So, You’re Trapped at Home with Your Demons: A Guest Post by Donna Lynch

Good morning, friends and fiends:

I don't know about you all, but the state of the world has me in a serious funk lately. Time has last all meaning, my writing is disjointed and all over the place, I think I've gone through all of Netflix, and when I'm not having nightmares, I'm dealing with some pretty serious bouts of insomnia again. However, in a time when we're all probably spending way too much time in our heads, I think now it's more important than ever to open a dialogue up and talk about mental health. As such, I invited one of my all-time favorite writers to stop by the Madhouse today, to chat about how writing can help soothe and heal in a time of turmoil.

Donna Lynch is a dark fiction writer, poet, and the co-founder—along with her husband, artist and musician Steven Archer—of the dark electro-rock band Ego Likeness (Metropolis Records). Her written works include Isabel Burning, Driving Through the Desert, Ladies & Other Vicious Creatures, Daughters of Lilith, In My Mouth, Witches, and Choking Back the Devil.

Now Donna and I first met at a Raw Dog Screaming Press event around seven(ish) years ago, and while we have countless things in common, one of the things I love best about her is how beautifully honest and authentic she is. Right off the bat, I knew that she was someone I could laugh with, joke around with, cry with, all while having really serious conversations about life and how fucked up it can get. Over the years, we've written poetry alongside each other, and on some occasions even together, and she is someone who constantly inspires me and whose voice and poetry I often turn to when I need a dose of comfort in the dark. 

With that said, I invited her here today to talk a little bit about confronting our demons, something that she did masterfully in her Bram Stoker award-nominated collection, Choking Back the Devil--which I highly recommend reading if you haven't picked up a copy yet. 

Until next time!

Stay safe and be well, 

Stephanie M. Wytovich 

So, You’re Trapped at Home with Your Demons

by DonnaLynch

Well, here we are. The event that many of us—the scientists and doctors, the horror lovers, the anxious, the nihilists, the Tank Girl and Mad Max fans—have always known was coming: PANDEMIC.

Most everyone has lost something at this point. Some losses, temporary or negligible, others irreparable and permanent. It’s neither wise nor helpful to compete in the Pain Olympics, but it’s important to remember how deep the chasms of loss can be. Let’s try to be honest with ourselves about how far we’ve fallen, and how much further down we could go.

While we wait to see what the virus and the future holds, we can hardly ignore the darkness with our walls. Our demons are always there, but now that they know we’re captive, they’re hungrier than ever. We used to have a cat that would catch mice, then put them in the bathtub, tormenting them before the kill. He knew they couldn’t get out.

It’s like that some days.

I recognize that not everyone is lying around on fainting couches, succumbing to ennui, while typhus rages in sewage-slicked streets. People are busy—many busier than before—but no amount of work can keep us from going to dark places, whether we’re alone, or not alone enough. We’re afraid of getting sick. We’re afraid of suffering and dying. We’re afraid for our loved ones. We’re worried about money, about resources, about our homes and businesses, our debts, our social lives and relationships. We are worried about everything, and there comes a point where our brains say: Enough! I’m going to go over here now and remember this shitty thing that happened years ago while we’re trying to fall asleep! Enjoy! And in the end, you really can’t win. The demons are inside and out.

So, what can we do?

I’ll share with you my daily isolation-plague-time regiment:

• Wake up for the 19^th time
• Feed the cat
• Take meds
• Open my laptop
• Watch Netflix until I can’t handle the open laptop’s judgmental glare anymore
• Write a few lines
• Light incense
• Wash the dishes
• Trauma memory/ dissociative episode
• awww baby chipmunk right outside the window!
• Write a few more lines
• Get stuck on social media because someone is wrong on the internet          
• BAD MOOD
• Think about that time in 6^th grade I lied about having a boyfriend and got called out and everyone laughed at me
• Light more incense but this time chanting the names of lesser demons because, hey, the more the merrier
• Tequila
• Video chats with dumb filters
• Bed, sort of

You can use mine as a template, but your mileage may vary.

Here’s the important part of the plan, though: Write down your demons. You don’t have to be good at it. Just write them out, write their names, describe their faces, what they’ve done—literally or shrouded in metaphor. There’s no way to be wrong, because it’s your story, it’s your language.

There are tons of other ways to cope with your demons in this unprecedented time of fear. Writing is just one, and it’s the one that works the best for me. You have to face them and if not now, when? The punchline is that they’re still going to be there when you go back into the world someday. They’ve been there the whole time.

The truth is, most of us don’t ever say goodbye to them. We just learn to coexist. Love the film or hate it, TheBabadook was one of the best modern metaphors for trauma and the reality of living with it. Chain that fucker up in the cellar and feed it just enough to keep it contented. Strive for attainable goals with those bastards, because they don’t like to leave. Face them, name them, and write it down, draw it, sing it, play it, weave it, plant it, sweat it, scream it out at the moon—it doesn’t matter how or what, just as long as you don’t run and hide. Don’t cower under your blankets or pretend that you’re fine when you know you’re not. Don’t be fine. Don’t be afraid of not being fine. Say you’re afraid when you’re afraid. We don’t have any control of what’s happening outside, but inside, it’s your party. You make the theme and write the guest list.

I can’t say that writing will heal you, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. And while being heard is helpful, what’s even better is being able to express your pain. I get to tell my story, whether it’s to all of you, or if it’s just to myself and a private audience of monsters. You get to tell your stories, too. And while you’re trapped inside with your demons, remember they’re trapped in there with you. So make them listen.