The Shadow as the Snow Queen

You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You’re frozen
When your heart’s not open

I had some fun ideas in mind for Merlight this morning, and then a roommate walked by saying she needed to move my dishes aside to do hers. That burst my happy bubble, because I realized, “Ah, hell. Those dishes have been soaking for three days now, and they’re taking up half the sink.” It took me three days to clean up my room last week. I was forced to skip my CBT/DBT class for critical self-care reasons, and was completely unprepared in terms of readings for another.

I’m thinking of the absolute essentials to do today: Fabric for the flag that my team is preparing for an annual community wide event commemorating a girl’s struggle with schizophrenia; food because I have nothing to eat besides some chicken wieners and brownies made last Friday; and medication that hopefully won’t complicate things, because Fates forbid I drag my boyfriend and his family into hell with me. Oh yeah, and you know, actually do my readings.

You’re so consumed with how much you get
You waste your time with hate and regret
You’re broken
When your heart’s not open

All this behaviour is very uncharacteristic of me, as anyone who has known me long enough can inform you.

I’ve been encasing myself in a bubble for about two weeks now. Trigger after trigger, attack after attack, one stressful situation after another. Since the end of July, that’s been life.

Father called and said his “final goodbyes” to me. Overwhelmed by his sheer ignorance, flat-out lying, and his unwillingness to take responsibility for his influential role, I was quiet. A couple of tears dripped from my left eye, but I shut down my need for expression and returned to work.

I pasted a smile upon my face, a cheerful outlook. I radiated brightness and sunshine and happiness, because after all, happiness is a choice, not a state. “I’m a cute and fluffy bunny!”

Now there’s no point in placing the blame
And you should know I suffer the same
If I lose you
My heart will be broken

I overscheduled. I threw myself into taking care of Q4, while doing the minimum for myself. And then last Monday struck such a chord in me with the class’ one-sided commentary on people with personality disorders that I had to force myself into sleep so that my suicidal ideation wouldn’t solidify into a plan. I was already seeing it vividly playing through my mind. I had a full bottle of sleeping pills in my room. I thought I could, with a great deal of effort and careful manipulative tactics, fool Andrei into thinking that I needed Thanksgiving Day for rest and reflection. Insist on me not “intruding” into a family celebration.

There were two major flaws to such desperate thinking. The first is that my survival instincts, eyewitnessing of people’s willful descent into death, and knowledge of psychology would propel me to get help. Which I have done, thankfully, and am continuing follow-up. The second is worse, because it makes me feel foolish. You can’t pull the wool over the eyes of someone who knows you that intimately.

Love is a bird, she needs to fly
Let all the hurt inside of you die
You’re frozen
When your heart’s not open

She peered at Alina curiously. Well, that reaction wasn’t the first that Chandra would’ve predicted. She expected a lecture or something similar to what others said to her in case she let slip something of her suffering. Here came the part that reassured everyone before. “I’m okay,” she smiled falsely. “I’ll always be okay,” she whispered.

+Crescent in the Sun: Book One – Moonrise, a collaborative serial project between myself and Emily Ann Imes. This paragraph is of my composition.

Mmmmmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmmmmm, we’d never be apart
Mmmmmm, give yourself to me
Mmmmmm, you hold the key

Even my mind intervened. Just before my meeting with the graduates’ disability consultant, where I knew that my future status with the Seminary would be further along into jeopardy, I had a vision.

A black cat streaked past my left as I was sitting with Kei, headphones on and listening to Madonna’s “Frozen.” It came to my front, stopped, facing me with green and gold eyes. Watched me for a few seconds before vanishing. It didn’t give off the air of wanting to hurt me – I was just startled. Sleek fur, a silver glow like moonlight reflected. A familiar symbol in white splashed upon that beautiful dark fur, and a white marking on its chest. Then in the Graduate and Faculty Lounge at the Seminary, a white rabbit with identical markings as the cat, but in red, approached me from behind and to my right. It was snuggled up to my forearm. I was trying not to squee at it, because there were other students nearby.

“Insecure type: Ambivalent attachment style.”

“She lived in fantasy for most of her life in order to survive.”

“The unconscious threatening always to overtake the ego.”

“A lack of organic evidence, and this patient’s lengthy case history … chronic schizophrenia, even paediatric schizophrenia, is the wrong diagnosis here. If her most recent tests prove the hunch correct, then we move forward with schizotypal personality disorder.”

You could dismiss the cat and rabbit as random hallucinations. Or, you could look deeper and see my unconscious acknowledging the very real danger of self-annihilation, and doing more than just acknowledging – actually doing something about it. Look at my words of recording the visions. There is more going on than meets the eye.

Hiding in plain sight.

If I could melt your heart

AZLyrics. (n.d.). Madonna lyrics: Frozen. Retrieved from

Leave a Reply

Cast a pebble

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.