A Précis of My Horrors

No persona now. No mask. Just some bare and barren truths about my life, my depression, my anxiety disorder. Anxiety is too weak a word of course. Just some truths about my horrors.

—Two days of hypomanic blogging which garnered me new followers and likes and views of my blog. Then the horrors began. The days, months, years that came before of course were not free of horrors either. But a new season of horror had come, a new arising of horror.

I am frightened that it was in fact hypomania which fueled me those two days. Hypomania and perhaps thus some variety of bipolar disorder would be a new prize in my collection of disorders. I have not contacted my psychiatrist about the possible hypomania as my therapist has repeatedly encouraged me to do. I do not want new pills to take. I do not want to have yet another disorder in my brain, yet another mental illness. So I do nothing, irrational, quite paralyzed by fear.

I sit here in paralysis unable to force myself to move for hours at a time. I neglect showering, brushing my teeth, eating, even going to the bathroom because I simply cannot move. Trash accumulates in the kitchen where mold grows on a long unwashed bowl. Clutter clots the living room and bedroom. My apartment is an embarrassment, a folly, a horror to me. I am out of food that does not require preparation and I do not visit the grocery store so I sit here, pangs of hunger arising and then vanishing again into nothingness. Some days I neglect sleep. Some days I sleep most of the day and night, waking for an hour or two. During my waking hours I generally do either literally nothing, sitting staring into nothingness while I wait for the horrors to pass, or I watch television shows on my computer. Occasionally I chat with friends, friends I have never met in real life, on Facebook.

Two days ago I thought I was going mad. My friend Stephane typed these words to me:

I wish I could just take the hurt away and make everything better

I cried — because no one had said such sweet words to me for years. Crying made things a little better. For a while. I was chatting with Stephane while fearing that I was becoming insane or already was insane. The fear was unbearable. I typed to my friend quickly, frenetically, in an effort to ease the pain, the fear, in an effort to express it somehow to someone kind enough to listen, or rather to read. Getting it off my chest however did not help. I took a two milligram Xanax and two capsules of Neurontin. In about an hour my terror had subsided into the background. Now I knew why I feared and whence the terror. I had been suffering a panic attack, a new species of panic attack with no physical symptoms and no fear of death but instead a fear or rather a certainty of madness. Now I attempt to take the Xanax-Neurontin cocktail every six hours because Xanax is effective, according to Wikipedia, for about six hours. As I take four two milligram tablets of Xanax every day taking this cocktail every six hours is practical, sensible, and feasible.

—I was going to type, to tell you so much more, but my mind wanders and clouds. I wish I could tell you the truth about mental illness, my mental illnesses, my major depressive disorder, my anxiety disorder, and now, I fear, a possible bipolar disorder although this remains undiagnosed and, I hope, spurious. But I can’t express it to you, I can’t convey it in words. And why would you, my dear readers, even want such a thing conveyed to you? You have no reason to want such a thing.

I am a powerful sorceress — when I am well. Even now I have spirits that protect me while I am unable to protect myself. My therapist knows all about my sorcery and my experiences with spirits, magick, and so on. She does not think these things madness. Rather she thinks my madness hinders my powers in these arenas. I believe she is correct.

Was it wise to attempt a précis of my horrors? I am also infinitely weak. Was it wise to air this fact to the entire Internet? Will I lose face before my small but beloved readership? I do not know the answers to these questions. Fortunately I do not care about face and I am either wise or a fool and cannot change which one I am, whichever that may be.

I value the truth. I value the minority, the unloved, the despised, the Other. I am mentally ill. Therefore I have attempted to tell you the truth about the unloved minority which is comprised of the mentally ill, we who are most certainly Other. If you have read this broken account I hope you have learned something or have otherwise profited from your reading of it. Much love to you. —Rachel Izabella


5 thoughts on “A Précis of My Horrors

  1. henadology says:

    I honor your courage in sharing this, and I sincerely hope that things get better for you. It is good to hear that you have a therapist who understands your spiritwork and supports it. That’s a big asset, all too rare. Be good to yourself!

    • Rachel Izabella says:

      Thank you for your kind words and encouragement. The words you use, honor and courage, mean so much to me. Please visit often and comment often.

      Much love — Rachel Izabella

  2. Sonny says:

    I never comment, but I visit here often. I’m commenting now to tell you that I have had the deepest sympathy for the mentally ill since I took abnormal psych in college and started to understand how awful it is and how alone sufferers truly are…and the pain this brings. When I think about how forgotten and disregarded the mentally ill and troubled are in our society, it makes me sad and angry. You pain should never happen to anyone and I am so sorry.

    I really wish I could help, but I’ve come to give you a very long overdue thank you. I don’t expect you to remember, but two years ago I was a very low point. I felt helpless and hopeless in my relationship. For years and years my boyfriend was verbally emotionally, and mentally abusing me. He’s a cerebral narcissist. I was just so emotionally spent and mentally exhausted. You were there for me and you validated me. It wasn’t all in my head and I wasn’t overreacting like he would have me believe…like he would tell me over and over. I knew was it wasn’t but it was such a relief to have you tell me that when you did the reading and you gave me insight into the situation. I don’t have anyone else to that for me and it was just such a lifesaver at the time. Thank you so much Rachel.

    • Rachel Izabella says:

      Sonny — Thank you for the kind and even inspirational message. I’m extremely glad I was able to help you back then. As for my depression and anxiety, I have my ups and downs. The worst seems to have passed, thank the Gods. I just wanted you to know I am not still sunk in the same pit of despair as when I wrote the blog post. But damn! that was a rough time. And it could come again, you never know. Depression and anxiety aren’t something that can be magickally or medically cured as far as I know — only the symptoms can be treated.

      Again, thank you for commenting as you did. It made my day to know that I had helped you in your time of need.

      Much love — Rachel

  3. […] and the magical blow-back caused me some serious depression for about a week (which I detailed here). Live and learn. I plan on trying again when I receive Jean Kent’s Master Book of Psalms in […]

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