Welcome to my Parlour ...

Parlour -
A reception room in a private residence.

In this case, the private residence would be the recesses of my mind ...
which can be, at once, a wondrous and a terrifying place to be.
A place of confusion and fear, doubt and despair as I daily tackle the mental health challenges which are my birthright and curse.
But also a place of glorious imagination and profound Faith borne from the wellspring of my lifelong spiritual quest for understanding and self-mastery and the power, subtle and real, this Path has granted me.

This Parlour, then, would be that little space where the outside world may meet MY reality.

Truly, there's no telling what one may find posted here.
Ultimately this space is for myself, although others are welcome to stay a while provided they don't mind the spider.

~ Go dtugtar breith orainn dá réir ár ngníomhartha. ~
(Let us, by our actions, be judged)

Monday, 30 December 2019

Well, Shit...

Yeah. 

There's a difference between being solitaire and actively avoiding folks. And I have to admit that, though I qualify as a dedicated former, I have been doing the latter. 

Still am, really... After all, no one actually reads this thing. I could post on Facebook but the reality is that all the people on my friends list will suddenly turn well-meaning and concerned but more as a means to assuage their guilt at not staying in touch more and thus this post catching them out of the blue and all. 

THAT would do more harm than good as it would simply prove my brain's point that, while I have plenty of acquaintances, I have few real friends (less than one full hand's worth if I'm being honest) ... most of whom are either too embroiled in their own shit trying to survive Life while others have become part of the problem. Suddenly chirping in with "thoughts and prayers" after not even remembering I exist unless I post something on public media serves only to make them feel better while I'm forced into the frame of the grateful recipient of their empty platitudes. Might as well be handing me a weapon and then making space inside my skull for me to wield it with terminal efficiency. 

Oh well. Far less fear of that happening here. 
Here goes...




This is a face of mental illness 

It's one I know well, being mine own...

I've been avoiding posting any photos of myself, indeed I've been avoiding posting on Facebook (nothing beyond Some likes and today's post about the boy at PlayAbby), for over a week now. Well, until now ... Mainly because I don't have the internal fortitude to deal with the reactions. 

Really don't care if anyone likes my new look or not because I loathe it. But it was necessary so I'm trying to console myself with the  "at least it will grow back " line of reasoning though it's not working so I just do my best to avoid looking in any reflective surfaces. 

Why was it necessary? In a nutshell because my brain is trying to kill me hence the mental illness comment above. 

Looking back, I suspect that this has been brewing for a while; probably since M'Lady crossed over. And I also suspect that hormonal changes due to menopause are playing a role in this as well since it went active (I've been peri- menopausal since my mid-forties) this past spring. 





I've been having sensory processing issues... the worst of which manifests as a powerful, crawling, painful/itchy sensation in the hair follicles of my scalp. The mental distress caused by these sensations is significant. Enough that I have been ripping at my head with my nails and then pulling the hair that gets wrapped around my fingers. I do this subconsciously and also in my sleep, leaving welts and waking to dried blood under my nails. 

The pressure built to a point where I had to do something to make it stop. Since the whole thing was making me want to hurt myself (because the pain I was inflicting on myself felt better than what my scalp was doing) and that is a terribly dangerous situation to allow to persist, I did the only thing I could. 

Went into the hairdresser and got my hair chopped shorter than its ever been since it grew in when I was a baby. I hate the look of it but not having the length to tangle around my fingers has provided enough decrease of distress to allow me to weather this processing issues a bit longer. I'm still scratching  furiously but not as hard as previously (for now anyways). 




Yeah... For now 


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