Carry on my Wayward Son...

Moments stretch out like a languid hand, graceful unseen fingers caressing the sands of time in a methodical succession of loving repetition. It's in these shifting fragments, misplaced and floating within the void like fireflies flickering in and out of sight, that an overactive mind becomes still and complacent. Attempting to make sense of the spiraling chaos of imagination that dances like macabre shadows behind these focused eyes. Watching as a ghostly white face of a monitor fills with the delicate shapes of words that spill from swaying fingertips along black keys.

A pause. Jawline clenching in thought as the mind tries feverishly to find the correct prose to convey the thoughts that flow like a rushing river that's escaped past a broken levee from within. So much to say, yet somehow unable to properly explain it all. It is here that I am at a loss with myself.

Trauma does strange things to the mind, especially one whose ability to remember very intricate details of memories stemming from being in diapers, it really takes a toll. You don't just find yourself remembering the images, but the feelings, the smells, the sounds and the hyper focus of someone's expression. It's a terribly intense experience, especially when it is of many separate traumatic events that sometimes come spilling forth in one horrifying wave. Even harder still is to be immersed in the exact same setting, everything in the exact same place when something truly mind shattering had transpired and yet things have changed for the better. It's akin to being forced to live in the ruins of your home after a monstrous catastrophe had transpired but you have nowhere else to go. Trapped in the reminder of the hell you've gone through. It does things to you...

It's made the healing process much harder when you feel like it might repeat itself. What was once your sanctuary, your safest space...has been corrupted and stained. It leaves a residue; painful and poisoning as it continuously seeps into the pores, weighing down on you...suffocating. The pressure becomes nearly impossible to escape and you desperately wish you could make your screaming brain finally silent. To make it stop. Dear gods make the pain stop. But it doesn't stop. It's relentless in its pursuit to drive you to the very mouth of a ravenous abyss where inevitably you'll be swallowed by your own wailing lunacy.

That's a pleasant image, no?

Beyond the mental and emotional struggles, there have been the issue of health. Namely, my body had decided it was done with the insurmountable magnitude of stress that had piled up over the last seven years and began to break down. Years of running on empty had finally caught up with me and a chronic illness I've lived with since I was fourteen years old had revolted with a vengeance. My usually overactive immune system decided to go on strike and began failing. Last year, I had not one very high fever, but several in succession which left me increasingly weak and in tremendous amounts of pain that could not be quelled by any means. It made me very aware of my own mortality and that I was in very real danger of expiring much sooner than I'd ever imagined. I also realized that due to my quite morbid mental state, it was in fact having a huge effect on my body. In short, terrible thoughts of simply no longer existing had caused my body to start to fail. Talk about a terrifying wake up call. I was in no way ready to die... Realizing I was actually causing my system to shutdown, I quite literally scared myself into getting better. Like a light bulb had been switched on in my dusty brain-pan and everything went back to normal (well, as best as it could while being buried beneath so much debris).

The most amazing thing is how much I've bounced back in recent months. Once I convinced myself it was time to get healthier and to no longer depend on outside means to heal or to cope with pain, my body responded beautifully. I'm no longer dependent on strong medications to get by hour by hour. In fact, I convinced my body to have an allergic reaction to anything stronger than over the counter pain relievers. For the first in nearly eighteen years, I'm completely sober. Well, beside the occasional ibuprofen or caffeine. I rarely if ever drink alcohol (due to how I used to need 138 proof absinthe just to feel anything). My chronic illness has become increasingly easier to live with and I know that getting back into shape will also make a huge difference. I'm still not where I was physically a few years ago (gotta love emotional eating) weighing in at 195lbs instead of a much healthier 168lbs. So I've got some work to do...which wasn't easy to do before considering how much pain I was in despite having very strong painkillers in my system. When my body says, “NO.” I have no choice but to comply.

Getting back into a healthier place physically and mentally isn't as easy as it used to be. Thirty five isn't that old, but it makes a difference on how fast I recover. I'm grateful that it's happening now rather than be too far gone and not be able to change myself for the better.

I truly do feel better. One day at a time I've battled with myself mentally and despite it taking longer than I'd have liked, I'm finally seeing results. The panic attacks are fewer and far between and the anxiety has become a low trickle. My ability to function has greatly improved and my chronic pain is lower than it has been in years. The insanity brought on by a nervous breakdown has finally become nothing more than a whisper and I can think back on memories rather than drown in mortifying flashbacks. There's a new kind of peace growing inside of me and I am incredibly grateful for it.

There is also the promise of change in my future. One that is literally just around the corner. A new chapter to begin when I gather my earthly possessions (Eleanore included), retrieve my feline child GIR from my Mom (driving long hours with a cat will be interesting to say the least lol) and travel far north. I'm leaving California behind. Letting go of the noise and heat for the crisp forests of the pacific northwest. To start fresh with my amazing partner in a house of our very own. A place that will help us both heal from the tragedy of our pasts.

For many years I've wanted to move north, but like any interesting story, the plot changed mid chapter and I was faced with filling the pages with experiences and lessons that needed to be learned first before getting back on track. The story demanded twists that I was grossly unprepared for. Thankfully, I've gotten past that character arc and can finally move forward.

Don't worry, it won't be til after the faire season has come to a close. Just before summer graces our world with the promise of endless sunny days and star-filled night skies. I will not miss the heat. Yet another reason as to why I'm heading far north. My body has decided that anything over 75 degrees Fahrenheit is unbearable. I suppose it's my body's way of telling me that in order to continue healing I have to be in much cooler temperatures. Since I'm not gettin' any younger, my health comes first ;)

Also, with my mental, emotional and physical health recovering, I'll be more inclined to be more social. So you'll be seeing/hearing more from me on social media. I miss sharing what I can with everyone I care about. I enjoy engaging with my loved ones, even if it's not in person. I'm also cautiously excited about what comes next... Maybe it's the push I need to create something amazing? Guess we'll have to wait and see.

And on that magical note of doom... *Laughs when ASIA'S 'Heat of the moment' starts playing* I shall finish my second cup of coffee and find something interesting to distract myself with.

Adieu.

Well, hello there...

It’s been far too long since these hands have glided across darkened keys. Words trapped behind silent eyes, desperate to escape, to be unleashed. To shatter these terrible walls built up by a wounded psyche. Nothing more than a leviathan of scar tissue left in the wake of unimaginable mental torment.

Somehow…deep within the shadowed remnants of a broken spirit, a flicker of something remained. The smallest thing, nothing more than a trinket it seems of what used to be… By the grace of the unknown, survived intact.

I never meant for radio silence. To simply cease my activities as if I never existed. Sadly, there was a part of myself that wanted everyone to forget. So that I could crumble into a heap of my own self-hatred. But as many of you know…I’m too damned stubborn to simply disappear, despite nearly being successful this time. I had to heal and for the life of me, no matter what I tried, I had to slink back into myself and go still. No, it was not an easy decision to make. I just didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. My own reflection became a living nightmare. In fact, in my place was a monster from my childhood…peering back at me through these haunted eyes. It became a daily struggle to even chance the smallest glimpse of any reflective surface, knowing that this monster shared my features. That in doing so I wouldn’t see myself but the horrible reminder of the thing that nearly ruined my life.

So much time has passed, as if I’ve been isolated within a hell-scape I wasn’t aware I could awake from. Struggling to remember, to search through my fragmented mind at what was real and what was my own twisted creation. Swallowed whole by a ravenous ID.

“Change my appearance” I thought; which would do some good. So I tried dying my hair black, but that only made me feel invisible. Later I stripped the darkness away and went back to red…but the fire in me had gone out. There was only one thing I could do…so I chopped two feet of hair off. Only to proceed to lighten my hair through bleach baths and went golden blonde. Now… I want to change it again. Possibly back to my natural color or back to red, but I’m still on the fence. Because I’m also fully aware of the simple fact that in order to feel confident in my own flesh again, that turning point in my mental state must first come from within. A feat that has not been an easy one.

I’ve wanted to express so much to all of you, thinking that perhaps if I just filmed videos about it that somehow it would help. Sadly, that warped inner perception snarled that if I did, I was just doing it for attention. That I needed to stay on course and remain trapped in silence. That I had to suffer. Alone.

Well I’m done drowning.

In the face of experiencing flashbacks from an assortment of trauma, it has become easier. For the longest time I would shatter into numbing panic attacks if I even thought of stepping foot outside. Driving; a once soul-fulfilling experience became nearly unbearable. I was literally trapped inside my own body while silently screaming to remember what it was like to be normal. To just be. It has taken over five long years for Eleanore to be road worthy again and the first time I got to drive her on my own a few months ago was absolutely horrifying. Through blurring vision and trembling hands I managed to push through it.

This is one of the reasons as to why I chose not to work faire this year. I didn’t want to just jump back in when I wasn’t sure how my psyche would react to it. I did manage to visit briefly for one day of Pirate weekend just to see how I would handle it. It’s only by being there did I realize I had made the correct decision in returning as a patron. I wanted to enjoy myself this time and I did. That added responsibility of working/volunteering may have thrown me off the edge again, which was not something I could mentally afford after the progress I’ve finally been able to make. Last year proved that simply trying to push myself just wasn’t going to cut it this time. You can bring a horse to water but you can’t force it to drink. Lesson learned.

After doing much internal searching of my own fragmented mind, I’ve also realized that no matter how hard I’ve tried to force the pieces of myself back together, they just don’t fit right anymore. I am not the same person. Neither am I the ‘empty husk’, vile words spoken by the twisted voice deep inside the recesses of my soul. I am nothing more than an amalgamation of everything I used to be and might be. An old car that’s undergone an engine rebuild. The body is a little dinged up, the paint chipped and rusting in some spots but it’s still the same faithful machine that will get you to where you need to be. Like my beautiful Eleanore; we both needed some time in the shop before we could venture out safely again.

For the time being I’ll end it here. Gotta admit, kinda impressed I was even able to write in the first place considering it’s been a few years since my last update. I won’t make any promises about writing daily again. What I can offer is that I’ll try. Even if it’s an unimpressive drabble of thoughts piled into a few measly paragraphs. It’s better to try and fail, than sit back and do nothing as the forked tongues of unseen horrors whisper terrible lies to a fragile mind.

And with that, I shall bid thee adieu.

-Onyx