Dear Matt [+Bonus Blog]

Introduction

Hello, readers. This Blog is an odd one. It comes in two parts; the first being a "letter" of-sorts to someone, which I wrote prior to their Birthday, but am only now posting after their Birthday has passed, and after several weeks of breathing exercises and courage gathering; the second being the originally composed Blog post, dated December 22nd, 2018. Yes, I have been working on writing this for that long... So, without further-ado... [forewarning: this post is longer than a lot of others]

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.

Un-Sticking The Love Addiction Rut

Me with my new glasses. Apparently
I needed them and never knew!

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been six, long months since my last confession (aka Blog post). I have circum to sloth and fallen prey to habit and complacency in my day-to-day life. 

Essentially, I have been in what is commonly referred to as a “rut”. Today, however, I – figuratively - stand tall and proudly state that that “rut” officially ends; because today I signify this by returning to writing my (/our) life story.

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Week, after week, after week I sit at my keyboard and think about what to write. Some times I even manage a few paragraphs. However, I always fall short of completion, for various reasons.

My number one reason, I have come to realise, and the topic for my “come-back” post is depression and loss. It has taken me a lot of soul-searching and self-analysing to realise that, un-coincidentally, six months ago was when one of the most important people in my life left me very abruptly and we have not seen one another nor spoken since.

My last update spoke about recovering from my love addiction, but I have in fact still been suffering from it.

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My fiance Robert-James and I with our puppy
Poppy, the day that we brought her home.

My ex-boyfriend Matthew met with my then-boyfriend, now-fiance Robert-James and I and it did not go well. He became utterly convinced that we were a terrible fit and that “RJ” would be my undoing. He left in anger and sent me several very long, passionate messages and promptly “Blocked” me on social media so that I could not help him see reason.

I respect his decision, but I do not agree with his reasons. I and all who know me well enough can see that Robert has been a huge, positive influence on me; helping me to grow as a person and become more independent, rekindling friendships that I thought were long past and of course getting me through my past traumas step-by-step, day-by-day.

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So, for the past six months I have been happy. But also sad. I gained a future husband, but I lost some one that I cared – and still care – for deeply. He and I may have had our “ups-and-downs” but I choose to concentrate on the “ups”, and this is why I miss him almost every day. I hope that he will return to our friendship in the future, but I think that it is time that I move on and realise that I cannot dwell on some thing that I have no power over. No amount of (ignored) phone calls, emails or gifts will make him return to me, no matter though I wish it might.

The problem with being a love addict is that it can seriously “creep-up” on you some times. I have, essentially, been in six months of denial. I was concentrating so much on the fact that I had found my “Happily Ever After” with my Robert-James, recovering from my love addiction and forming a healthy, stable relationship, that I did not realise that I have been in deep, solumn mourning for the loss of a different kind of love; a friendship that has been with me for literally more than half of my life.

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Ironically, my last post spoke about how quickly I was able to move on from the loss of my friendship. I stated confidently “I was able to recover from the loss of one of my closest confidants, friends and ex-love within days, rather than moping and mourning for months.” The irony is in that last part, where I reference my usual moping-for-months pattern that I presumed I had passed from, but this is obviously not the case.

So, it has essentially taken me six months, but I think that now, finally - though it pains me ever-so – I need to let go, because this mourning-filled rut needs to end.

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Mark and I have welcomed one another into each-others
lives again. Scratch missed him, clearly!

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I have done a great deal of personal growth within the past six months. I have made new friends, rebuilt bridges with old ones, I see a therapist frequently to help me with my traumas, I am going outside more often and even alone, without Robert-James to cling on to, and I have even finally managed to pick up my camera again for the first time since my “mild sexual assault*”. However, I have, quite unintentionally, been holding my self back with my sorrow, rather than moving forward with my joy.

So, today is the day that I send my most sincere, best wishes out to my old friend Matthew and bare him a fond farewell. He knows where I am, should he decide he wants us to be friends again, but I need to stop holding on to that hope and instead embrace the love that I know is real; the love of friends and family that are still a part of my life.

Good-bye, Matthew. Hello, Illisia Adams, still-recovering love addict extraordinaire!

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* As stated by the authorities. This is a topic that I shall be writing about in the near future.

“The R Word”: Taking My Personal Journey From Victim To Survivor

I had a good, long think about what I would write this week. My life may have barely started (I am three-and-a-half,now!), but it has indeed been eventful, in both good - and bad - ways. My predecessor could compete with me on the drama scale, as well, so given that this Blog is about both our lives, I was spoiled for choice, as nothing particularly “stood out” for me in terms of what I wanted to talk about.

After much personal soul-searching and thought, however, I decided that now - whilst I have the courage for it - is my time to discuss what I have always referred to as “The R Word”, aka* rape.

NB: For obvious reasons, I must advise that some people may find this post distressing, but I have tried to make it as positive as possible, as with all my Blog posts.

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I have briefly discussed my (here and here) - and Cherie (here) - having been through the traumatic experience on multiple occasions, and it was very, very difficult to write about, for obvious reasons. I have never truly been able to physically talk about it with friends, family or even mental health professionals, either. Even the mentioning of the word in media, conversation, or “comedy”, etc, literally makes me cringe, my heart races faster, I lose my breath, I have flash-backs, and I get very upset. I cannot even say the word aloud. I simply refer to it as “R”, and hope or presume that others will know what it is that I am referring to.

I am not the only victim of sexual assault that experiences this. In fact, it is quite common. Months or even years after such an experience, our assailants essentially still have power over us, because of this, and I have decided that that needs to STOP. I am taking a personal stand against those bastards who do these things to women (and men), and taking back the POWER for those of us they have hurt.

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This photograph - you would no doubt be surprised to know - was taken not long after my "mild" sexual assault**** last year. I find that it is very important to try to embrace the fact that I am still alive, that I survived, and try to have a happy, fun time as often as I can, no matter what.

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I am planning a step-by-step program for myself, which I shall share with all of you, and if you too are a victim I want you to join me.

Firstly, I am going to stop referring to myself as a “victim”, and replace that word with “survivor”. Doing this shall take some thing negative and replace it with some thing positive, and it takes the power away from the man (or men - plural - in Cherie's case) who did this to us. I want to take back my life!

Secondly, I am going to try to say the word, aloud, at least once every day. I am hoping that the more that I say it, the less of a taboo it shall become for me and the less power it shall have over me. I want to be able to hear it without fearing it.

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Cherie is a prime example of what I am aiming for. She had been through horrible sexual experiences, but remained a sexual person. This photograph was taken at The SFX Weekender, a month-or-so before she "killed" herself. 

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Thirdly, I am - and this is difficult given my virgin** status and my attempt to overcome my love addiction - going to take back my sexuality. At present, I am struggling to look in the mirror, to take off my clothing, to find a man (or woman, should I ever choose that sexual preference) attractive or think about kissing them (etc), and the idea of sexual interaction, to be quite honest scares me and even shames me, in a way. I cannot even partake in personal pleasuring, let alone be intimate with a partner, all of which is “perfectly natural” (as my doctor and therapist and friends all tell me), because again, I feel shame. This is quite simply not fair and I intend to change this.

Being a victim - or rather, survivor - of sexual assault is nothing to be ashamed of. The person (or persons) who forced themselves onto us are the ones who should be ashamed. When we feel shame for what they did, we are empowering them, even if they are no longer in our lives, and even if (I hope this is the case***) justice has been done and they are serving time inside a jail cell.

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Cherie (right) and our mother (left) pole dancing at one of Cherie's Birthday Parties. Again, this is a prime example of how she was able to embrace her sexuality, even though she was a victim of multiple sexual assaults.

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This is why I am going to promise myself that when I remove my clothing, I will look at my naked body and - much like I discussed earlier with the word “rape” - I hope that the more that I do this, the less of a stressful experience it shall become. I need to keep looking at my unclothed body and I need to try to think positive thoughts, not negative ones. I need to be proud - not ashamed - of it.

After all, if I cannot even look at my own naked body, how will I ever be able to have a consensual, loving, sexual experience? If I were to remove my clothes in front of some one today, I have no doubt that I would literally break down into tears, and I do not have to tell you that that would be quite a mood killer!

I am also going to dabble in flirtation, and experiment with my wardrobe gradually to try to wear things that show a little (not too much, as I am naturally a very modest person) bit of skin.

On a side-note, for those of you who have a sex life to speak of, I have been advised that it is very therapeutic to replace negative sexual experiences with positive ones; which again is about taking back your body as yours, making sure that you are able to say “yes” - or indeed, initiating the foreplay yourself.

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My body literally shook for the entire duration of writing this post, but I am proud to say that I did not cry a single tear, so there is definitive progress being made here. If I cry, I am again empowering my assailant.

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If I follow these steps and I am brave, and of course with the help and support of my loved ones, I have every confidence that I can overcome past experiences and move on to become a confident, sexy woman.

I hope that, if you are a victim - sorry, survivor - yourself, or indeed you know some one who is, you will read this post, share it, and join me on my quest for full recovery. It will not be an easy one. As I always say to people (one of my "Illi-isms"): “Nothing in life worth any thing is ever easy”, and this is a truly worth while goal; to be able to take back our lives again!

So, I am sending you all my love and support and God's Blessings in your efforts, or the efforts of your friends or family who might be suffering, and I pray to God that I, and all others, will be able to lose the taboo and trauma of the experience and embrace that we are alive, we are well, we are SURVIVORS not victims, and that life is once again worth living and enjoying.

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NB: Post Traumatic Stress is a serious condition often suffered by those who have suffered from sexual assault, and although I have not discussed it in this entry, I shall be giving the topic my full attention at a later date.

If you have any more recovery suggestions, do please Comment and share them with myself and your fellow readers.

* Also known as

** Although technically not, I consider myself to be this, as I have not experienced consensual intercourse as yet.

*** Sadly this is not the case with me.

**** This is what the authorities referred to it as, as it was not rape, "only" unwanted touching. I shall discuss this at a later date.