Tag Archives: continue

Take Six

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Here, she feels stable. Here, she has a fresh start. The scene is familiar but only from the years spent visiting her grandparents and wandering the streets that surrounded her with shopping centers full of chain supermarkets and restaurants. She remembers the only store that was remotely unique was called Twist Treat in the shape of a large swirl of pink ice cream in a giant kiddy cone. They always armed her with extra sprinkles on the side and she would dip her chocolate ice cream in the bowl to replenish the sweetness. She reminisces and digresses. She can’t escape the fact that she left behind her home three days ago. Twenty years of the same people, places and things made her feel nauseous. She had to leave, it was her only choice for sanity.

She walked around for miles, up and down the same streets. She drove around uptown, glancing at the little shops and old nooks she used to hang around. Tears rolled down her face but she couldn’t help but smile. This was depressing to think about– leaving her home– but she was so excited. This meant she was one step closer to independence. She had a plan. A master plan to get her long overdue “proper” education that could really take her places.

Since she first heard her father tell her, “if you don’t believe in Jesus Christ, at least believe in something,” she was determined to find the answers to life and death. She studied all the great texts in high school, only to find the same patterns disheveled in creative tales and sonnets. All this information only made her more confused. So she busied her mind with something else; art and music. It wasn’t long until the expression and lack of answers led her to experimenting with her reality through drugs. Soon enough she only became concerned with consciousness and lost all desire to pursue her hobbies. When she ran away from philosophy, she made a mistake. The search kept her going at the time, art was just a distraction. When her addiction took over to later reveal her disorders, she morphed into an egocentric, hopeless disaster. But now that she realizes this, she is able to recognize her passion that has followed her all along.

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She had always been afraid to pursue a philosophy major because she thought the only thing you could to with that is become a writer or a teacher. At this point, she just didn’t care. Those two options didn’t seem so bad anymore. She daydreamed that one day she might be able to conjure up a novel outlining her two months of insanity. She was inspired by all the books she has read while she is in recovery; books about addiction, bipolar disorder and the psychotic mind. She was so intrigued with the memoirs that completely related to her, she felt like she was no longer alone. These people had been best selling authors, brave and admirable for they’re ability to tell their truths so vividly to the world. She knew she would need a lot of strength to dig out those memories she tried so hard to suppress but she thought it was worth it to explore herself enough to help another struggling addict/bipolar. She would need to do extensive interviews with the people that went through it with her. That would require another trip to India… As scary as that thought was, it made her feel warm. She fell in love with India and all the people who helped her along the way. She would want to write down every single experience– even the most embarrassing and shameful. She cringes at the idea of any of her loved ones reading her stories but she had been open up until this point, publishing her journal in front of the whole world. While maybe the whole world wasn’t reading it, they most certainly could. And maybe someday they would. She has big ambitions. Maybe even “grandiose.” But she didn’t care anymore. This is what drove her. This is what kept her clean. This is what kept her sane. This is what kept her alive.

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Take Two (and a Half)

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Don’t close your eyes! Don’t close your eyes! She told her self this over and over again as she sprinted harder than she ever has on the elliptical. Her lungs were full to maximum capacity and she could feel her breath getting shallower. She shuttered at the idea of passing out. Her mind began racing in fear. What if this? What if that?!? SHUT UP! She screamed at herself in her head, concluding; I don’t know what’s better, this insanity or the otherthoughts pacing through the maze of my mind, constantly interrupting another moments seemingly profound deduction of reality! She pounded onward, zeroing in her focus on the time, the calories, the distance. Everything else in the world didn’t matter. She soon forgot how badly she was lacking sleep, how much coffee she drank and everything else that normally troubled her her wake. She was dripping in sweat and she could feel her pants begin to stick to her legs.
Now she sits dreading IOP which will start in thirty minutes. The thought brings back the question of what she will tell them. This weekend was a blur because she didn’t sleep much and she left the house only three times: 1. to attempt attending an NA meeting (which failed due to her proposed “social anxiety”), 2. to quickly fetch the plaster of Paris (which she so desperately needed to create the absolutely, oh so significant and urgent piece of art), and 3. to scurry off to the local grocery store with her mom to buy food she really didn’t want to eat. She never went to workout, she never went to another meeting, she didn’t go out with friends, she didn’t meet up with her sponsor– simply put, she doesn’t have a life! Alas, she comes to what is decided to be the final thought on the matter; she will be honest.
The people in her IOP class know she has been down the past week. One day she even left early cause she just couldn’t stand the anxiety building up inside her. So she is trying to fix it! Maybe it’s not one of the best ways to go about solving such a problem, but she assumes she will be able to rest tonight (although the idea of being alone with herself and those “endless possibilities” seems so much more exhilarating) because she genuinely feels tired. But who knows, she may spiral too far down by the end of the day. She may begin to feel the boiling irrational irritation that tends to take all as its victim as she struggles to get through the night. Then again, she might just have a good time. She might just find some spark of joy by the time she has to go home; igniting an excitement beyond her control that provokes her to create, that inspires her to stay awake.
Now its time for her to go.