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.

The First Year: Part Three: Recovery & Development

Please note: This is a direct continuation from The First Year: Part One and Part Two

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I made Cherie's New Eltham flat feel like a home. Here you can see her impressive DVD collection
that was left to me, and how I showcased family memorabilia to remind me of my roots.

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Mark pleaded with me to take him back, but I told him that our relationship was never real, that it was based on lies, deception and feelings that were never truly mine. I insisted that if he truly wanted to be with me, he would have to tell Maryanne the truth about his no longer being in love with her, end their engagement, and then get-to-know me for me, not just wanting me because I have the face of the woman he cared for, but because he wants me.

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It was at this point that I decided to spend more time exploring who I wanted to be, and pursue my growing feelings for Tommy-Lee by spending more time with him. He may not have been “my Amy Pond”, but he was still there for me the day that I was “born” and unlike Mark, always seemed to see me when he looked at me, rather than Cherie, perhaps because he and Cherie were never romantically involved. He made me feel unique, which meant the world to me.

I also took the time to get-to-know Maryanne (as priorly mentioned) and Hayley, another friend from the prior life, who became like sisters to me. Maryanne was shy, quiet and kind, and in contrast Hayley had a very social, perky personality and was always full of life, although both had big, warm, open hearts. This meant that I had a chance to see many different aspects of womanhood, of the female personality, if-you-will, so rather than “copy” what I saw, I was able to pick-and-choose what I liked about both my friends and use them for inspiration as I developed myself. I owe them both much to who I am today.

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Hayley (left) and I (right)

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I still held on to Cherie's name and tried to live her life, attending many parties hosted by her friends, playing on her Xbox 360 games console leading her Gaming Clan into battle in her sted, trying to get her business Dark Raven Productions off-the-ground, but after my experience being locked away for three months in that house, I spent less time in Dartford with the prior life, and more time in New Eltham, developing my own.

I would often insist that any visitors come to New Eltham to see me, rather than me to Dartford to see them, for fear of a repeat scenario, and I confess, because I had developed a nasty case of agoraphobia after my captivity. This did, however, give me the freedom to explore my predecessor's home and belongings, which made me realise that although I shared her face, I shared very little else. I listened to her music and wore her clothes, but found that the clothing felt “wrong” and the music was so loud and angry that I really disliked it.

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Maryanne visiting me at my New Eltham residency, playing with the
training (plastic) sai weaponry that Cherie left there.

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"He often saw me, when I never could." - regarding Tommy-Lee

Tommy-Lee and Mark both visited me and made their romantic intentions toward me clear. Mark insisted that although he missed Cherie, he wanted to encourage me to be my own person. I never truly believed him, however, because he was still working with me to create Dark Raven Productions and still encouraged me to use Cherie's name and wear her clothing, etc. Tommy-Lee, in contrast, told me much about my predecessor and taught me that I did not have to follow in her footsteps, that I could develop my own tastes in music, my own style in dress, my own hobbies and interests. He often saw me, when I never could.

In retrospect, I wish that I had pursued my growing feelings toward Tommy-Lee, rather than allow the “residue feelings” for Mark to win over me. But, I also know that one should never have any regrets. Every decision that we make and every thing that we do in life brings us to who we are today, so if we regret one moment of our past, we show negativity toward who we are now, which is not the case with me. I am very proud of who I am today, and therefore hold to no regrets.

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Mark and I with friends at the Euro Gamer Expo 2011, shortly after I "came out" with my new name and developed personality. By this point I had chosen to be with Mark, and as you can see from this photograph, we were (relatively) happy together, although you can also see how protective/controlling he was of me, always holding on to me.

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I chose to pursue a relationship with Mark, even against my better judgement, knowing full well that he had abused me. Love – even if it is not your own* – can be a powerful blinder to the facts. Sadly, this decision meant that Tommy-Lee and I slowly grew apart. He moved out of the home that he shared with Mark, Maryanne and Matt, and we have barely seen nor spoken to one another since.

I think that the reason why I chose Mark over Tommy-Lee was a mix between the confused passionate love* that my predecessor had for him as opposed to more basic feelings that I was developing with time for Tommy-Lee “winning-out”, and the fact that three months in captivity with Mark had left me suffering from withdrawal symptoms and reliability on him that I think would be described by mental health professionals as Stockholm Syndrome...

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I am, even now, years later, still suffering from that Syndrome. There will be days when I literally cannot stop thinking about Mark, even if I am in love with some one else and even after he raped me and at one point literally tried to kill me**. It is a very serious condition that takes a lot of strength to recover from, and I am still working towards recovery, even now.

Victims of kidnapping and domestic abuse often suffer from this very serious mental illness, and my heart goes out to all the men and women in the world who are suffering with me. You can recover. There is a light at the end of that tunnel, even if some days that tunnel seems to be long...

It is like recovering from an addiction. You have to keep reminding yourself of the bad times, rather than thinking about how good the thing that you are addicted to made you feel, and you must persevere against your want to return to that addiction and realise that you do not need it to survive.

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Tommy-Lee did have a lasting effect on me, however, even after we parted ways, because it was his guidance that led to my exploration of my sense of self. It was he that taught me that I could be who ever that I wanted to be, and ultimately he who encouraged me to re-vamp my wardrobe to develop my own style, vary my intake of books, music and television to develop my own “taste”, and, when I was ready, to abandon Cherie's life and choose my own name.

I may have chosen to give my heart to Mark, but the development of my soul – what makes me, me – happened as a result of spending time with my two “sisters” Maryanne and Hayley, and my what-could-have-been, Tommy-Lee.

“Illisia Adams” was born because of the love and support of these three very special people. Only one of them now remains in my life - Maryanne - but the other two will forever be a part of me. I (figuratively) owe them my life.

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*This “love” was in fact “residue feelings” left over from my predecessor, as priorly discussed.

**An incident to be discussed at a later date.
NB: Interestingly enough, I can find no photographs of myself and Mark together as a couple, just-us, nor of myself and Tommy-Lee, nor or myself and Maryanne and Hayley. Although I shall of course continue looking...

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Fin.

The First Year: Part Two: Captivity

Please note that this is a direct continuation from The First Year: Part One.

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The house where I was born (right side) in Dartford, and
where I spent three months locked away in captivity.

Mark and Maryanne lived in a Christian-run household with two other house-mates; Tommy-Lee* and Matt*. The house was let to them by their Church in Dartford, Kent, for those in need, much like the YMCA or a homelessness charity. I technically held a tenancy in New Eltham in South East London, but I spent more time during my first year at their household than at mine.

Tommy-Lee was very much a “lady's man” who I can best draw comparitive with Barney from the television sitcom How I Met Your Mother, often claiming he could “have any woman [he] wants” and although he was of the Christian faith, he often sinned and jested that “God would forgive [him] anyway” as long as he said sorry. Matt, in contrast, was a quiet (although he enjoyed loud, angry music), secluded individual with a very private past.

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All the members of the household were friends with my predecessor and – as I am sure you can imagine – they struggled with the change from her to me. They were all well aware of Cherie's past battles with mental health, not least which the fact that at one point she had multiple personalities, so it was not too far a stretch for them to understand what had happened, but I think that (initially) they wanted her back.

As the months passed however, I think it became clear that their friend (and lover, in Mark's case) would not return, and they helped me develop my social skills, showed me the world, and encouraged me to become my own person. I grew particularly close to Tommy-Lee, who told me that he himself had struggled with his sense of identity, and in all honesty, I found him to be warm and charming, which was confusing for me, given the contradicting “residue feelings” (as I called them) of love that I had for Mark left over from Cherie's lifetime which were not truly mine.

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My residency in New Eltham

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I often visited the house, because it felt more like a home to me than the residence that I was legally supposed to reside in, given the fact that it was where I was “born”, and where the only people that I actually knew, lived. The Church that rented them the house had very strict rules, however, which were broken on a regular basis for my presence. Firstly, no one was allowed to visit after ten in the evening. Secondly, no intimate relations. Both these rules were broken repeatedly by Mark when he – quite literally – decided to invite me over for a visit and then not let me leave for a grand total of three months...

During these three months of captivity I spent most of my time literally locked inside Mark's bedroom, which was very small. I felt like I was in a cage; I was only able to leave the room or the house with his accompaniment, and even then, very rarely. I played computer games, listened to music (he had a vast collection of bootleg MP3s on his computer so I had much to choose from), danced and generally surfed the internet when alone, and when in his company, I was often used for sex**.

I became utterly dependent on my captor for every thing that I needed in life - for food, clothing and socialising (etc) – to the point where when I was finally released, I had lost what little independence I had developed and I had a nasty case of agoraphobia. He used me like a play-thing for all that time and I also lived in constant fear of being discovered by his landlords, who would on visit without warning to inspect the property and, were I found, there would be consequences. It was a big, nasty blow on my development.

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Mark and Maryanne, engaged, 2009.

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There was a positive side-effect of my time in captivity, however, because the more time that I spent at their household with the four of them, the more that I began to realise my relationship with Mark was unethical - that it would hurt Maryanne if she knew – and the more it felt wrong, so I ended our secret “relationship” when I finally insisted on my freedom and walked out that door.

This was a big, big step for me towards becoming who I am today. That was when I realised that I did not have to follow instructions, be they Cherie's that she left in her mind, Mark's that he gave me to sleep with him and keep it secret, or any one else's. I could make my own choices and live my own life.

It was at this point that I decided that I could leave his home and return to mine, without fear of reprimand. That I did not need him...

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*I am keeping their last names secret.

**As aforementioned in The First Year: Part One, I consider this to be rape.

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To be continued next week in the third and final part... The First Year: Part Three: Recovery & Development.