Why has Alice always been so inspiring to me? Her world is very alluring, of course, with its psychedelic color, unique, comical characters, and clever use of symbolism. I especially love that you can assign whatever meaning you want to the meaninglessness of Alice in Wonderland, or decide there is none at all. I have become Alice many times in my life, embracing her inquisitive side to imagine new worlds. Once I took a tab of acid on a trampoline, and I became Alice for the night, chasing after the White Rabbit and Mad Hatter around the campus of my university. They threw clothes at me to try on from an overflowing dumpster behind the dormitories, and by the moonlight, they watched me create a shrine with old pictures I had found behind the art building.
On another occasion, I took on Alice’s form again in the psychiatric hospital for several days. The Mad Hatter and I, together at last, skipped through the halls and were often yelled at by the orderlies. His wife visited him, while I spoke to my parents during visiting hours, and I was surprised to look over and see the face of the Red Queen. In this world, they must have married. I was delighted to see a familiar face. The next day, I was convinced we were in the middle of the apocalypse. Everyone was being killed, and I recognized repetitive 6s, the devil’s number, on the sugar packets. I tried to warn the Mad Hatter, but he drank his coffee with sugar like any other day, and I could see the color leave his face. He continued to speak to me, but I saw the paleness of a corpse and the light gone from his eyes. He was in another realm and had left me.
Everyone of us in the ward left that day, murdered by a detoxing heroin addict I called the Tasmanian Devil. She came behind me and pulled a string taut to my throat. I stood up in fear, and instantly, I knew I too was dead.
There was no pain on the other side. We all were brought to the ward for a reason, to prepare for the new world. We are a brilliant people, and we were protected from the real pain, the acid rain falling outside. My parents had already succumbed to the rain; they came in shining brilliantly the next day, and I knew they had crossed over as well, to a heaven on earth where there is no pain.
Alice is my light, and I am her shadow. Alice is myself before I lost the spark of excitement at every new thing in the world, before I listened to societal programming and became the fearful woman I have been, until today. Today all of that changes because I refuse to be silent. I will no longer listen to the fear that no one will be receptive to my story, that no one will understand or care. I’m no longer writing this down for anyone else. I’m writing this down for me.
(Note: I wrote this post on November 19 for therapy. These events happened during multiple “manic” episodes in my life. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type II at age 17. I still take small doses of Trileptal & Seroquel but have lowered them significantly. The fog has finally lifted, and I am started to understand these visions. I was also told by a shaman (see my article on my reading with her here: https://soberishpodblog.com/2020/02/17/embracing-shadow-work/) that I am not bipolar I am psychic. After a dream I just had after the birth of my little girl, I am finally starting to believe she is right.
I also just remembered that I was in the musical “Alice in Wonderland” in elementary school and played the caterpillar. I auditioned for Alice and was so upset I didn’t get the part. So this is another sign of how I have changed perspectives so many times in the story of “Alice in Wonderland” throughout my life. I sang a song called “Who Are You?” I even stumbled into a room where people were dressed up for a fundraiser at the airport in DIA while I was working…Alice in Wonderland themed. I’m looking for the picture where I posed with the Red Queen & Mad Hatter in my flight attendant uniform from work.)
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