Bloggy info update

January 27, 2011

I’ve added a new blog to the blogroll:

Butterfly Closures – The primary focus of her blog is mother-daughter sexual abuse, which is very important to me, and her resources are definitely worth checking out and reading. It is a subject I’m not prepared to write about but one which I struggle with.

In other Blogginess…

meredith and her Yoga for a Year entries are insightful and inspiring and help me to both reach inside and look beyond what happened.

Kate1975 has added links and pages and resources and I can spend all day going through the terrific information she has gathered. Here is a specific mother-daughter sexual abuse resource page:

Mark does not blog about abuse or mental illness, but his photography and interpretations of the wonder and beauty of nature always give me pause.

It can be so lonely and painful here, in my body. Visiting and reading these blogs, the other terrific blogs on my blogroll, and checking out the Internet resources I have listed really does help. I feel it is important to acknowledge that pain and loneliness, work with my therapist, write, draw, talk inside and out, and read reliable books and blogs and resources to learn, empathize, offer and accept support, and know, really know that I’m not alone. I may be lonely and miserable but I am not alone. I can gain strength, hope, and compassion from the ether of the Internet. And on the better of days I can offer that as well.

That’s all.

picking through garbage

January 27, 2011

There is a big, flat rock over my heart. It’s heavy and it makes me ache. I can’t move it and what is underneath is being squished.

Some emotions are in my throat and behind my eyes.

I’ve been confused, dizzy, and panicky.

I’m very tired and angry.

I’ll see you a little bit later after I work through these lovely things.

Today I spent the time between 8:15 am to 12 noon in a doctor’s office and hospital. For me this is another example of “just when things are looking up” going bad, or “Why be optimistic when you know something will happen to ruin it?”.

The reason for my appointment and hospital test visit is not important. What was important to me was the instability afterward. The wrench in my newly-tuned System. The “sabo” in my “tage“.

The next three hours, which isn’t necessarily a long time, were an exercise in futility. Panic, crying, possible heart attack, shortness of breath, racing thoughts, self-injury…the whole shebang. It wasn’t until I put in a fitness DVD for 20 minutes that things began to stabilize again. Xanax, self-talk, and grounding techniques were worthless.

I know it happens. It feels like it has happened all my life. It’s as though it doesn’t matter what I try to do, or how well I feel after something positive happens because it will shortly be fucked up.

It’s my pity party for today. It’s my why-the-fuck-keep-trying rant. And my gonna-eat-ice-cream-’cause-I-can-so-shut-up whiny post.

Depending on the test results I might whine again next week too.

Everyone is in the System house which is quiet, but busy. Working Inside makes it more difficult to respond to posts, but I am reading them.

We reached a mini-milestone in therapy and hope it continues.

We try to stay in motion whether it’s folding laundry, practicing Tai Chi, getting the mail, or spinning yarn on the wheel. Sitting at the computer too long makes us depressed.

We’re taking Minipress at night for trauma-related nightmares, too. Not bad, but maybe when we increase it next week it will work better.

Drawing pictures and writing more is helping, too. So is eating healthier.

That’s all right now. Be good to yourselves.

Becoming more self-aware is a huge challenge. As I try to learn to be self-aware I am finding that:

*30 minutes has gone by

*My nails have been polished

*I made cookie dough and it tastes great

*The birds are beautiful against the white snow

*All of my clothes, and the kids clothes are put away
In other words I have dissociated and distracted myself in order to not be self-aware. So, what could I possibly be afraid of? I am afraid that the more aware I become:

*the more I will know about the ugly, horrible things

*the more ashamed I will be

*the more I’ll hate myself

*the more I will eat

*the more I will hurt myself

*the more I will want to kill myself

Is self-knowledge worth the possibility of experiencing these fears and having to deal with them? Yep. If I think about this logically I believe that what will really happen is that I will become depressed, and that’s part of what I pay my therapist and psychiatrist to help me with.

When I try to be self-aware about my feelings or experiences I sometimes become overwhelmed, experience flashbacks and usually turn to:





Those actions make the bad feelings go away for the moment. Then I get to experience the shame of doing those actions later which compounds the problem and impedes my healing process.

I have gone around and around with this and these short-term, unhealthy behaviors. The only thing that has helped at all is saying out loud as the adult that I am, “This is not a healthy way to cope. We need to learn new, healthier ways to deal with the overwhelming feelings. If we do those old things then we can’t move forward and be a good mom or crochet things for our etsy shop.”. There have been only two times that saying this has not worked, and I say it A LOT.

A huge downside to learning to become more self-aware is that a part of me made a suicide kit. I was hoping to give it to my therapist yesterday but I had to cancel due to a snow day. The box is new, clean and well-prepared. It’s disconcerting, but I don’t believe it is a serious threat at the moment. It feels more like a “Ha-ha. Look what I did behind your back!” from an adolescent part.

I had hoped that after a year of therapy I would be past all this. Same therapist, same psychiatrist, and I just creep along. It’s not that I mind the creeping too much, I’m simply tired of it. I think a lot about becoming self-aware, but it’s hard work to do it. I firmly believe that where the mind goes, the body will follow, and vice versa, but it doesn’t hold up as well in DID Land.

This was written for me. I want to know where I am and where I think about going. I want to be strong and healthy and a good person. As many times as I say that, though, it feels almost unreachable.


January 12, 2011

Everything is a secret.I can keep my secret, your secret forever. That’s why people confide in me. It’s not going anywhere. I think I know the secrets some people carry, but I’ll never tell. It’s like I’m psychic.

It’s important to be very aware of everything. I can’t miss anything or I might give myself away. I am really careful.

I am very smart and can converse on nearly any topic. It’s helpful to know a little or a lot about everything.

I work very hard to learn where everything begins. Sometimes if I know how it starts, or where it originally comes from I might be able to change it or turn it just a little in a different direction. I think I can change the past if I can go back far enough.

If you saw me I wouldn’t look like anyone special or important. I can blend right in and be the perfect anybody. Sometimes I think that if I push all of me very hard and believe and really feel like something, a wall, or a tree, then I can get inside it and be it.

I have a little voice that just dissipates the farther away it goes. Most people don’t hear it and there’s really no reason they would hear it anyway. It just says little things like “Thank you”, “Excuse me”, and “Yes, please” anymore. There’s not much more to say than that.


I needed to write this out. It’s not so important that it be read, and it went in a different direction than I originally intended. I think I needed to see this in print, out there, somewhere, and not just in my head.

Abusers were here this morning to exchange christmas gifts. We made excuses about why we wouldn’t be able to go to their house, and they agreed to come here without argument. All correspondence was through email, as has been done since last May.

They will not eat any food I make (“Oh we just ate”, “You always make spicy food and we’ll be up all night”, etc.), so I bought some breakfast food and made coffee. They walked in with Dunkin’ Donuts and the Box of Joe (for 4 people???), and refused to drink the coffee I made, or the food I bought.

Three of my gifts from them still had “To Karen” (my mother’s name) written on them, with my name written over it. One present was covered with dust and yellowed tape. Two still had the clearance prices on them, and my father picked out the clothes. He still likes to remind me how he always picks out the prettiest clothes for me. Fucking creep.

I threw out everything they gave me right after they left. Hubby threw his stuff out, too.

The two older kids don’t care for these people, but the youngest is still just happy to get more presents.

Hubby and I had our safety/boundary plan, we released our dogs on  them (always fun), and if the conversation lagged we could look at our youngest and point to any object and say something like “Tell us about such-and-such!”, and she would talk and talk about it because now that she’s nine she knows everything. We don’t use our daughter in any mean or vindictive way. She simply knows exactly how the world works (or should be working) and is very confident when telling everyone her opinions and observations. It’s really impressive and she loves an audience.

I never asked them any questions. They didn’t ask me anything this time, either.

*****abuse and sexual abuse trigger*****

One of the few things I remember as a kid is my mother choking me until I couldn’t breathe and I never knew why. I still don’t. Today she choked me with her arm and elbow as she was leaving and I had to push her away. I wouldn’t give her a hug and she came over and choked me. I firmly believe she has tried to kill me four times that I know of – smothering me with a pillow, chicken salad made with raw chicken (I was hospitalized for three days), turkey that was raw inside (it didn’t smell right and I had to shove her aside to find out the piece she cut for me was raw), and a new appliance that had the cord intentionally cut and rubbed off so the wires were exposed (ended up at the doctor’s after I was shocked badly). Maybe I’m wrong, though. It could be that she’s just fucking stupid. Maybe she was mad that Dad was fucking me and not her, who knows?

Oh, this is not going in the direction I wanted, but it’s going and that’s what I need. It’s going, going, and I want it gone. They are gone. I am safe. No more ever, ever, ever. I’m really done. Die, die, die you fucking bastards.

We talked about why I felt I wasn’t using my time in therapy to a better advantage, and why I felt I couldn’t bring the emotions of the girls in my flashbacks together with the adult who is overwhelmed with what happened. My therapist asked me how I usually felt when I did that with her during our hour and I had no clue. I often say, “I think I’m good to drive.” at the end of the hour, but have little to no memory of what went on. This didn’t bother me before because I didn’t realize it. So how do you know if you’re making progress if you can’t remember?

If you can’t remember an hour with your therapist, which I feel is an important hour, or have no memory of any holidays prior to 1998, where is this healing going? 1968-1972 is gone. 1974-1977 is gone. 1979 is gone. 1983-1989 is gone. Much of 1994-1997 is gone, too. I’m slowly understanding the reasons those years are gone. My thought is that dissociating is such a natural response that it happens for any little stressful or emotional reason.

My therapist and I felt it might be a good idea not to read any books about DID or sexual abuse during this phase of treatment. We discussed that a couple of months ago. I’m not reading as many blogs, or I stop reading if it becomes a teeny bit triggering.

Suicidal ideation is at an all-time high. Self-injury continues. So, I’m not reading books or as many blog entries, I’m getting more exercise, eating better, pursuing hobbies, and trying to maintain some stability inside. Is it too much? Where the hell am I in healing? Which part of DID therapy is this called, the Try As You Might You’ll Still Fuck-Up?

I don’t want to rant. I want to be supportive and informative. I want people to say, “Thanks! That really helped.”. All I see is a chubby, short, middle-aged woman who constantly beats her head (literally) against the wall and cannot come together inside or outside.

Here.  Have a picture.