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Exploring Demonalia

© Katherine E. Rabenau

I'm afraid I'm going to talk about myself this week. I have tried to keep it to a minimum in the past, but somehow this week I can't stop myself. I am in the grips of a fairly relentless series of dialogues with my inner demons and it seems that maybe that's what I should talk about because I suspect that mine are not the only demons acting up these days. There's nothing like a major life move or a couple of terrorist attacks and a war to bring one's inner demons out of their cages (aka Demonalia) for bit of a romp. My move back to the East coast is only three weeks away (!!!) and it is proving to be an interesting time for me on many levels. I'm excited and terrified both and the citizens of Demonalia are eager to share their views and advice on just about everything imaginable. Annoying as it is, this inner dialogue is also (when i can keep it in perspective) a great guide to what in my psyche needs tending. If we don't let them rule us, our inner demons can be quite useful. Mine have certainly been bringing some interesting things to my awareness.

Difficult as my current living situation has been in many ways, it has also had a lot of security attached to it. My landlords are family and the rent is a great deal less than I will be paying back east. Since I have no car, when I have gone out, it has been with someone else making the decisions about how, where and when to go. As I face the prospect of being on my own again, the voices of my phobia are tuning up for another go at me. As they do so, I'm recognizing some things about myself that I guess I knew, but that I am seeing from a different vantage point than I did before. I am getting an indication of areas in which a lot of healing has happened and those where I still have quite a ways to go.

For one thing, I am realizing that my personal agoraphobia was, in a way, a retreat from a lifetime (starting at about the age of 7) of being overly responsible and ten years (the ten before I became house-bound) of dealing with an overwhelming amount of tragedy and family illness. Because I didn't know how to draw boundaries or refuse responsibility as an "adult" me, I think I unconsciously infantalized myself. I'm not entirely sure what all the mechanisms for doing that were, but certainly the inertia of not going out and the physical disability of the morbid obesity which evolved during my incarceration were factors in promoting and re-enforcing the feeling of being helpless and incapable - not just physically but intellectually as well. When I arrived in Arizona 15 months ago, I could barely walk across a room. I have come a long way since then. I have lost 60-80 pounds (I refuse to weigh myself) and am stronger and more active physically. I have a long way to go, but what would once have been unimaginable - living in a third floor (walk up) apartment - is now only daunting. If it doesn't kill me, it should be good for building my stamina and strengthening my leg muscles. My anxiety about this and other aspects of my move is making me realize that I am still a bit of a toddler here and that suddenly three weeks from now I will be a grown-up again. No way around it. I know that this is a good thing. I'm grateful for it - and even eager to be on my own again - but the truth is that I'm also very scared. My current income is not the stuff of fortune building. In January I will steal a bit more from what's left of my pension to get by on as I continue to heal and move back into real life. But oh, what demon food all of this is. You cannot imagine the joy that is rampant in Demonalia. My inner disablers are chanting, singing, shouting and just muttering a series of mantras: