Lost Animal

[dreamingwithfairies]

On Thursday, I was lucky enough to see my doctor, who is fully booked until after Christmas. It wasn't Dr. Campbell who saw me, but it made no difference to me.

 

I sat down in her office and told her my purpose - a short, practiced line: "I need a referral to see a psychiatrist so I can get a diagnosis of my mental state."

 

I knew a psychologist and psychiatrist were different things, but I aimed for the latter because I need medical treatment, not a conversation with someone. 

Well, it turns out that in Ireland psychiatrists only work with people with severe mental issues, people who are a danger to themselves or others. My own life overall seems extreme enough to me, like it's a matter of time before I truly lose my mind. I just need them to tell me what's wrong with me and give me something to sedate me. She sent a referral to both.

 

She had me describe everything to her, trying to pinpoint how delusional I might be. I told her I came so close a few times. When I was 19 I refused a brain scan appointment when I told people I was seeing floating orbs and colourful sparks that no one else saw. I was scared of the truth - I believed I had unlocked my "third eye" that I could see interdimensional entities. Something science wouldn't understand or condemn as insane or turn me into a guinea pig. I wanted to feel special, uniquely gifted. I no longer feel that way, thankfully, but I don't judge my past self either. 

 

Truly, the war raging inside me has always been between realism and idealism. Not good and evil. Not whether I'm worthless or worthy. I try to shout through the noise, reminding myself there is no such thing as truth, that I should just take things as they come and let them go as they leave. Buddha's teachings about attachment as the root of all suffering never connected to me so viscerally. But if I let go, then I'll feel nothing at all. So I let myself suffer while I figure out a practical way to rewire my brain.

Because I exhausted every option to "be normal" and "stabilise" myself. I did everything to make sure my emotions don't overwhelm me - through therapy, medication, psychoanalysis, self-acceptance, self-improvement and commitment to things that are important to me. All it got me was more responsibilities, more pressure, more stress about managing myself. I became controlling of things that didn't even need it. I am constantly managing myself because the moment I let go, I destroy everything I care about. It's not intentional, it's not malicious. It's a consequence of surrender. 

 

So I told her the important details, which started in my late teens. I use this journal to frequently go back to the past to reflect and figure myself out because that's when it started going wrong. That's when I lost myself. When one day in my early 20s I realised I was shattered, no longer whole. I had many selves, like egoes or personalities, and I couldn’t pick one - they picked me. I'd cycle through them and after every switch I felt like "myself" again, like I'm normal, even though I was just adopting a persona. They used to be so clear, now they're more subtle and coherent. Because now I'm a committed person, even if it's not in my nature. I can learn. I want to. I will. I am...

I thought art and writing would show me who I am. I thought this journal would. Yes, this journal is the most accurate archive of who I am. A woman lost in herself, in her memories, longing for some kind of salvation, either through herself or through another. No one is coming to save me from myself. I know that's not how reality works and yet I am so obsessed with this idea. I don't know why I'm not religious. The doctor asked me about it. I told her I cycled through various beliefs like I did identities. That's the heart of the problem - I identify myself with things too much. Not material possessions, but ideas, certain kinds of people, interests, how I express myself. I sink my teeth into them like a vampire; I absorb parts of them into myself. I'm obsessed with managing myself because, deep in the back of my mind, I look at myself and ask "am I real?" It doesn't help that even my physical appearance is elusive. Even people who know me have noticed how completely different I can look, especially between months of change. I avoided looking at myself through pictures and video until this year because if I saw myself I'd be thrown into a crisis. But now I stare back at myself as a whole, and the question has started to shift from "who am I?" to "who do I want to become?"

 

I told her how my life is in constant cycles of stability and instability. How it impacts every facet of my life and that I need professional help.

Ironically, this period of my life is the most stable I've had in over ten years. Maybe I've become lucid enough to realise I don't have to carry myself like this anymore. I'm done ruining everything I care about. 

 

I agreed to let her take four samples of my blood to test for any abnormalities. I worried about low iron or a deficiency of some sort. I can't remember the last time I ate a proper meal? Probably two weeks ago. Eating is difficult sometimes. I have no desire for it, don't care about the taste, and afterwards feel kinda ill. I am force-feeding myself at this point, I'm grateful I can at least do that. I never thought I'd have an eating disorder because I don't do it on purpose, like denying myself pleasure or trying to get thin. I just genuinely don't give a fuck about eating anything. I only want to drink coffee, tea, water and coke zero. And I just remembered next week is Christmas. There will be dinner, I'm meant to sleepover at my parent's house. My mother will be working hard to prepare everything. If my appetite doesn't improve in the next few days, I will have to come up with an excuse or a lie to avoid going. Because if I don't eat or eat very little she will worry. She already knows I have been having sleep problems. I tell her it's just stress, I'll be fine. My family wonder why I'm not more successful in life. They have no fucking idea.

 

2025 was a year of dramatic transformation for me. Incredible things happened. But I was very much trapped in my head - because I actually shed spiritual beliefs. I had exhausted even Gnosticism, even Satanism. I had nothing to project my fears and hopes onto until an unfortunate soul crossed my path and I looked at him like he was sent by God, even though I know the reality is much simpler. Still feels like a blessing all the way, even though I could offer nothing but my worst demons and sins.

What lies before me is 2026 - a year, I hope, will be of gentle growth, of revelations that feel like a rising dawn not the tearing off of flesh from bones. I'm rather optimistic, regardless of where I am now. I believe in myself. I believe I'll be okay, once I stop identifying myself with things I cannot control. Starting with myself.