The Importance Of Being Illisia

Much has happened since I last contributed to this Blog. Too much… I honestly had no clue where to start with “catching every one up” after my absence, but after a lot of thinking, I find a common theme between many of the events that have occurred, and that theme is me.

Now, I know that when writing an auto-biographical Blog, the theme is always going to be me*, but what I am writing about today is more specific than that. It is about my identity, my “sense of self”, what makes me, me.

So, without further ado, I am going to rewind time to just after my last Blog post, when I visited my local comic book convention – Kaoticon – against my better judgement, facing my fears and attempting professionalism** above personal difficulties…

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I shall likely go into more detail in another post, but the convention experience can be “summed-up” thusly; my heart spent almost the entire day racing and feeling a “burning” sensation, I spent the first half-hour of my time at the event locked away in the lavatory until Mark [Sutton, housemate and friend] came to fetch me and convince me to leave, and I did not get a chance to speak with Ian [Sharman] (ex-boyfriend of my predecessor and professional comic book writer, hence he was a Guest at the event) as he left rather early-on due to the seemingly failed nature of the convention.

However, I did do many interviews and take many photographs for journalistic purposes, and finally, I was able to speak with one David Birchington who wrote Brodie’s Law, a comic book for which Cherie was a “booth babe” and fan.  Over-all, the day left me feeling uncomfortable and confused, but also relieved that I “did it”, that I faced Cherie’s past “head-on” and survived to “tell the tale”, “so-to-speak”...

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Now fast-forward a week, and I am visiting Leeds to see two very old friends of mine who I have a very complex history with… They get their own post, so now is not the time, but needless-to-say the whole experience was a minefield of emotions, both positive (mostly) and negative.

Prior to leaving for Leeds, I had a huge disagreement with my two housemates, a nervous breakdown – the first I have had in upwards of two years – and no sleep. Due to this, I failed to order my prescription of pain killers and anti-depressants for the week away, which left me in pain, and suffering from withdrawal…

Withdrawal from anti-depressants of this strength causes vast changes in behaviour and many symptoms that did nor priorly exist before being prescribed the medicine. For me, this meant paranoia, delusions, lots of tears, yelling, swearing, snapping, insults and all manner of most uncharacteristically Illi-ish actions that I am not proud of.

This withdrawal and the fight prior to my departure meant that I had yet more arguments via digital messaging with my housemates, so when I returned “home” to their residency, I had “switched-off my voice” (“selective mutism”) and become practically unbearable to be around. Frustrated with everything and not realising why, I became desperate…

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… So, I walked to the local shop and purchased much alcohol, which I promptly consumed, and when that did not make me feel better, I ran away from home. Literally. The pain was extreme, but I did not care. I ran and ran until I could no longer run for breathlessness, and then I continued walking… Without shoes, coat, purse, identification, walking stick(s), or voice, I marched for what appears to be almost six miles.

I walked down pitch-black alleyways, through unlit parks, I considered killing myself several times via jumping from a bridge or some-such, and I even went to a pub and attempted to “pull” a stranger for a passing sexual encounter. My heart rushed and my head spun the entire duration. I was lost, confused, scared, and alone…

At one point in my journey all I could think of was “find Robert” so when I got to Ramsgate I headed to where I knew he presently resides, but – presumably due to my mental and physical state – I took several “wrong turns” and found myself sitting on a bench in a strange area, crying, shaking (with mental stress, and from the cold!) and utterly vulnerable…

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My feet, when I returned home.

Thankfully, two pleasant lady strangers saw I was in distress, and called the police, who promptly took me home. The policeman (and woman) on duty had encountered me before, when I reported a crime in progress, so they knew where to take me, even though I could not remember myself where I needed to go. I had the vaguest recollection of where I legally resided, but I did not want to go there. I felt rejected, unloved, misunderstood, scared to be around my “friends” who I thought were turning against me… but having not found Robert and knowing no one else within miles, I had no choice but to return “home”.

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I wrote "not good enough" repeatedly all over my
arms and hands before my attempt at suicide

I was convinced that “no one [loved] me”, and continually uttered “why am I not good enough?”, citing my mother’s dislike of me and my ex-fiance Robert-James abandoning me and Poppy (our dog). This is actually something that I uttered repeatedly the last time that I tried to kill myself, so I have since reached the obvious conclusion that this is a big issue in my life and something that needs to be dealt with; my feeling of worthlessness, abandonment and being unloved…***

My mental and physical state and my maltreatment of my housemates led to an attempt at suicide. I “downed” a lot of pain killers**** right in front of Mark. Thankfully he was there, or I would have taken a lot, lot more. He promptly called an ambulance, and Kirsty spent the rest of the night taking care of me, helping me through the constantly being sick as a result of what I had done…

It was utterly terrifying. It was the lowest point of my life. I literally felt like I was dying, and I could have died, had Mark and Kirsty not been there… BUT, none of that was me. The stress that caused it was, but normally Illisia Adams has far more strength than to do such a thing to herself. The withdrawal meant I was not in my right mind, and my actions were not my own.

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Fast-forward yet another week, and my parents come to visit me in Margate, from London. I do not recall the last time that I saw either of them! I was very insistent that my father visit me after what had happened, and due to my utterances of “why doesn’t she love me?”, “why am I not good enough for her?” etc with relation to my mother, I was also adamant that his wife be present as well…

Unfortunately, as much as I desperately wanted her to tell me that she loved me, for us to be a family and for all that stress to disappear, what I did not “factor-in” was the fact that I was still in withdrawal. My anti-depressants were not yet arrived, and I was still not myself.

Now, normally my mother already dislikes me. She and I have never particularly “got-along”, but we have never had an argument, though things have always just been rather awkward. However, that is when I am me.

During her visit, I was blunt, aggressive, callous and uncaring. We had a huge fight, I lost my temper, I screamed and I threw things. My father tried to calm me, but in doing-so panicked me further and I bit him and drew blood. Yes, you read me correctly. Father wanted to take me home, but I then promptly called an ambulance, fully aware that I was once again feeling suicidal, and this time Mark and Kirsty were not indoors to stop me…

I was in hospital for upwards of twenty-four hours, I was alone, I did a lot of crying, and I had a lot of time to think…*****

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Having this breakdown, being at my lowest that I have ever, ever been, and having that “life flashing before your eyes” experience has given me a fresh perspective on life. I already considered every day to be precious, being aware that there are millions of people “worse-off” than I in the world and that, having been born into a twenty-something year-old, days must not be wasted… However, having been through what I went through, I now know who those who truly care about me are (on good days, and bad), what nastiness lies inside of me at my worst, what matters most to me in this world, and how important it is to continue to be the best version of myself that I can be.

I have met many people in my short time in this world, and although most of you have been kind and understanding of me, some have been less-so, with speeches about how I “stole” Cherie’s life, how I “killed” her, how I am “not good enough” (yes, that is probably where those mutterings that I mentioned earlier stem from…), and all manner of other unpleasantries. Even my own mother considers me – in her own words – to be “pompous” and “cold”, and this has filled me with the greatest of sadness.

In retrospect, however, having seen the worst possible version of myself, being “the anti-Illi”, I have never, ever been more proud of who I am today.

I could have chosen to be a bad person. Heck, having been through what I have been – kidnapping, sexual assault, burglary, stalking, etc – a lesser person would have given-in to the darkness and decided to “toughen-up” and be more like the persons who wronged her. This is what people have told me I should do, but I have never faltered. “Through thick and thin”, I am still here. Illisia Adams, aged “twenty-nine-but-kind-of-six-actually”, is a kind, honest, innocent******, down-right good person, and I never, ever want to change.

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NB: For one final note, I want to emphasise the importance of medication, therapy and other things that help those of us that suffer from mental illness. It was my fault that I did not re-order the prescription and that I suffered withdrawal as I did. Please, please do not let this happen to you, or any one that you know and care about. Make sure that you never go “cold turkey”, deliberately or accidentally. Always seek advice from your medical professionals if you want to cease treatment, or if you have any questions, etc. Thank you.

Living With Love Addiction

Myself and (ex-)partner Matthew at our prime. Photograph credit: NChanted Photography

I have spoken in prior entries about my time incaptivity, and how I returned to my capture after I escaped and remained on-off romantically involved and friends with him for years, against my better judgement. Now I must speak out about why.

It is clear that I suffer from Stockholm Syndrome, where one becomes attached to one's capture after such an experience. However, there is more to it than that. I am also a love addict, a person who becomes so obsessed with and addicted to the euphoria (or “high”) associated with love, that I would do practically anything to please a person who shows me affection, and I suffer very negatively if I am not in a romantic relationship.

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I have always been a person who is very dedicated to her friends, her family, and her romantic partner(s). What I have discovered, however, is that I prioritise other's happiness before my own and any form of rejection or time away from the people that I care about causes me to suffer from withdrawal symptoms.

Love addiction is usually limited to romantic love, but mine is one of the rarer cases that extends to the love experienced through friends and family.

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When I first moved to Margate several years ago, I learned through third parties that two of my closest friends – one of which I had developed a romantic attachment to, but decided to not become involved with* - had got married and been through a pregnancy, all without informing me and without inviting me to their service, etc. This was utterly heart-breaking for me. I felt betrayed, and unloved.****

During the same week that I discovered this, I was also sorting through many of my predecessor's belongings and discovered a signed Lexx DVD addressed to Lorraine (my sister), Cherie (my twin/doppelganger) and Hannah (my mother). I was aware that my mother was a fan of the show, and that because of Cherie having passed on and Lorraine having moved to the US, having such an item might be something that my mother could cherish, so I called her and attempted to discuss an exchange.

Unfortunately, my mother has some mental problems of her own, and this has meant that accepting me has always been a difficulty for her. As such, the telephone conversation ended very abruptly with her insisting that she never wanted to speak to me again, that I was not her daughter, and in her “hanging up on me”.

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Myself and my ferrets Rambo, Luna and Hatti

The combination of both these experiences - along with the fact that I was single at that time - was too much for my heart to bare, and I fell into severe withdrawal and depression. I spent the next three months barely eating, sleeping, leaving my residency, interacting with my house-mate (Mark [Sutton]), or even speaking.

I some times suffer from a mental-physical disorder known as Selective Mutism* which reacts to extreme stress or some times even social situations by tightening my throat to the point where it cannot produce sound.

In fact, I did not speak a word for the entirety of those three months, and the only thing that made my voice return was when I decided to take in two ferrets into my home, who I developed a bond with, therefore returning my heart to a positive place where I felt loved, and felt my own love appreciated by others, hence my throat un-tightened and I was able to speak, and after some time, I was able to smile and be happy again.

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Fast-forward three years, and I have been in two relationships since then (including returning to the unhealthy relationship with Mark). Both times, I think that I chose to be with the men that I was with, not because they were good men and we had chemistry, etc, but rather because of my need to be with someone.

Mark was definitely not a good idea, but I lived with him, so he was convenient. In contrast, my second partner Matthew [B] was a good man who actually “saved me”** from the abuse of Mark. As romantic as being whisked off your feet and saved from abuse like a “damsel in distress” is, it also meant that the relationship started very abruptly, rather than being allowed to progress naturally, over time, which is not very healthy.

Matthew and I at the Manston International Air Show together.
You can really see how in-love I was in this photograph!

I met Matthew shortly after Mark attempted to strangle me*. When he did so, I told Mark that enough-was-enough, I still loved him, but that I could never, ever be with some one that had done such a thing to me. It was difficult to let him go, especially given my love addiction (although I did not know at the time that I had this problem), but I had to be strong.

I did not tell any of my friends or family what had happened with Mark, as I felt obliged to keep quiet about it due to the fact that he had never before been violent towards me and the strangulation was so out-of-character that I did not want him to be judged by it. When I met Matthew, however, I felt the need to escape from my own home, where Mark also resided, and broke down into tears in his arms, telling him about the near-death experience that I had had with my house-mate. It was at this point that he insisted that he would not let me go home alone, and as the weeks passed, he even offered to help fund my moving to a different residency, to support me going to the police, or any thing else that I needed to escape my abuser. How could I not fall in love with such a saviour; love addict or not?!

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Robert Palmer - Addicted To Love music video.
The lyrics sum up the experience of love addiction rather well.

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Matthew and I were together for one-and-a-half years*** and – as with any normal relationship – we had our “ups and downs”. Looking back in retrospect on the break-up, it is hard to even remember why or how it happened. When we talk about it, we both remember things very differently, and I am not sure that either of us is “right”. I think that we were both just going through some rough things in our lives and being in a relationship was just not practical. There was a huge fight with yelling and snapping and slamming of doors and neither of us can even remember much of it.

We have been apart for more than a year now, and we have both evolved as people, separately. We are on good terms again after several months of arguing and/or not speaking, and we have both commented to each other about the positive changes that we are noticing in one another.

As tempting as it is to return to a relationship with him again, I have been honest with myself - and with him - and realised that I need to take my time and not put any “labels” or pressure on the idea at all, letting any thing that happens, just, happen, naturally. It has meant having to actually restrain myself from allowing us to go on any dates and to try not to hold hands or kiss, though, because those things are all far too addictive for me.

There are other gentlemen who have also shown interest in me, or whom I am also feeling a “spark” with, but again, I have been honest with myself and with them and insisted that I need to give myself the time to feel real feelings for whoever I develop those feelings for, rather than just grabbing on to the first man that shows me affection and being with them, for the sake of being with them; for the addictive feeling of being in love, and being loved.

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Myself and friends at my first public appearance as a single person:
Sci-Fi By The Sequel, a convention held in Herne Bay.
I went on a few dates with Jon - the gentleman in the center - soon after.

Last year I dabbled in “casual dating”, but it was far too intense for me. I was getting very attached, very quickly, and suffering from serious depression and withdrawal whenever I was not on a date, holding hands or kissing. I also unfortunately suffered at the hands of a mild sexual assault by one of the men who was interested in me*, having allowed myself to trust him more than I should have, which has been a major set-back for me.

So, for the time being, I am remaining “single”, but also refraining from dates and intimacy, etc, because I want to be able to function healthily on my own, before I can be comfortable functioning healthily as part of a pairing.

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NB: Cherie was not a sufferer of love addiction, interestingly enough.

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For more information about love addiction, here are some links.

NHS: Clare Catford: I Was Addicted To Love

Love Addicts Anonymous: 40 Questions To Help Determine If You Are A Love Addict

e-Harmony on love addiction

Psychology Today: Love Addiction

Wikipedia entry on love addiction

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* This will be discussed at a later date.

** This is how I describe it when I talk about what happened

*** Which is quite literally half of my life!

**** It should be noted that I am very happy for them and we are good friends again, now.