spirits in my head

Slowly unhaunting myself

This post was written while listening to “Spirits” by The Strumbellas. I recommend putting it on while you read. I’ve copied excerpts from the lyrics and put them in places throughout I find relevant.

Also, this post talks about trauma, which you may want to avoid reading if you would be negatively impacted by that. If you are actively processing such things however, you may find it relatable.

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I been looking at the stars tonight
And I think oh, how I miss that bright sun
I'll be a dreamer 'til the day I die
But they say oh, how the good die young

I was talking with a close friend last week when she said to me that she didn’t know what to do in the future because she honestly didn’t think she’d make it this far. This struck a deep, painful chord in me because I felt the same way. We went through some hard years together, especially through our teens, and expected one of us would have died by now. To our genuine surprise and wonder, we are still here.

Since it’s Halloween season, I’ll let you in on a secret: I think ghosts are real. No, not the weird white translucent floating figures that go through walls. What I call ghosts are the echoes of people or events that follow you around and haunt you. They feel as real as if they were right in front of you. They cloud your vision and judgement. They alienate you from yourself, and they won’t go away.

I got guns in my head and they won't go
Spirits in my head and they won't go
But the gun still rattles
The gun still rattles, oh
But the gun still rattles
The gun still rattles, oh

Every day I wake up to face the ghosts from my past. I call it “bartering with my demons.” In absolute time it was many years ago. But to my dreams and my body, it may as well been yesterday. Time doesn’t work the same in our inner worlds. Salience is king there. It doesn’t care about calendars, birthdays, or seasons. It knows what was real for you, and it remains as long as you hold on to it—suspended in anti-gravity.

When memories flare up, it hurts like having a blowtorch strapped to my arm, and I’m not allowed to move. And I’m not a highly skilled meditator like Thich Quang Duc who can self-immolate with a smile on my face. Not yet, anyway. So I wait it out, I write, talk to friends, listen to music, or stare at the clouds until the pain dies down. I’ve been doing this for years now, rinse and repeat. It’s like I’m flushing out gunk from a dirty pipe and I keep running the faucet but it still won’t run clear. There have been big improvements since I started doing this, to the extent that my life is unrecognizable to my former self, but I’ve still got a long way to go.

My mother told me once, that if she were reincarnated she’d want to become a bird, because they can fly anywhere. My mother’s dream has become mine, because I remember and carry it around with me everywhere. What I didn’t know at the time was that my freedom would lie on the other side of healing the wounds from the environment she raised me in. But a dream’s a dream. It looks different for everyone.

And I don't want a never-ending life
I just want to be alive while I'm here

I went on a 7 day meditation retreat this summer. I think it was the happiest I’ve ever been without the influence of drugs, people, or media. Just me and life having a dance. I felt truly free then. But it fades so quick, if you don’t work to maintain it. But I keep with me the realization I had: there is a path to liberation from suffering. I saw it. And it brings me confidence to keep up my practice, to continue working through my psychology. To confront events of the past, acknowledge the impact they had on me, and keep going. It takes as long as it takes. I’m not early or late. I’m running right on time.

(Happening by @raminnazer)