(NOTE: I wish I knew a better way to describe the events of last weekend than what I’ve concluded. I’m sorry if this reads as just a vague outline, but I’m keeping specifics to myself so as not to exacerbate and publicly expose painful events of a private matter.)

Without warning, an unfamiliar demon crept into my home, slinked under my sheets and soaked into my mind. As it seized the helm, I suddenly found myself convinced of things I’d never before supposed, aware of realities that had never before occured to me. Unquestionably believing these notions to be true, I found myself standing, completely sober, telling those that I loved these horrible new ideas that had taken root in my psyche, as if overnight. Safe in the knowledge that these sudden notions were factual, I was able to construct entire backgrounds and arguments as to why they were indeed real, why they were residing in my mind all along and how I was supposedly only just finding the courage to release them now. Without doubting myself for a moment, I stood and confidently proclaimed these falsities on behalf of my Self, completely annihilating the trust and relationships I’d worked so hard to build and maintain. Fully aware and understanding of the upheaval my actions would cause in my immediate life and the hurt I would be responsible for, I clearly, soberly spoke the most horribly destructive revelations I’ve ever uttered without a shadow of doubt that what I was doing was pure, honest and right. I never wavered, I never second guessed myself, I just kept plowing forward, watching those around me listen in shock and devastation. 

This is a demon I wasn’t prepared for. One I never could have predicted, one I’m most terrified of, of all that I’ve encountered over the years.

Within a few hours after my erratic behavior, something inside me switched back to my Sane self and became immediately horrified at what I had done. What had I said? What had I done? Why had I taken such drastic, sudden measures? Where had these notions come from? Why would I have said such devastating things to those that I love in the knowledge that my words could literally decimate the life that I have now and destroy those who take the time to love me back? 

Immediately I ran back, apologizing for my massive misstep and searching for any explanation I could conjure as to why this had happened. Fumbling through excuses, I tried to explain this that I could not completely understand. Naturally, I took complete responsibility for my actions, although I couldn’t fully offer any sort of motive or explanation. My excuses sounded hollow and insane as I swore I hadn’t meant what I’d said, had no idea what had gotten into me, had no idea where this sudden urge had come from. One of my unassuming victims claimed that I talked about the event as though I was describing myself in third person, and I tried to explain that this is exactly how I felt, watching someone else come into my mind and convince me to ruin my life. Those that love me nodded in sympathy and forgiveness, assuring me that they would be okay and that they would still be there for me, no matter how psychotic and erratic I became. This, of course, made me feel even more terrible and undeserving as I struggled to make things right, to undo my words, to convince them that what I’d said wasn’t true, wasn’t how I felt, wasn’t even something I’d previously entertained, knowing all the while that the words I’d spoken and the actions I’d taken in my demonic possession carried far more weight than any apology I could ever offer. 

Somehow, I’ve been granted grace and forgiveness, although the wounds will inevitably be harder to heal and forget. As I look into the eyes of those that I most recently hurt, I know that this is something I will not soon forgive myself for, even though it felt completely out of my control. 

This is a demon I’ve never encountered and one I have never been more petrified of. I have never felt more powerless or more volatile than I do at this moment, and I’m living each moment terrified that I will become possessed again. 

—————

It seems pretentious and trite to say that one is exhausted at the young age of 26, especially when one lives in a prosperous country, in a fortunate lifestyle with every blessing she could want having been handed to her. 

And yet, more than exhaustion I feel the seeping-in of complete apathy at this battle. After all the resolutions and lifestyle changes and meditations and medications and prognoses and doctors and reforms and new habits and recovery Steps and therapy and sobriety, it seems my sick mind is still upping the ante, still pulling out weapons I could never anticipate, finding ways to wreak havoc on my life that I cannot predict or defend myself from.

And my mind feels weary and exhausted. I’m tired of the ever-present fighting to stay afloat, I’m tired of the doctors, I’m tired of those around me working to help and only being hurt, I’m tired of the loss, I’m tired of the hurting, I’m tired of the crushing obsessions and loud, screaming neuroses that keep me up all night. I’m tired of screaming back at those neuroses, fighting to silence my mind, fighting to be still and find a center in which to rest, if only momentarily.  I’m tired of the momentary happiness that gets interrupted by plummeting lows. I’m tired of waiting and tired of complaining. I’m tired of the pity and I’m tired of the advice from those who only love me and are trying to help. I’m tired of reading and learning about treatment options, I’m tired of trying something new in hopes that this time, this time something will give and begin to work. I’m tired of the feeling that my hope is worthless, my life is a burden. I’m tired of that familiar sinking feeling when more hope leaves my body and the light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be an oncoming train. I’m tired of the drama, tired of the heartache, tired of the frustration, tired of the weight, tired of slapping on a happy face so nobody worries. I’m exhausted from fucking talking and thinking about it, fighting it nonstop, constantly shushing my racing thoughts and fighting to function normally through mundane, daily activity. I’m tired of the constant war that rages on relentlessly, despite my changing tactics and allied strategies.

More importantly, I’m tired of the obnoxious monotony of thinking of and dealing with this battle every single day and the aching notion that I’m wasting my life in this relentless uphill fight. And I’m tired, most of all, of begging for strength and answers and guidance. I’m exhausted and embarrassed with my naive hope and childish faith, and I’m too weary to keep digging for answers on my own. 

And I realize that this exhaustive search has finally ground itself into an empty, deadening apathy.