The Transformation of Alice....

  • By girly-d
  • On 13/10/2017
  • 0 comments

Part 3.

The Transformation of Alice....

I have a tea set. A perfect, bone china, daintily patterned tea set. I bought it for £12 from a  charity shop. I would have paid more. To me it's priceless. 

It sits on a wooden table in my teeny, tiny garden. The table is set for 5 and there is a clock above it that's set to 6.00 pm exactly. A cheshire cat watches patiently from the trees and a sleeping dormouse is curled up on a chair. Soon it will be time for tea.

It's just how Alice left it that day in her head. When she finally escaped the madness that was Wonderland.  But Alice know's a secret that none of the others know yet. Alice isn't coming back. Her tea party days are over.  And she's rewriting the book.

Wonderland exists. It is a real actual place. I know this because I went there for a while when my head wasn't working properly. I never want to go back. Wonderland is not a fairy tale full of woodland creatures, curious girls and tea partys. It's a horror film. The drinks are poison and the animals bite. 

Wonderland is accessed by invitation only. You don't have to be special. It's not the baftas. You just have to meet the criteria. Too much going on in your head for one person to handle.  I exceeded all expectations. Access All Areas. Lucky me.

Twelve months of relentless shit, day in, day out finally tipped me over the edge. The next thing I knew I was on a bus bound for God only knows where. Golden ticket in hand. I didn't have time to pack.

Some people just go for the day. Or a long weekend. Then everything is tickity boo. They've had their blip and off they pop. With a goldfish they've won from the fair as a momento. I was there for months. I couldn't find the exit. And I didn't have a key if I did.  I didn't get to see the fair. I stumbled into the house of horrors by mistake.

It was beyond my wildest imagination. My very own room 101. 

Everywhere was dark and unknown creatures lurked in the shadows. I could hear them breathing. Feel their breath on my skin. Groping hands on my body as I tried to squeeze past. I tried to run but I couldn't see where I was going. There were potholes and traps everywhere. Sometimes I got away. Sometimes I didn't. My collection of battle scars grew by the day.

I didn't have pretty dresses like Alice. I wore the same clothes constantly and my hair was a mess. The others didn't seem to mind. They were too busy finding new and exciting ways to get wasted. It was impossible to hold a conversation. And pointless to ask for directions back to reality as no one else seemed to want to leave. They were all too busy drinking and eating cake. I couldn't drink anymore, and eating made me sick. Drinking made sure that I didn't know whether it was day or night, Monday or Tuesday or what my real name was... I'd answered to Alice for as long as I could remember. If I was ever going to get out of this place  I needed to stop.

I woke up in hospital. With a drip in my arm. 

I'd like to say that it had all been a dream. But it hadn't. I'd been living that life for months.  A culmination of stress and addiction had reached it's peak. Without medical intervention I would be dead. There's no question in my mind.

I went into detox. And then rehab. It saved my life. Without all of the madness that had surrounded me and a safe place to sleep I could think straight. And now that I wasn't drinking 24/7 as a way to escape the madness, my mind started to slowly piece itself back together.

I was in hospital for months. Followed by supported accomodation. I needed time to process everything that had happened. I left earlier this year.

I live in the country now. In the middle of nowhere. It's been my salvation. A handful of friends know where I am. No one else can find me. 

I'm happy and I'm healthy and I live a normal life. I spend time with my friends, I cook and I read and I'm addicted to snapchat. Making up for a year of my life where I wouldn't allow photographs. Addiction is not a good look. It doesn't suit me.

Anyway, I love it here. I spend my days working and writing. I keep myself to myself. No one in this new place knows my story....and to look at me they would never guess.

Occasional strangers pass by my garden. By my own admission it is beautiful. I put a lot of time and effort into it.  There are birds and bees and all kinds of creatures living there, and to an outsider I can see that it's quite quirky and idyllic. To me, for all its beauty, it's  a reminder that mental health is fragile. And why I no longer drink tea....

 

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