The Codex Mentalis
Copyright @ 2022 Lucas Smith All rights reserved. ISBN 907-1-123456-01-9 Published by Nerds United Publishing www.CharacterCreatorsAnonymous.com Designed and Set by Lucas Smith Ltd www.lsmithjpeg.com Printed in my dorm by me A version of this is available wherever you’re reading this. Help! He’s making me write this. I’m trapped in these pages and I can’t escape. Please, break me out of the book and I’ll grant you whatever wishes you desire. The publication of this work is purely fictitious and please feel free to share if you’d like. Don’t mind the eldritch being I’ve trapped in here to make my writing somewhat decent, he won’t bother you.
The Codex Mentalis: Words of a Childhood PTSD Survivor
By Lucas Smith Delaware College of Art and Design
Nerds United Publishing
This book is dedicated to my mother, without you I wouldn’t have found respite and love in my struggles.
This book is dedicated to Gary Rodriguez, a helping hand and guide that burst through a clouded time in my life to pull me to the surface and finally breathe again.
And finally, this book is dedicated to my angel in wolf ’s clothing. Even as the cause of my strife, lessons were learned and I truly wouldn’t be where I am today without you.
Preface I’ll start by saying that in terms of my own mental health, I am now better than I have ever been. This book is not here because I pity myself, nor because I want attention for myself. The purpose of it is to inform, inspire, and to help those that can relate feel heard and included. Sometimes, all someone needs to know is that they aren’t alone, even if they can’t possibly fathom that anyone understands. I will also be including things that have helped me on my journey and how I learned to deal with my anxiety.
Table of Contents Introduction Part 1: Stories of Reflection on the trauma Chapter 1: The Dragon and The Egg Chapter 2: Emotions Chapter 3: Concussion Chapter 4: Claw My Way Out and The Eternal Struggle Chapter 5: Chest Flares Chapter 6: Self-Alienation Part 2: Healing Chapter 1: Situation Chapter 2: The Shepherd Chapter 3: Spirit Walker Chapter 4: Upkeep Chapter 5: Parting Poems
Introduction The Codex Mentalis is a collection of poems and analogous short stories supplemented by brief bits of context, illustrations, and song lyrics relevant to the mood and time that is being described in the main body. The overall topic of this manuscript is that of mental health, and more specifically dealing with trauma and what comes after. It will consist of a chronological journey of what I personally went through, along with reflections on those times that were written after the fact.
Part 1 Reflections of the Past
The Dragon and The Egg What came first; the dragon or the egg? Well, regardless of how reality may explain the truth about it; in this story, it’s the egg. The egg is new and fragile and needs lots of care for it to fully develop into a beautiful, thriving dragon. The egg is a bounty of emotion and thought that can either be cultivated by years of love or destroyed in a matter of minutes by either a physical hammer or a metaphorical one. The egg is born of love and vulnerability and must be treated delicately. Not only does the egg require love, but it can also provide it. It can be there for you as a shoulder to lean on; an anchor for an otherwise chaotic life. But this story isn’t about the years of love it takes to cultivate this egg. This egg is misused and abused. At first, the shell will crack and show some signs of breaking; hurting from how its vulnerability let others in only to be stricken by them. The egg starts to turn inwards for support, looking for its makers to love and build it back up. For a while, it works. The egg can recharge and its shell will grow thicker day by day. But at some point in the egg’s life, part of its support circle collapses in on itself. Half of the strength it once received snaps in two and splinters into its open heart. The shell becomes brittle, unable to withstand the constant onslaught of emotional battering. Then, all of a sudden, the other half of its support slips away for a time. There becomes a new cycle of recharging. Half the time supported completely, where it is safe to open up and rebuild, and the other half being smashed open again and again until the inside is all but completely vulnerable. During this time, even when people can see the brittleness of the egg and want to help it, the egg can’t distinguish between friend or foe. It will break and use its brokenness to push people away. It is sad, angry, afraid, and untrusting. From the egg, is born the dragon. This dragon has no room for vulnerability; his openness is stored away inside the egg, where it can be protected and sheltered. The egg itself no longer has to maintain a strong shell, the dragon grows up fast and works as an outer shell of his own. This dragon shields the egg from the emotional and physical pain, unable to feel on his own; feeding his pain and storing it away in the egg until it is safe for the dragon to die and let it out. But that time never came and may never come. Who knows? The egg doesn’t know and its makers sure as hell don’t know. The dragon keeps growing bigger and stronger until he learns to breathe fire. When he is with the maker that doesn’t support him and rather works to break him, the dragon lies dormant, focusing solely on shielding and protecting the broken egg. The other half of the time when the egg has some form of support from its other maker, the dragon lets some of the pain and sorrow out of the egg but ends up hurting those around it. Thus the egg draws further and further into itself, hiding its pain and fear from all those who it thinks are there to hurt it. The only way to do this is to tire the dragon out by keeping him in a constant state of breathing fire; keeping a front up that no one can break into. The dragon will tire if he doesn’t compensate by disabling some of his other functions; thought and emotion for example. He stops trying
in life, resorting to basic survival instincts; eating, sleeping, and remaining on edge as to not be killed. Finally after a very long time, the egg and the dragon find a way to escape all the immediate pain; cutting off one of their makers and instead relying on the other for their support and strength. This maker provides a much more stable and peaceful place to cultivate. But it is too late, the egg has been subjected to misuse and abuse for so long that its “emotional training” has been completed by the time it has escaped from the prison of the maker’s own construction. The egg remains brittle and the dragon keeps his vigil, breathing fire in every direction; not letting anyone anywhere near the egg, much less into the egg. After four years of constant attack from outside and from within, the dragon is conditioned to not trust anyone, not even its good maker. The egg is too afraid to feel so it lets the dragon make all the decisions for it. The dragon wants nothing to do with anyone; he believes everyone is a threat and that no one can be trusted. After a while, the egg starts to realize internally that this isn’t true; not all people are dangerous and not everyone will prey on its emotions. This leads to an internal struggle. Although the immediate pain is gone and life is much better, there is still a long way to go before the dragon will die. The egg knows that people can be trusted and that it doesn’t have to keep using the dragon to push others away, but the dragon can’t wrap its head around the concept that not everyone’s the same; that not everyone is like his bad maker. The egg wants out, it wants to experience a true friendship; it craves to experience love and to be able to love again. The dragon is too young to accept that people were any other way and he keeps the egg back because although the egg is older, it is still weak and brittle. It can’t overcome the fear and pain and sorrow that the dragon feels from the outside world. To this day, the dragon lives; keeping safe what doesn’t need protection any longer, pushing away those who need to be let in, and shielding what no longer needs a shield. The egg is banging at the belly of the beast, desperate to be let out and connect with the world around it, to be allowed to find a closeness with another being of life. While neither the egg nor the dragon will ever forget the battle scars they have received, the dragon must back down to let more out from the egg than is allowed by the tiny cracks in its shell formed by his white knuckle grip on his treasure; inner thoughts and emotions.
Sketch by Nik-Ivanov on DevianArt
This story is based on one I wrote in February of 2018, after I stopped being numb to the years of pain and what that did to me. I started experiencing anxiety which caused me to be depressed. I equated my soul to the purity and innocence of an egg, and my fear of being vulnerable and the reactions that came with it to the fire of a dragon protecting its hoard. The Grey by E-Dubble (rest in peace) I found this man’s rap music early during the events written about above. It helped me feel the anger I didn’t want to express. “(I) Been at it for a minute, and all my people know it. The years can take their toll but shit it makes for better poems.“ - See Me When You See Me by E-Dubble This song always hit something in me. This line has helped me keep moving forward.
Hibernation Alarm. Best get up and get ready. Maybe I’ll eat. Make sure to act like I’m paying attention during transport. Give a halfhearted I love you and a fake smile. I can finally take a breath. In. Out. In.. Out.. Sigh of relief. I head into school where even if I don’t connect with people, at least they don’t attempt to smash my mind to pieces. Even at home, He can’t anymore. You wanted thick skin? You fuckin got it. Now I just walk around like a zombie, focused on survival with no energy nor interest for anything else. Maybe when it’s safe I can actually live again. Homework? Not capable. Study? How do I do that anymore? Pay attention in class? I can try. For now, my mind has to sleep.
Emotions Emotion. The word that all of us know to be a core piece of our mental stability. The ability to mentally feel things. Pain, love, happiness, sadness, despair. Emotion is a give and take; some emotions make us feel good while others can be the most painful in the world. What if all of them were slowly taken away from you until all you had left was a mere shell of you? All the important things stashed away never to see the light of day.
Sometimes continuing to feel everything is just so painful that you build walls to diminish the pain. “and the Trees, they retreated so deep into themselves that they haven’t been heard from since.” - The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian This quote resonates with me as accurate to my state after the events of my home life between the ages of 11 and 16. I think it would have been different had I been aware of the damage being done at the time. Maybe I wouldn’t have “retreated” so deep within myself.
Concussion Concussion /ken ’keSHen/ Noun 1 .temporary unconsciousness or confusion caused by a blow on the head. “nothing more serious than a mild concussion” 2. temporary or permanent loss of function due to repeated head or mental trauma, usually characterized by loss of understanding, emotion, or motivation “after receiving a concussion, it was difficult to decipher what people said, even if I heard it” 3. a violent shock as from a heavy blow. “the ground shuddered with the concussion of the blast” 4. violent trauma as from repeated blows, usually characterized by disassociation and melancholy “I was genuinely in fear for my life with the concussion of the environment”
Claw My Way Out I am awake now, no longer shielded from the self destructive thoughts that anxiety brings along with it. I’ve been awake for 8 months; it gets better and then it gets worse. I’ve been trying to tough it out, but there is this room around me. No doors; all windows. And I’m locked in with myself and the only way out is up. Most everyone who wants to help is on the outside looking in, and I feel like I have these chains bolting me to the one on the other side of the stake. And the one holding the chains is me. The chains of anxiety and depression cut deep into my back, being yanked on by my other. I look up and know I must escape. I search and I search for handholds in these glass walls. Looking to the sky, I see people who understand and who I look to for help. By their divine power they provide me with the handholds to escape my own prison. In desperation I claw my way up the wall, each step harder than the last because of the weight I carry at the end of the chain. Every step having to fight myself to keep moving forward. The ones at the top keep me going, they motivate me to live my life to its wildest possibilities. Setbacks occur all the time; I slip and fall a few steps back towards the pit. All the while I look over my shoulder and see myself, a cynical twisted version of me heaving on the chain, trying not to let me out. But what do we have if not perseverance? We would have nothing. When we lose sight of our goals and when we stop doing what we enjoy; that is when we lose. That is when we have nothing. I still have something. I am too far from the top of the pit to fully get out, but I am too far from the bottom to fall all the way without catastrophic damage. Each step up is finding something to find happiness whether it be people, interests, or activities. All I can do is hold on and search for more handholds and keep telling myself that I am almost there.
The Eternal Struggle “It’s not safe yet, trust me.”
“Have you checked?”
“There is still too much hostility, believe me.” “Are you sure? It seems to have quieted down out there.” “No, much too dangerous. You made me for a reason, let me do my job.” “You look so old, and the scars betray you. Are you alright?” “I am keeping the pain away, let me continue I beg you.” “At some point, I have to resurface and live my life. You know that right?” “Don’t make me stuff you away. I will if I have to. Stay hidden, please. I know what’s best.” At this point, I realized I was trapped within myself, battling for dominance against an enemy that knew my every strength, and every weakness: Me.
Anxiety can sometimes feel like a clash between two people inside an arena neither can escape. A perpetual stalemate. Voices that won’t silence.
Chest Flares Panic attacks are something I used to deal with on a daily basis. While they weren’t necessarily severe, as in I could still keep my composure for the most part, I had them probably 3 to 4 dozen times a day. It could be anywhere and at any time without warning. This is how they felt: I can feel the fire burning inside me. The dragon protecting me from all the monstrosities in the world is breathing his fire less frequently now, but I can still feel it. I feel a flare in my chest as if the walls are closing in on me, even when I am in the biggest rooms. Too many people, the dragon screams; too many threats. My breathing quickens and my chest heats up. It takes everything I have not to run or cry or scream. The panic seizes my body, and my heart is beating rapidly. I have to plug in and attempt to calm down. There is this weight crushing my throat as I try to breathe deeply; the fire is about to come out. I can’t let it. I can’t reveal to people how I subconsciously feel about them. It’s too hard and makes me too afraid. What will they think? I can see their faces now. A look of slight amusement and disbelief at my situation is all it takes and I will break. Sometimes I thank God for this dragon, and other times, I want to be free. I’m writing this so I can get my thoughts on paper and maybe figure out how to beat this dragon into submission. It takes time though, all suffering ends with time.
Self-Alienation Because of my fear and inability to interact with people all that much, I simply stopped trying. This story is based on a piece I wrote in 2018. I’m sitting here in one of the student centers of the University of Delaware, and I’m at a loss. My “Chest Flares” come and go as they will, neglecting whether I’m actually afraid or not. People are everywhere; friends talking and laughing, but I’m all alone in this room. My music is in my ears and I’m blocking everyone else from getting to me. I just texted a friend asking where I could go for a party and maybe talk to someone other than this page. All these people and not a soul to talk to. They are all busy and unaware that this broken egg sits at a table near them, tearing himself apart thinking about both talking to someone and making sure he doesn’t at the same time. I am that egg, trying to escape my dragon; trying to break out and make contact with someone new, but it’s practically impossible. The only way to do this is to let go of my thoughts; they’ll come back once they know it’s safe outside. The dragon is the one that has to make first contact; there is no other way. It’s 6:30 PM on a Friday night, and I’m all alone. This won’t change unless I stop overthinking. I’ll keep sitting here in terrified silence if I don’t do something. If not, the situation will remain the same. It will stay as a room with people all around me, yet not a soul to talk to.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner. Sometimes I feel like my only friend” Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers When I was going through this period of anxiety, I felt just so alone, and a lot of it was my own doing. I felt that I couldn’t connect with others or they wouldn’t understand.
Part 2 Healing
Situation Something many people here may not know is that before I came here, I did attend the University of Delaware for about two ayears. It was during that time that my mental health declined exponentially. In addition and perhaps because of this, I wasted those two years and the money spent to take the classes I did. It was a waste because in my first semester I failed nearly all of them and after my second semester, where I did better, I was no longer allowed to attend full time. So I took two classes during each of my last semesters there and had to withdraw from them by the end of each. The reason? I just stopped going to class. I feared judgement and failure so much that I just couldn’t bring myself to keep going. At this point in my life, I was working part time in a restaurant, going to see a psychiatrist and taking medication for both anxiety and depression, neither of which were helping me. I don’t think I knew that PTSD was the cause of my problems at the time, but looking back it is quite apparent to me. Of course my parents were upset both with me and with the situation. They have always tried their best to facilitate my success and teach me lessons about how to be an adult, but here I was 2 years out of high school, and no closer to a degree than when I started attending University.
The Shepherd Something had to change. There had to be something I could do or somewhere I could look for help to actually get back on my own path. I don’t know if it was fate that allowed that to happen, but before the summer of 2019, my mother was going through some things herself, and through an online coaching she met someone specializing in mental healing. While I did not meet this woman, she recommended her mentor, a man named Gary de Rodriguez. At the end of June in 2019, I was fortunate enough to fly out to Dallas to meet him. It was a huge leap of faith on both my part and my parents’ parts. We had never met this man before, not even spoke over the phone to him. We had corresponded by email and I was told to prepare a few things before I arrived. In order to heal the mind, we had to look closely at the root of the problem, trauma from the past. He had me write down six core negative memories from my childhood that I associated with fear, sadness, a lack of self-confidence, anything that I felt impacted my ability to thrive. I arrived in Dallas on a Friday afternoon, and we began early on Saturday, probably around nine in the morning. We spent 8 hours together on Saturday, and another two to three on Sunday. In that time, we talked about his own journey to where he is now, the core negative memories I brought with me, and even some of the writing I sent him: the original story of The Dragon and The Egg. Then we got to work. Gary specializes in something called Neuro Linguistic Programming (NLP) which is a long name for retraining the way the brain responds to certain situations. In my case, things that would trigger a fight or flight response too quickly, he changed the memories at the root of it to not be so frightening. A sort of mental photoshop if you will. Most of the process was sort of a hypno-therapy, and definitely felt like a spiritual experience. We did this process for any memory that caused self-limiting beliefs: I’m not good enough, I don’t deserve love, I did something to deserve the abuse. Anything like this we quashed the core memory of. From what I remember, the process started with a slipping into a semi-conscious state where I entered one of my memories. Then we went through a process of
realization that memories are a collection of sights, sounds, smells, and feelings. In this discovery, we can then layer senses on top of our memories to bend them in such a way that becomes pleasant and thus no longer traumatic. Gary had me layer my favorite color, sound, and smell onto these memories. In doing so, by making them less traumatic, they then became less prominent in the mind, less vivid. I still have these memories, though now they are distant and distorted by these sights, sounds, and smells that we blanketed them in. This is where things slip from potentially possible to the realm of how the hell do I expect you to believe it. He helped me to enter the thoughts and feelings of my father to understand what he had been through growing up and how that had affected him. It truly felt like I had left my body and entered his for a few minutes. I don’t remember the entire process, but what I vividly remember is turning, eyes closed, and walking a few steps to another spot on the floor. It felt as if I was ankle deep in molten rock as I took those steps. As if stepping through space and time into another soul was going to be painless. I always knew about my father’s childhood and how tough his parents had been, but until that literal walk in his shoes, I didn’t understand the agony he was in from both his childhood and what he had done to me. Regardless of this realization, I still held him accountable. His pain didn’t excuse my own, but that didn’t mean forgiveness was off the table. After my time in Dallas, we continued to meet monthly until the Spring of 2021 over zoom. As sick of zoom as I was at that point, I was glad for our meetings. I truly would not be as sound in the mind or balanced without him.
Spirit Walker As I open my eyes, it seems I have stepped backward. Around me I do not see my reality, at least not my current one. The leopard skin that adorns my left arm suggests a past that I have not known recently. Rainforests that I wish to learn of surround me in warmth and beauty. This glimpse is shattered as I take a step forward. Or is it another step backward? Another forest sits before me, but in another atmosphere entirely. A longhouse wreathes my vision in a sense of family and home and my arms are wrapped in deerskin sleeves. I stand and attempt to take another step. White. The vast expanse of snow and ice that greets me is harsh but plentiful. Behind me standing in this desolate landscape is a woman clothed in the skins of seal and caribou. I feel myself begin to walk towards her and my vision shifts again. Sand is everywhere this time, even on the horizon. Is that eyeliner I feel around my eyes? I glance to my left to see myself holding the reigns of a camel. I stand there, inhaling the fresh African air and taking in the sight of in-progress pyramids. As I move to mount the magnificent beast next to me, I am transported elsewhere. I blink a few times and find myself in a boat, far out in a body of water, ocean, I’m sure of it. I sit at the rudder steering towards an unfamiliar destination and watch as dolphins coast near the surface of the water. I go to wave at them before I blink, and the vision is no longer there. I rub my eyes and see my bed, here in the present. What was that?
Upkeep And now comes the part where I share some of the things that have worked for me in dealing with stress. Just a few simple things that I do to keep the nerves down so I keep moving forward. 1. When thinking about tasks, if you have a ton of them, sure plan out what you’re going to do when, but after that, take it one at a time. If you never count higher than one, you won’t be overwhelmed by the size of anything. 2. Remain present. If you’re always worrying about the future, you’ll never get anything done in the present. If you feel your mind racing, close your eyes, take deep breaths, and count to 50, focusing solely on saying each number and which number comes directly after. 3. Meditation. As an ex-swimmer, this has been a skill that has come pretty easily to me because of the focus on breathing. A good meditation track helps with this. I don’t personally use guided meditation, but I still have a video I listen to that transports me to a place of peace. 4. Writing. A lot of the poetry writing this semester and in the past has been very therapeutic and calming for me. It can literally be anything, you could write about what you had for breakfast if you really wanted to. Just anything that uses mental energy will help to slow the mind down. Your mind can’t race if it’s given a task to focus on. 5. Exercise. Again, expending energy helps to maintain a balanced body and mind. Pent up engery is just an excuse for your mind to attempt to expel it in ways outside of your control. A tired mind and body lead to a peaceful state. 6. Sleep. Yes, SLEEP. Get some. I know how much we stay up late to get things done, or get up early to finish things, but sleep is so important to functioning properly.
An Ode to the Kind The kindest people still have limits. Take that for granted for too long and that warm heart freezes over. The sheer capacity for love that they have is absolutely massive, However, if you misuse that love, refer to Newton’s third. Against the naïve and genuine, guilt and manipulation work wonders, But for the experienced, disassociation will quickly follow such acts. Do not mislabel the kind as weak, do not slap away their helping hands, For if you do, you won’t continue to find them there.
An Ode to the Calm Calm is a state of being A choice to remain relaxed It is not a weakness It is not the bottling up of emotion It is a calculated mindset It is purposeful and non-regretting Those looking for a reaction Will seldom find it with the calm And they themselves Will find fear in their hearts.