Almost exactly 6 years ago I left my first husband, and my life in Ireland. A life that I thought was forever. With a man that I had no doubt that I was going to grow old with. I was in year two of heavy depression, the country was in recession. He was banned from the US. We were on social welfare, and life was at a standstill. I hardly had the strength to exist. Every day was an uphill battle. I didn’t have the strength to end it, and hated myself everyday for being too weak to just fucking kill myself. I was a broken girl, on the run from her broken life. Clinging to love like a junkie, thinking if he could love me. Then maybe I was enough after all. Maybe I was worth something?
I was a mess, he was a mess trying to hold me together. When I look back at that time in my life it is a blur. I was hardly alive, catatonic inside of myself. I don’t really know what got me there in the end. When I’ve told the story before, I say it’s Prozac that lifted me out of the mud enough to see how much of a disaster we were living in. Two co dependent junkies, resenting each other, but completely incapable of doing anything about it.
I do remember the moment I finally put an end to it. It was one of those crystal clear moments, those moments where the world stops. I feel like someone else took my lips, my mouth, my body. The words poured out of me on autopilot, like I had rehearsed it a million times.
“I’m going back to America.”
As soon as the words came out of my mouth the world sped up again. With one sentence I had unraveled what I clung to as forever. Detaching from a man that had become my family, and my world. When I landed back in the states, I shoved my 3 year marriage into a little bottle in the recesses of myself. In the box marked broken shit, and went into complete chaos. I did everything in my power to make sure I didn’t ever experience anything close to that as a reality again. Fuck being broke, fuck sitting in the house waiting for a man, fuck the housewife bullshit. I went wild.
I reshaped my quant life in Ireland, into sex, drugs, and clubs in Chicago. I was surrounded by people I hardly knew and called friends. I woke up and took something to offset the night before, then a little something to make sure I didn’t eat too much, then a few somethings for the night out. I was terrified to be alone, I couldn’t stand being sober, and literally afraid to look at myself in the eyes in the mirror. I was a mask of a mask of a mask. Carrying characters for every occasion. I was always making money, and always without it. Addicted to living in a constant state of drama. As long as everything was moving, I wouldn’t have a chance to stop and see myself. As long as I was surrounded by people, and had people paying attention to me. I could say I was loved, I was good, people wanted to know me. People wanted to have me around, so I must be worthy of love.
One day I woke up in a bed, beside a man that I promised myself I would never allow into my life again. The world came into focus as snow whites fantasy daze wore into a reality that was more first testament than Walt Disney. All I wanted to do was go home, and forget that I ever let this happen. Go get drinks with my friends and laugh about the close calls that I get myself into. Maybe go out on a date with some guy to some fancy restaurant, and numb the blurry memories of the night before…but I knew that wasn’t an option. This wasn’t some sloppy hookup and get up. I stepped back into a lions den, and had willingly hooked myself to a post. As if I was desperately waiting for my chance to be eaten.
How the fuck did we get here?! I’m fucking out of my mind.
Conversation from the night before start coming into focus. My high in outer space self making promises to a man that emulates the devil. To a man that sees women as pets to break and sell. He called me the wild horse. Every time he said this, his face lit up. As if some picture of me finally breaking under him, was flashing through his mind. Lighting his senses. In the end I didn’t break under him, I ran. You have no idea how resilient you are until your back is against the wall. I had no idea how much I wanted to live until my life was threatened. I wanted to fucking live, whatever that meant. I wanted it. When I got away from him, I was a mess. Cowering at my friend’s apartment, positive that he was waiting outside. Waiting for me to be alone. Driving the streets searching for me. He became the monster under my bed, the demon waiting to pull me into the shadows.
I became paranoid, and convinced that everyone was conspiring to send me back to him. I couldn’t trust anyone. Even though they had gathered around me to get me out. I couldn’t think straight, I was an empty shell. I ended up at a friend’s apartment in my hometown. Still medicating myself into numbness, hardly conscious. Trying so hard to pull myself up. To drag myself across the desert, despite being so completely broken.
I ended up deciding I wanted to be a famous actress, and moved to Hollywood. It was my new passion, I practiced monologues of broken women just like me, loving the drama of it. Went to acting classes, and random auditions. Really the bulk of the acting I did was as a high end call girl. I didn’t trust people anymore, so I threw myself into work. I was always on, always available. The only contact with people I had were other girls I crossed paths with, and my clients. When I wasn’t working, I was shopping, when I wasn’t shopping, I was in my apartment. Ordering in, and watching movies. There were other things here and there. Trips, hiking, life shit…but the bulk of my life was work, sleep, repeat. With a healthy dose of pushing everyone that came too close away. At some point I started to feel sick. My body felt different, I didn’t feel right. I went to the doctor to get tests, and was told I was fine. I went home to visit my family, and my back had broken out in large welts. Again I went to the doctor and was sent home with skin cream, and no answers. I was convinced I was dying of some exotic disease, and was going to accidentally be the cause of ending the human race…I can be amazingly dramatic.
I went back to LA, into my same routine. My foreign sickness sinking into the background of routine. Then one night everything changed. Something snapped in me. Whether it snapped into place or out. The jury’s still on recess, but something snapped. I had just finished a client at a condo I worked at, I was the last one there. It was later at night, and suddenly I felt like I was surrounded. My hair stood on end, and I went into survival mode. I figured it must be the police raiding the place and I start my escape plan. Formulate a story, and try to hide any sign of what kind of place this was. I stand quietly in the dark, and listen. It’s silent. No movement, no nothing. I then realize my client must be hiding at the back entrance to attack me. So I grab something to fight back with, and slowly creep through the back. Nothing. Then it hits me. It’s him. He found me.
How could this have happened?!
I run into my car, feeling like the entire world is caving in on me. My car was full of something, there was something there, something all around me. I raced home to my door unlocked, he found where I live! I stepped in the door, and quietly went into the kitchen to grab a knife. I proceeded to stab into every closet, every corner, every free space. I called my roomate to tell him the door was unlocked. He responded high as the stars that he just left and must have forgotten. Fuck! I was losing my mind. I had done too many drugs, my brain was melting, I’ve finally reached the tipping point of my sanity. I sat sobbing on my kitchen floor. Completely out of touch with anything I could call reality. I felt like the air was leaning against me, I was seeing these black beings above me….but they weren’t really there at all. I couldn’t think straight, I had no idea what direction was up.
I spent the next period of weeks
A while…In my apartment.
I remember at the beginning all I did was binge watch shows and movies. I didn’t open the blinds. If I went out of my house at all it was at night to get food. Being around people felt like being an open wound in a stream of alcohol. I felt like I could feel their, everything. Their thoughts, their fears, their body breathing. I would get overwhelmed, and break down. At one point I was sincerely convinced that I was becoming a vampire. Sitting in the house going down google rabbit holes is the worst thing to do when you are on the edge of sanity. In those moments though it seems like the only rational thing to do. I’m not sure when it started, but I started going into meditation for hours at a time. I needed to. I remember as a kid I would meditate in my grandparent’s backyard. I would make all the sounds go silent, and watch the air dance around the trees. It was something I just knew how to do…As a teenager and up until that point I had probably done something vaguely resembling meditating maybe a handful of times. It was like something inside of me was telling me this is what needs to happen. In this I began to hear clear messages, and visions. Which sent me down a rabbit hole of, fuck I’m not a vampire. I’m schizophrenic. I’m 24! I’m in the age range of the onset of mental illness. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Then one day I heard different variations of what I finally google corrected as shaman. I went with it, and booked an appt with a shaman. I was living in LA, take your pick of spiritual anything and you have an overpopulation and buffet of practitioners. Anyways. I started to see her for soul retrievals, and stuff just came flying up to the surface. I learned about journeying, about spirit guides, and would spend long periods of time in another state of being completely. Hours would fly by like minutes, as I journeyed into different landscapes. Learning from the spirits that appeared immediately when I started my sessions with the shaman. They were the energy pushing against me, they were the voices whispering to me. Guiding me along.
They guided me to discovering Tantra, and after a questionable turn on Neo Tantra boulevard. I found my Tantra teachers. I was like a new born baby. Lost, scattered, unstable. They grounded me, gave me a framwork for the experiences I was having, and initiated me into practices to help me refine my energy. Refine is a stretch! Bring it into workability? Even more bring me out of fear. There is no support for energetic experiences in the mainstream west. There are shrinks, diagnoses, and medications. There are mental hospitals, and guide books categorizing in generalized context the human psychological experience. There is a diagnosis for everything, and a pill to affect it in some way. For better or for worse. There is also religion, which was inspiring stories of demons and possessions. Until I found my teachers I was between the mental ward and an exorcism.
It sounds so funny to write it out, but I was living in terror. I began this journey in 2014, and by no means do I have all of the answers. Nor do I understand by even a fraction what spiritual awakening is, what Kundalini awakening is, shamanic episodes, all of these names for things that have happened to numbers of people throughout history. I wouldn’t be opposed to a strong argument that I am experiencing an ongoing psychotic break.
What I do know is that my life is forever changed, and ever changing. Where I was so completely and endlessly empty, I am now so purely full. So eager to know the endless aspects of myself. Where I was running away from life, I am now running toward it. Thirsty to know it. Where I wanted to believe in a God. Creator is now pulsing through my cells, as a reality, a knowing. My family are the elements, the stars, the seasons, the dead. My lover is nature, and my children for now. Are within me. I am a toddler feeling through the world. My mother guides me, a part of me, with fierce compassion. Showing me ecstasy, and pleasure in everything. Teaching me that life is a dance, it is play. My father holds me, and shatters me into power within myself. My sisters are in the countless women stepping onto their path right along with me. My brothers are the men stepping into their warrior heart. I am not ever alone, I am always connected to all that is…and what that is, is constantly revealing itself.
The wounds and shadows of my past haven’t magically fizzled away. They are still with me, they are still apart of me. Some are my allies, some are my foes. I meet them with hope in my heart, knowing that in my choice to be whole. To see these parts of me, I am constantly shifting into new form as the parts of me that have been my enemies. Step across the line to join me in wholeness. I fall into deep holes of fear, and confusion of this unfolding. Though simultaneously life has become this unfolding symbolic reflection of my soul. A mythos of creation pouring from me. I am a gospel unto myself, a religion. Realizing that we are all these individual stories of the universe, of Creator, of God ever becoming. Expanding, just as Creator.
I know that I choose my life. Limits, boundaries, death, life. Yesterday. They are all now, right this moment. This moment holding all that is possible, all that was and ever will be, is right now. Making a conscious decision in each moment to move in the direction of your deepest desires. Life is not made for perfection. It is a juicy mish mosh of experience. An over flowing experience of the full spectrum of Creator. How can we seek to find God, to reunite with God if we only cling to the light? This Creative flow that is and created all things. Our essence, the fiber of our being. I am not only goodness, nature is not only butterflies and a summer breeze. We made the darkness into a demon, before that it was just energy existing.
Everyday I am becoming acquainted with myself in new ways. Watching myself exist, and live. Holding my fear, my doubt, my shame. In it’s varying expressions.
As I write this I’m on a flight from Ireland, back to the US. Breathing into the events since my last flight from Ireland…more like sobbing against the window…Regardles, feeling like I just completed a circle, or wiped a slate clean. There is a death happening inside of me. I feel raw, unsure. Yet so clear in my being. I have been teetering, and teething. Torn apart, and slowly coming back together. Learning how to walk in a new terrain these last few years, maybe I just got up onto my feet. I can’t say. All I can say is that something has shifted on this trip. I feel like I can come out of hiding. I realized that I have been living in fear of being visible since Chicago. I don’t feel such a threat on my head, I feel a feeling that I can only describe as allowed. I’m allowed to exist again. The part of me that has had us handcuffed and chained must have turned the key. I have no idea how that will unfold, or what that looks like. Or if it’s even complete. I will continue to step forward, and continue to open my heart.
I’m flying back to see family, and friends. I have no real base in the world. I have a husband, a dog, and a snake. All well taken care of without me, and no responsibility. I’m living blessed, with a boundless expanse of space before me. To create myself in this moment, this chapter of being Marisha.
You are your stories, and definitions. They are as powerful as your grip on them. Every moment is an opportunity for rebirth, a rewrite, as the last moment transitions to death.
This is the first time I’ve openly shared this part of my story. I’ve worn spirituality like a heavy chain around my neck, a burden making me different from everyone else. Isolating myself. Slowly realizing that spirituality is a term. Spirit is in the laundromat just as purely as it is in a monastery. The guru is within the post man just as completely as within the monk. Creation is always reflecting to us through every moment in every face if we listen, if we see. I have been so overwhelmed with what I have to fit into, what things mean, what I have to do with them. Do I have some higher purpose, am I now some type of servant for God. Do I have to take up the sword of destiny, and save the world.
My answer? No.
My purpose is to remember my immortal freedom. To remember the wonder of Creation unfolding from Creator. To remember that I am a child of nature, of the Gods if they should be called as such. Energetic episodes, awakenings, and catalysts. Really I have been energetically shaken home to myself. Universally crumbled down, and whittled into new form. This form ever shaping, my abode within ever being furnished. I’ve been ashamed of so many parts of myself for so long. As each part comes to the surface, one by one. Saying I’m ready, I don’t need to hide anymore. I become a little stronger, a little more here, realize a little bit more freedom.
If you read this far thank you for seeing me. If you relate, none of us are alone. If you are inspired, I would love to hear your story as well.
So much LOVE
Ps. If you feel like you may be experiencing an energetic shift, or consciousness shift. Find a grounded, embodied teacher that resonates with you. Don’t isolate yourself, care for yourself. Balance this with getting yourself tested by a psychologist, and/or medical professional. We live in a world of mundane spirituality, spiritual mundanity? Balance is best! Cover all of your bases. To ensure that you get the greatest support for your situation. So you can live your life at full capacity!