and communicate openly with the people in my life (few as they may be), and I’m looking toward the future more than my past.

I’ve never been a very open person, I’ve been heinously betrayed several times, but a closed off person is not who I wish to be. I’m changing and my writing has helped me extend myself outward without fear of rejection because acceptance will always come in some form. We all have insidious secrets which gnaw at us, but this part of my existence will not be a secret— to some it will be a fantasy, a myth, a story, to some it will be a person reaching out with the most honesty in their capacity, to some it will be a reminder to let the outside in and the inside out.

Thank you for reaching, this train of thought continues in ‘Friday 13th a Child is Born’.

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