One secret down….

October 28, 2010

I told one of my biggest, biggest secrets today in therapy. There were no psychic assassins stationed outside of the office door. No one followed me home or tried to kill me at the video store. McDonald’s didn’t poison my food. My dogs didn’t attack me when I got home. There wasn’t a bomb in the mailbox.

So, the secret is out there and I’m okay on the outside. Not so good on the inside, though.

I even printed it out and my therapist didn’t set it on fire or turn into some hellish creature and threaten me. She nearly started to cry and I didn’t know if I should feel guilty about that.

That’s all. I am so fucked up. Back to Coping Land again.


Fun with flashbacks

October 26, 2010

It’s fun with flashbacks again. All day, all night! Straight from my brain. No middlewoman necessary.

There are many things in this world that I am skeptical of. It may be that I simply don’t want to believe that people are capable of horrific acts against each other. I want to believe in the power of love for children. I want everyone to support each other and help their fellow humans.

My flashbacks tell me a different story, and it is mentally and physically excruciating to even type this little post about it. It reminds me of the movie Howl’s Moving Castle when the Witch of the Waste put a spell on Sofie so she would not be able to tell who put the curse on her. During each flashback I need to constantly reassure the alter holding the memory that she is safe and she doesn’t have to hold this secret any longer. It hurts my chest, it makes me panic, I start sweating profusely, and I fight hard not to dissociate. I’m not forcing the memory, just supporting the alter and letting her know that it is okay if she wants to share it now. Sometimes I only get a glimpse of the memory, sometimes I get quite a bit. Either way I am in shock. I never judge the alter’s experience. I let it come through and then support the alter in our safe space.

There is a lot to take in, and while the alter firmly believes it is the truth, I feel skeptical and I don’t really know what to think. So much of what I believed has already gone kablooey that I am trying to take these memories seriously. I want my alters to trust me and have faith in me. Eventually I would like us to come together, or work together.

Therapy was very intense last week and I know that is one of the reasons for these flashbacks. At the end of my session I showed my therapist pictures of my children. I think that after one year with her I feel that she is an important part of my family and many of my defenses are coming down. My next appointment is Thursday and I just keep writing down these flashbacks to go over with her. I am coping okay, but it takes all day to cope!

I was going to delete my blog because it is becoming so painful, but I know I’m not the only one who has experienced times like these. Well, back to Coping Land!

Therapy and Thinking

October 22, 2010

“It pays to be present to see what is now, and not occupied in the memory – which is then, and a bridge to a robber of a different kind.” – Mark Berkery (

Mark is a macro photographer, and this quote accompanies a series of photos of an assassin fly that had captured a meal while he was watching. It reminded me of the intense work my therapist and I did yesterday, and how I have been fighting to stay present. I am working to stay in the now while at the same time being aware that my personal past was robbed. I say now that I won’t be physically be killed, but the innocent little girl who was me was robbed and killed in every other aspect.

My therapist was explaining some reasons why I did certain, strange (to me) behaviors as a child and still as an adult. Her words were nearly the exact same as my husband has said over the years, only the situation with my husband was different. I react the same way I did as a child to certain intimate situations with my husband. Last night I decided to share that with him and he cried with me and held me until I fell asleep. I also told him that yesterday during therapy was the first time in my life that I felt a teeny bit of hope for me in that particular area – sexual intimacy. I am still not entirely hopeful about much else, and I’m not going to get too excited about it, but it’s a little something to look forward to.

Shortly after I was home I wrote a few sentences in my journal. Sometimes it helps me to physically see and say out loud how I feel rather than say it in my head:

I was held down, suppressed and made an object of lust, abuse, sex, control, and disgust. I was made inhuman and I was expected to want it, like it, and expect more. That is wrong. It was not my choice. I was just a child.

Those sentences are fairly straightforward and simplistic, but for me they are powerful. They reflect some of the release work we are doing in therapy. I’m not worried any longer about “getting this crap over with”. I’m beginning to see that there is a rhythm that only I have and I am working very hard to move to that rhythm. As so many of you have said, this is probably the hardest work I will ever do, and I have no idea what any outcome may be.

With that said and out of my system I have an observation to share. If you have an intense therapy session, but you still need to do some shopping, you get much better service if you go to a counter or salesperson while crying and visibly shaken.

Girl Talk

October 20, 2010

Over the past several weeks I’ve had to talk about “feminine” issues with the girls. Each time I address the subject I automatically use baby words (It feels like the little girls inside are nervous talking about it.) and that makes my girls laugh. It seemed to help, though, because they relaxed and really listened. After the giggles I used more clinical words, showed them pads and pantyliners, and talked about their concerns.

My mother never sat down to teach me about my own feminine issues, and she is an RN. I tried several times to engage her and she either ignored me or walked away. When I got my first period she dismissed me, made me leave the house, and I had to go next door and ask the neighbors for a pad. Thank goodness they had three daughters, but I was so embarrassed and depressed about it.

I went through life completely unaware of what my body does or why my body does. Once, I hid in the library so I could read Judy Blume’s Wifey (all us girls were reading it), and I didn’t understand how I knew the way the main character felt. I even became sexually aroused while reading it which made me feel very dirty and weird.

During my first GYN appointment (which I insisted on having) the doctor stopped and asked me “Are you sure you’ve never been pregnant? Because your cervix is soft and shaped like a woman who’s given birth.”. My mother was in the room and she jumped all over the doctor insisting I had never been pregnant, and how dare she accuse us of that. Later I tried to find information about my cervix and yes indeed, you don’t have a soft cervix for no reason. I also learned the reason why I didn’t have a hymen, either, as the doctor also noted.

I never let my mother come with me to another GYN appointment, or any appointment.

So anyway, there I’ve been, teaching my girls as much as I think they can handle and answering their questions honestly. My older daughter wore a pantyliner to school this morning just to see how it feels. I told her that when she starts menstruating we are having a Period Party to celebrate. She thinks that would be awesome.


October 18, 2010

I am invisible. They don’t see me or hear me even if I raise my voice. They walk past me as if I were a ghost. I’ve cried around them, gotten hurt around them and there is no response. I’m standing still on the shore and dark, powerful waves of memories beat against my body one after another after another. I’m bleeding and nobody cares. When I’m invisible like this I don’t eat and I don’t sleep.

I’m going to be very quiet around them now and see if they notice. If they don’t notice I don’t know what I should do next.

Therapy is Thursday and I want to ask about these new memories I have as well as my new invisibility powers. This has me very confused. I feel much like I did growing up, and I don’t understand how this happened. There is a great, gnawing ache inside. This is weird.

My first 8 months

October 13, 2010

Recently I began to use the term “littles”. I have been avoiding that word because then I would actually be relating to other DID folk and would no longer consider myself special or unique. It would mean that there are other people out there with similar consequences to similar experiences. It may even mean that I actually exist, which I haven’t believed for most of my life.

If I admit  that there are little girls inside that chatter, play, scream and need hugs then I need to realize I was terribly abused and these beautiful girls came out and took the damage. They made sure I was able to continue living.

I don’t feel guilty that I, the host, was not there. I feel guilty because all this time I have been holding up the curtain and it’s time to let it fall and clean up backstage.

So, I have littles. I have a young man who is awesome at video games, especially arcade games. I have a New Age hippie who sometimes wants to know if I will getting any pot soon. I have more alters than I know, and I have a very dark place, way in the back, where there are even more.

I few days ago I wrote some prose for everyone and it is having an interesting effect inside.

All of these memories I have happened to this one body.
This one body experienced the abuse and trauma.
We are all connected within this one body.
We own these memories.
We own these experiences.
This is our physical body.
These are our collective memories.

That’s it. Nothing memorable. There has been a bit of shuffling inside as a result of it, though. I also felt okay talking about littles and alters in therapy today.

I talk about being DID, but I don’t feel that I could possibly be DID.

I understand we go back and forth with this diagnosis. I feel I have been “playing” DID until recently, and I didn’t want to write about this because I didn’t want people to lose hope or trust in me. Meredith is right about the first year (Damn her! :p) being so difficult and unbelievable. I had no idea. It’s a confusing maze and I don’t know which way to turn.

I’m not sure I’m even making sense.


my brain is melting

October 12, 2010

(To the tune of Monty Python’s “Lumberjack Song”)

Oh…..I am DID and I don’t care
I might be here or I might be there

I jump and skip
Or go to work
And take my medication

My therapist reassures me
There’s at least 1% in the nation!

(You can stop now.)

I’m bored and restless…..a dangerous combination…..

A water main broke and the kids are being dismissed early from school…like now. I baked them a cake, but little do they know that I have walked around the house and found many, many jobs for them. Mwa-ha-ha! So much for a day off, my little minions!

Tomorrow is the Therapy Festival! I get to go and revel in my confused and twisted view of reality until my therapist says, “Are you okay to drive?”. Ah, what fun we’ll have… We will talk about flashbacks, body memories, littles, nightmares, night terrors and extreme anxiety. I’ll cry and pretend I’m actually getting something out of this and go home and fake my way through parenting and other family obligations. But…if they don’t fix the water main the kids could be home tomorrow, too. I just thought of that. Oh well. I’ll figure something out.

Sometimes I wish I still drank alcohol. It washed so much of this shit away along with my brain cells. If I drank enough perhaps it could wash away ALL of my brain cells…. nah. It’s been nearly 1&1/2 years since I drank.

Oh god. I need to find something to occupy my brain today! Can you imagine what it would be like if I stayed here, typing on the computer all day? You poor, poor people. You would be sucked into my black hole of incomprehensibility. I won’t do that to you, though, as tempting as that is. Consider yourselves lucky……this time……

One of last night’s dreams:

My sister and I move to a new home that my parents bought. The neighborhood is lovely, serene, and everything looks like a Norman Rockwell painting. My grandfather (whom I adored) is going to live with us.

Most of our belongings are in storage at a a house across the street. I go to take a shower and there are no doors, so anyone could walk in or see me. The toilet is out in the open, and the walls are really windows. Instead I go to make breakfast but the stove is faulty and I burn myself. The paint in the living room is peeling off and it smells…well….wrong. My grandfather is just sitting there, doing nothing.

I am frightened and feel a need to either hide or run into the street. I’m going through my purse looking for a vibrator so I can calm down by masturbating (It’s weird that I am consciously, at least in the dream, making this decision. Normally that would happen without my being aware.). I find it, but there is no place to do that where I won’t be seen by anyone, so I don’t do it.

My sister says that my parents will be home soon and I freak. I make everyone go across the street to get some things out of storage. As I’m climbing out the windows I see that the glass is broken, so I move to avoid it, but the vinyl siding is broken with sharp edges and I keep cutting myself. If I get enough big things out of storage than I can hide myself and not be seen. I start to drag things out of the neighbors garage and I sense my parents getting closer and I start to freak out.

I woke up suddenly because Haggis, my Rottweiler/St. Bernard was cleaning me and licking my hair. He always does that when I’m upset. Cute, protective, and sloppy.

My grandfather adored me. He also adored his step-daughter. I think he stayed motionless in my dream because he couldn’t choose sides, and I never asked him to. The dream could symbolize that no matter where I am I won’t feel safe if my parents are around, and that no matter how pleasant or safe that dream house felt, it was filled with traps and fear, and I still feel vulnerable even though I am physically safe now.

I like those type of dreams. They are fairly obvious but they also gauge how I am feeling deep down and present issues I’m not dealing with at the moment. They also leave me wondering if I should reconsider what I have chosen to work on. These days I am working on coping, coping, coping. Coping with body memories. Coping with the laundry. Coping with the littles who have charged in out of nowhere. Coping with recovering from surgery. Blah, blah, blah. I didn’t feel I had any safety issues that needed attention, but apparently I do.

I would like to assign an alter to each issue that needs to be worked on. That would really help me get through this easier. Then they could write out their reports in separate journals and I could turn those in to my therapist. Done.

ranting again

October 10, 2010

My brain has shut down the parts that held the English language beyond a fourth grade level. I can’t find the words I need to express myself and I sound like a stupid little girl.

I used to be the editor of the college’s feminist newsletter and I trained to be a government documents library technician (long title for someone who knows the Library of Congress’s system), and I trained as a pharmacy technician. Lots of long names in the pharmacy business. My majors  in college were social anthropology and German. Lots of long, interesting words there, too. Be damned if I can remember any of them.

I can’t find a language or words. There is no access to them. It’s like a big door is blocking me to those words.

Last night I had a dream. there was a large field with many people milling about at the Mental Health Picnic. I went to a counter to order 2 pizza slices, 2 tuna fish subs, and 2 club subs. The lady didn’t see me, so I was politely waiting to order. Another girl pushes me out of the way and barks her order and the woman immediately responds. I lose it on the girl, scream in her face, and push her. Then everyone at the picnic goes silent and they are staring at me. I profusely apologize to the girl and say that there was no reason for my behavior. She gets her order and I get mine and everyone gets back to having a good time.

No consideration for me whether I’m polite, whether I am respectful, whether I’m nice, etc.. But as soon as I step out of that character I get in trouble, I’m at fault, I’m in trouble, it’s my fault. Now no one can have a good time. I ruin it for everyone. I am so fucking tired of this!

There is nothing for me. If I die life goes on. of course it does. If I leave life goes on. If I stay and play nice-nice things go more smoothly.

I’m not self-centered or a narcissist. I just feel like I sacrifice, play nice, and give up what I want and need, or it’s taken and I don’t do anything about it. Why should I? It would probably make my life more difficult anyway, and it’s already difficult finding reasons to simply get through the day.

I couldn’t finish my degree because at the third college I attended because someone found me in a corner of the government documents bleeding from a hundred slices I’d made, and she quickly put me in my car and told me to go home. I wish she had gotten me to a hospital. Maybe someone could have helped me. I couldn’t finish at the first college I went to because of mental health issues and they gave me back to my father. I couldn’t finish at the second college I attended because of mental health issues so I eloped and ran to Texas.

If I raise my voice or become angry here at home it really frightens my kids, so I try to reason with them. I don’t hit and I’m lucky because I rarely need to take something away from them if they misbehave. They really are good kids. Not angels, but good.

I wish I could show you how I’m crying and pounding the desk while I’m typing. Even if I went to my therapist feeling this way I know I would not thrash around this way. I would be very polite and quiet and try to keep my voice even.

How do I write the way I really feel? I don’t communicate well.

My FIL is coming over in half-an-hour. I would like to tell him to fuck off because he is so annoying. Hopefully he won’t stay long.

Okay. Enough ranting.

just depressed today

October 9, 2010

There is no reason to feel depressed. Some good things are happening here. It’s getting harder to muster up enthusiasm for anything. I’m not stupid. I know what depression is and how it feels, but I can’t understand what the trigger may be.

Over the past few days I’ve made a “What makes me happy” list and worked through it with no happy result. I have tried talking to my significant other and had no response (he has trouble understanding sometimes and doesn’t know how to help), but I may try again later today.

All of the textbook signs are here, and I’ve tried many of the textbook depression-reliever methods, but they don’t help, which is no surprise.

It has permeated everywhere inside, too. I can’t sense any alters past the depressed ones. Except for the fakey-fakey one, making sure the people around me don’t know I’m feeling depressed.

It could be the surgery, I guess, but that was a week-and-a-half ago, and I’m almost in the “Nothing heavier than 8 pounds” groove. Therapy is next Wednesday, and I see no reason to call her now since I’m in no danger. I’m not suicidal. It’s just sad, sad, sad inside. Everything around me is tainted with sad, sad, sad. It could just be a time to feel sad, too, for no real reason.

It could be that I’m writing this post because no one else knows I’m sad and I need to let someone know how I feel, even if I don’t know why. Okay, it’s out there. I’ve thrown my little pity-party.

Today I’m going to watch shows that make me cry and see if it helps.