day 884 – where once was blazing light, now there’s a tiny spark

Alternatively titled, “The Condition of Pious Illusion Falls to Pieces (Historical Audit Brings so Much to Light Which Is False and Absurd, Violent and Inhuman)”

This post has been adapted from recent posts on my Instagram.

“The theme of the diary is always the personal, but it does not mean only a personal story: it means a personal relationship to all things and people. The personal, if it is deep enough, becomes universal, mythical, symbolic; I never generalize, intellectualise. I see, I hear, I feel. These are my primitive elements of discovery.

I always run away from the simplest phrases because they never contain all of the truth. To me the truth is something which cannot be told in a few words, and those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.

The real wonders of life lie in the depths. Exploring the depths for truths is the real wonder which the child and the artist know: magic and power lie in truth.”
– Anaïs Nin

TRIGGER WARNING 🚨

Over the last week or so, I realized I desperately need to have my mental health re-evaluated, and I’m in the process of trying to find a psychiatrist I believe will be trustworthy and on the same page as me. I can’t keep going on this way, and last week was the roughest week for me yet, and I can’t do this on my own anymore.

My current Zoloft prescribing doctor isn’t qualified / doesn’t specialize in mental health (it’s my OBGYN), and I believe the Zoloft is no longer working for me.

I wanted to feel something — ANYTHING — other than what I’d been experiencing (utter despondency), so I clumsily broke my tender heart WIDE OPEN last week, basically reaching further inside my soul than I meant to. I sobbed multiple times daily (deep, long ugly cries), and had to handle myself with the utmost of gentle + delicate care.

It felt as though every buried, ignored, and/or suppressed past trauma came to a roaring head, and I was feverishly flooded with an abundance of *stuff* that had compacted while I spent those 10+ years in active alcohol/substance abuse, and it’s as though they sat dormant, waiting for me to be at peak desperation + vulnerability before violently erupting.

SelfPortrait_Day881
self-portrait, day 877

As per a coping mechanism I learned in my IOP, I didn’t run from these (intensely) agonizing illuminations + emotions — I sat with them, and embraced them. It sucked donkey balls and hurt like a motherfucker. And so I stayed — where I still remain — embracing the everything + nothing that I am (feeling), and recognized the fact I need help. I look put together as fuck, but I’m falling apart completely on the inside.

I haven’t felt this (extreme + relentless) level of discomfort surrounding my mental health since before I developed my alcohol/substance abuse problems, therefore meaning this is the first time I’ve wanted out of my own mind/body/soul and literally could not drown or numb my feelings because I felt it was too much to bear.

I was so low that not even the idea of relapsing with alcohol sounded inviting, because despite the temporary rush you get from a good buzz, the thought of knowing I’d only intensify a damn near unbearable anguish, AND deal with the aftermath of imbibing in a temporary relief/release/escape… no, thank you. I bawled because I felt like I was going to be stuck in mental purgatory, with no healthy “emergency exit” to provide even the most fleeting escape… it was a lonely place to be.

I’m mentally recovering from all I endured last week, but it’s like… I’ve got my reservations about medications, y’all. Always have, always will. It was HEAVEN ON EARTH the way my Zoloft once treated me (…after I stopped taking it w/ alcohol…), but since it’s seemingly ceased to do the trick for me, the idea of “playing roulette” (trying to find a new medication that will work for me), scares the ever loving dog shit out of me.

Alas, I know there’s a compromise — something better in the realms of mental health and finding a solution that will best help me and my needs — so, I’ll continue to (re)search for a psychiatrist I feel will be a good fit.

Fuck, I know I’m open + honest with y’all, but this is some next level, soul baring, NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART shit.

If you read *any* of this, thank you. I love you. 🌻

xo,
Kristin

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