Z's Grimoire

“… isolationism was an important, even dominant strand in U.S. politics. After the Second World War, this strand disappeared, smothered by the widespread and bipartisan conviction that the United States needed to stay engaged with the world to prevent future crises.” – Anne Applebaum

Welcome to this cycle’s new moon update. There was a different topic I was going to write about (guess I’ll finish editing it for the next cycle) but the events over the last couple of weeks have moved me write about Isolationism instead.

Despite the quote above, this won’t be about the modern or past political variety, as the modern events in the political sphere are an entirely different beast, but rather I want to write of the personal variety.

CW: General mental health

A long time ago there was great comfort found for me in isolation. Reclaiming my peace at night, in the darkness, alone. The world always felt wrong to me, like I didn’t belong, trying to fit in felt worse, so I went through daily ‘life’ just waiting for my next moment of peace in isolation to arrive.

I craved it. Once I was given the option to stay home alone I hardly went shopping with my family anymore. It was the greatest freedom. The space was mine and mine alone, if only for a time. There were no troubles of others being unleashed on me and I enjoyed joyous peace.

That’s not to say I lived in a cave, walks, bike rides and playing outdoors of course were staples of my young life of course, however the peace of isolation was something I found vital to my overall mental health starting very young.

I’m not sure exactly where it changed, whether in college or after, but entering the “real world” unlocked a new type of isolation.

My college experience was not great. Every village has an idiot or two and as an undiagnosed AuDHD’er, with a wholly unexplored queer side (Trans and Demisexual, but I was a “Straight guy” as far as I understood), with no friend group, attending a local community college: I immediately was flagged as an outcast, ridiculed and I returned to what I knew.

Isolationism.

Cafeteria visits? Grab and go only. Think I went to breakfast twice.

Student store? I’ll go an hour before they close when most students are already in bed.

Classes? They drained me like nothing else. I yearned for the safety and freedom of my isolation once more.

I thought it was the greatest stroke of luck, but now wonder if it was a curse that my roommate dropped out before Day one leaving me with a double dorm room to myself. No clue who they were or if we would have gotten along, but I’m left wondering if having to share the space would have made it less of a sanctuary prison to me.

Working my first few jobs was a little bit more like my experience as a youth. I’d power through the motions that society required of me, desperately waiting for my next isolated reprieve.

Flash forward a few years, moving into my first apartment with my girlfriend. Well, kinda moving in with her.

She didn’t spend the night. She also didn’t come over every day. It was “our” apartment and she did “live” there, but it never felt like we lived there. Yet again, isolation.

This cycle repeated through more living spaces, eventually buying a house in a rural community and marrying.

The next few chapters of isolation I’m not really ready or able to write about in detail, I may never be to be honest, but these were my darkest days that I’m grateful every day to have survived.

At this point I had learned that isolation was jail and not freedom, and yet after years of knowing nothing else, being conditioned to constantly retreat to ‘safety’, I was truly lost in the darkness. The power had turned to poison. Trying to claw out of this pit I’d only find myself pushed further down, trying to ignite a spark, rain would arrive to douse any hope. So I gave up.

Freefalling to the darkness, simply waiting for the ground to eventually rise up to meet me and end it all. Until I woke up.

Going through my metamorphosis after gaining this awareness was a new challenge. I was shaking the shackles of isolation yet it felt more than ever that I did not belong in society. Friends became enemies. Family foes. True friends were revealed… and I found I didn’t have many.

Among my few friends, none lived nearby, and none are the “lets make plans” types. After proposing meetups a handful of times and never getting any interest-I stopped offering (Damn RSD), remaining trapped in the isolation I loathed.

However, once I really felt comfortable in my skin, once I was finally me. I was able to find the peace I once had in my isolation again. Back when I was a child, when I hated the world and how my friends and “loved ones” treated me, but never myself. Unlike the past nearly two decades of hidden self-loathing, at long last, I didn’t hate me or my own existence any longer.

I still hate the way the world is treating anyone that is “different” no matter what form that takes. I hate the current state of affairs impacting trans folk like myself in the states and globally. I hate how many people I’ve known on both sides of my gender experience that have shown their true colors. I hate that some of the stories of those true colors have to be hidden, because sharing would only invite more trouble.

Though I don’t know if I really should say hate, anger may be better. Hate is an emotion that is very difficult for me to understand, as while I experience directed to myself, the few times I have felt it directed at someone else…. I felt so awful. I guess I’m just incredibly disappointed and frustrated on the above fronts.

But I still conjure gratitude, as I love me, and that is enough. (Thought I posted that poem/affirmation here, but trying to find it to link maybe not… I read it on instagram some time ago, I’ll add it eventually)

Isolation could be freedom. It could be peace. At long last I’d reclaimed both, by learning to love myself AND finding the balance of human connection. I identified grocers, vendors and locations to meet my needs, safely and without (much) discrimination, established my autistic schedule that balanced the spoon load of interacting with the general public with my need to connect and interact with people beyond my very young daughter.

I’d hardly go out, and a “fun” trip, was to a salvage surplus store (<3 Marden’s) or just TJ Max to browse, but it kept me connected.

Until my car broke down last week. It’s only been a short time, but with my car in the shop and short of what’s needed to get it out… The prison has returned.

I can go for a walk and get ‘lost’ in nature easy enough, in fact one of my favorite casting grounds park/trails is quite literally a short walk from my backyard, the perks of living rurally!

And also the curse. Anywhere else is too far of a walk. Anyone with a vehicle would have to travel quite a ways just to get to me, then bring me somewhere, then make their way home. Not something anyone still in my life has the bandwidth for, nor would I ask for anything short of an emergency or dire need. Relying on delivery for groceries (I get some people like this but-ew for me), my only in person human contact is my time with my daughter.

What has hurt the most in this forced isolation however, is the constant reminder of the wasted time. The nearly wasted life. It took so long to break the cycle. The isolation I once was addicted to drink despite knowing the poison, it had once more wormed it’s way into my cup.

As I mentioned in my full moon update when the break down happened, mentally I’m doing surprisingly good, and that continues to be true. I’m handling this better than my past self would have. My past self, if they survived this long, would have folded here for sure.

Nevertheless I persist. The situation is awful, stressful, depressing, but I’m still here, still fighting, unbroken and undefeated. At least for now *nervous laughter*.

And that is something I’m incredibly proud of.

Something I’m less proud of, is the following ask:

As noted, I can’t afford to get my car out of the shop right now, it is embarrassing for me to ask, but if you are reading this post and in a position where you could contribute any amount I’ve set up a GoFundMe. I thank you so much for your consideration, even the tiniest donation helps get me one step closer to regaining my freedom, and safety.

https://www.gofundme.com/static/js/embed.js

I’ll close with a transcript of a tear-filled reassurance talk recently given to myself in the mirror that may get trimmed and adjusted to some type of affirmation… Because it does capture the pain yet power of the situation I find myself in:

“You’re hurting right now,
And that’s okay.
You’re angry right now,
And that’s okay.
You’ve been knocked down hard,
Feels harder than before,
But you’ve gotten up before.
You’ve gotten through before,
You’ll make it through now,
Better than before.
This chapter will hurt.
It will be hard.
But you’ve got this.
You are strong, brave and loved,
You are ready for this next chapter.
The journey unfolds as it needs to.
You will make it through,
I’m proud of you.”

Stay Magical