As some of you know, and many of you do not, that my life as an Earthling has not always been easy... I'm sure that you too have had many challenges on your pathway towards this moment, but I would like to share a few of mine here, and not so as to repeat my 'story' for the hundredth time, but hopefully as an inspiration to you, beautiful you, who have made it through your own struggle and overcome your own obstacles in order to be here right now, connected through these words.....
Growing up, I was sure that I must have been dropped off here from another planet... I just couldn't understand these 'grown-ups' around me. They said one thing, but I felt a different vibe, they contradicted each other, they lied, a LOT, and usually were unaware that they had even done so. It is hard when you are young, and have no framework with which to justify the strong feelings that you are aware of within yourself, especially when there is no one around to comfort and explain that you are not just being 'oversensitive' and 'naive' when you believe that there is a love and a magic in this world, that could end all war, hatred, pain & suffering.
I was acutely aware of many things as a young girl, and with an emotionally closed mother and a dictator for a father, I arrived in this world pretty freaked out by the whole shebang. Where to start? School was a bloody nightmare... "What the f%*k are you teaching me this for?!" and home was just a house full of shouting. At aged 12 I was given my first 'treatment' for the growing sense of panic and anxiety that was building up with each passing day. Valium. I remember crying and crying, unable to be comforted until this little white pill arrived in my mothers hand, waiting to bring me the warmth and peace that I wished could come from her instead. The fear turned into Obsessive-Compulsive behaviour, which led to a creepy psychiatric hospital on a hill in North London, pages of ink blot tests + a few more vague prescriptions... Except that the side-effects were not so vague, and it turns out that I was one of those first few kids who were trialled with the new Serotonin-Reuptake Inhibitors, including the one which was banned for causing teenagers to jump out of windows (the windows at boarding school didn't open that far, so I bit all the skin off my hands instead...) And with each subsequent visit to the school sanitarium, I was greeted once again with blank stares and mechanical care.
Who sends their kids away at the age of 11? Who does that? Especially if you have more than enough time and money to enjoy their company at home? I don't get it. So, here I find myself at a large grey coloured compound that is supposed to be my surrogate home for the next seven years. With 500 other girls who mostly seem equally bewildered and afraid and quickly learned that achievement and ambition were everything. I didn't want to die... but I was so tired of screaming... and screaming... and screaming... and not being heard... so I started to disappear. One gram at a time. Until there was almost nothing left... I couldn't even whisper the words 'help'. Hospital number three and the eating disorders unit. Seven months living alone in a facility surrounded by drug addicts and schizophrenics, and incidentally some of the smartest and most intuitive people I had ever met. Not that I spent much time hanging around there though... no. I used to tie my sheets to the balcony and escape out the back window to walk the streets of London for hours alone with my headphones. Occasionally frequenting Camden market to sample some of the magic mushrooms they had to offer...
I went home for Christmas, making sure I cooked my own dinner so that I could spend an hour weighing everything out perfectly to make sure that not one extra calorie could sneak it's way into my body. My dad would poke me in the ribs and yell 'hey Chuck'. This was his clever joke. Chuck being another word for puke. Bulimia is hilarious. On my return to the hospital, I discovered that I was no longer registered. I had not 'followed the program' properly and they had decided to discharge me. Back home, my parents rushed to find a school that would take me so that I could catch up on my school work. Because that really was the most important thing to do... I lost it. I couldn't take it anymore. One evening, I begged my mother to find help for me or I'd kill myself. The options were another hospital in England, or a special clinic in Canada. I chose North America, seeing as it was about as far away from home as I could possibly get, and at that point, it was what I chose...
We arrived on the other side of the world to a clinic that had been shut down by the Canadian government, namely because it's founder had not a single qualification to her name, and that she hired ex-patients of hers to look after the new ones (and charged a ridiculous amount of money for their cure...) She took me to live in her house, and for the next four years, we moved country, yes country, every three or four months. To this day I still don't know why. My brain hurts trying to remember what happened during those years... but all I can say, is that I ended up in a far worse condition than I had been when I started. The culmination of this adventure came in the form of an LSD tab, which made me fly high enough out of my body to realise that the threat of interpol picking me up from the airport if I tried to run away was actually a lie, and that I could leave. Which I did. And seeing as my teenage logic was mostly limited to music and philosophy books, I decided to go live in Finland, since my favourite rock bands seemed to come from there... I arrived in the middle of winter in a howling snowstorm. Frightened, alone and still tripping from the drugs. And as I flopped onto the bathroom floor in my tiny one bedroom flat, I cried out to the universe in small, silent sobs, surrendering... "Ok, I'm ready for your help now... if you can hear me... please... I'm begging you..." And then it began. Ask and you shall receive...
I was becoming increasingly worried about my stomach and oesophagus after all the abuse that I had laid upon my poor body for the last few years and I asked a friend if she could help me find a doctor... We met outside a building with a large spiral staircase. "What is this place?" I asked her, as I saw a sign on the door which simply said 'Painters Therapy' "What the f%*k is this hippie shit?!" That is, until I walked through the door and met eyes with a man that I will NEVER forget... "hmmmmm..... cynical!" he chuckled..... And for the first time in my life I felt seen... seen to the very core... understood... welcomed... and LOVED! I had never felt this safe before. I just stared at him, as he stared back and looked through me as if I was made of glass... "I don't know what you know, but you KNOW!" I said. And he just smiled back at me and replied "Just be... and then YOU will know....."
Amen to this and to that and to all of you for reading this. I believe that everything that I have gone through has led me here to this moment, and if we can overcome these obstacles then we can get though anything... I feel strong. I feel empowered. I love myself (although it has taken a while to regain true confidence...) and I feel a strong sense of faith that all is working out well, and that if you need help in your life, you need only ask with deep and meaningful yearning and it will be given to you in miraculous ways... I thank all of the people and angels that I have met since that turning point in my life for all their healing, support and unconditional love, and I hope that one day, through music, writing, speaking and sharing, that I will be able to inspire another lost and lonely kid to keep going no matter what. You will get though it and you will shine... thank you so much for reading this through right to the very end! Love and lightness of being to you and namaste... I bow to the indwelling & indestructible spirit that dwells within you. Isabella <3
Growing up, I was sure that I must have been dropped off here from another planet... I just couldn't understand these 'grown-ups' around me. They said one thing, but I felt a different vibe, they contradicted each other, they lied, a LOT, and usually were unaware that they had even done so. It is hard when you are young, and have no framework with which to justify the strong feelings that you are aware of within yourself, especially when there is no one around to comfort and explain that you are not just being 'oversensitive' and 'naive' when you believe that there is a love and a magic in this world, that could end all war, hatred, pain & suffering.
I was acutely aware of many things as a young girl, and with an emotionally closed mother and a dictator for a father, I arrived in this world pretty freaked out by the whole shebang. Where to start? School was a bloody nightmare... "What the f%*k are you teaching me this for?!" and home was just a house full of shouting. At aged 12 I was given my first 'treatment' for the growing sense of panic and anxiety that was building up with each passing day. Valium. I remember crying and crying, unable to be comforted until this little white pill arrived in my mothers hand, waiting to bring me the warmth and peace that I wished could come from her instead. The fear turned into Obsessive-Compulsive behaviour, which led to a creepy psychiatric hospital on a hill in North London, pages of ink blot tests + a few more vague prescriptions... Except that the side-effects were not so vague, and it turns out that I was one of those first few kids who were trialled with the new Serotonin-Reuptake Inhibitors, including the one which was banned for causing teenagers to jump out of windows (the windows at boarding school didn't open that far, so I bit all the skin off my hands instead...) And with each subsequent visit to the school sanitarium, I was greeted once again with blank stares and mechanical care.
Who sends their kids away at the age of 11? Who does that? Especially if you have more than enough time and money to enjoy their company at home? I don't get it. So, here I find myself at a large grey coloured compound that is supposed to be my surrogate home for the next seven years. With 500 other girls who mostly seem equally bewildered and afraid and quickly learned that achievement and ambition were everything. I didn't want to die... but I was so tired of screaming... and screaming... and screaming... and not being heard... so I started to disappear. One gram at a time. Until there was almost nothing left... I couldn't even whisper the words 'help'. Hospital number three and the eating disorders unit. Seven months living alone in a facility surrounded by drug addicts and schizophrenics, and incidentally some of the smartest and most intuitive people I had ever met. Not that I spent much time hanging around there though... no. I used to tie my sheets to the balcony and escape out the back window to walk the streets of London for hours alone with my headphones. Occasionally frequenting Camden market to sample some of the magic mushrooms they had to offer...
I went home for Christmas, making sure I cooked my own dinner so that I could spend an hour weighing everything out perfectly to make sure that not one extra calorie could sneak it's way into my body. My dad would poke me in the ribs and yell 'hey Chuck'. This was his clever joke. Chuck being another word for puke. Bulimia is hilarious. On my return to the hospital, I discovered that I was no longer registered. I had not 'followed the program' properly and they had decided to discharge me. Back home, my parents rushed to find a school that would take me so that I could catch up on my school work. Because that really was the most important thing to do... I lost it. I couldn't take it anymore. One evening, I begged my mother to find help for me or I'd kill myself. The options were another hospital in England, or a special clinic in Canada. I chose North America, seeing as it was about as far away from home as I could possibly get, and at that point, it was what I chose...
We arrived on the other side of the world to a clinic that had been shut down by the Canadian government, namely because it's founder had not a single qualification to her name, and that she hired ex-patients of hers to look after the new ones (and charged a ridiculous amount of money for their cure...) She took me to live in her house, and for the next four years, we moved country, yes country, every three or four months. To this day I still don't know why. My brain hurts trying to remember what happened during those years... but all I can say, is that I ended up in a far worse condition than I had been when I started. The culmination of this adventure came in the form of an LSD tab, which made me fly high enough out of my body to realise that the threat of interpol picking me up from the airport if I tried to run away was actually a lie, and that I could leave. Which I did. And seeing as my teenage logic was mostly limited to music and philosophy books, I decided to go live in Finland, since my favourite rock bands seemed to come from there... I arrived in the middle of winter in a howling snowstorm. Frightened, alone and still tripping from the drugs. And as I flopped onto the bathroom floor in my tiny one bedroom flat, I cried out to the universe in small, silent sobs, surrendering... "Ok, I'm ready for your help now... if you can hear me... please... I'm begging you..." And then it began. Ask and you shall receive...
I was becoming increasingly worried about my stomach and oesophagus after all the abuse that I had laid upon my poor body for the last few years and I asked a friend if she could help me find a doctor... We met outside a building with a large spiral staircase. "What is this place?" I asked her, as I saw a sign on the door which simply said 'Painters Therapy' "What the f%*k is this hippie shit?!" That is, until I walked through the door and met eyes with a man that I will NEVER forget... "hmmmmm..... cynical!" he chuckled..... And for the first time in my life I felt seen... seen to the very core... understood... welcomed... and LOVED! I had never felt this safe before. I just stared at him, as he stared back and looked through me as if I was made of glass... "I don't know what you know, but you KNOW!" I said. And he just smiled back at me and replied "Just be... and then YOU will know....."
Amen to this and to that and to all of you for reading this. I believe that everything that I have gone through has led me here to this moment, and if we can overcome these obstacles then we can get though anything... I feel strong. I feel empowered. I love myself (although it has taken a while to regain true confidence...) and I feel a strong sense of faith that all is working out well, and that if you need help in your life, you need only ask with deep and meaningful yearning and it will be given to you in miraculous ways... I thank all of the people and angels that I have met since that turning point in my life for all their healing, support and unconditional love, and I hope that one day, through music, writing, speaking and sharing, that I will be able to inspire another lost and lonely kid to keep going no matter what. You will get though it and you will shine... thank you so much for reading this through right to the very end! Love and lightness of being to you and namaste... I bow to the indwelling & indestructible spirit that dwells within you. Isabella <3
