I planned on my hysterectomy last Tuesday to be a great big deal, inside and out. In the end the host was the one that had any issues. The alters handled it brilliantly. The host wants everyone to understand that this was a major surgery and we should be worrying about it more, but the alters are glad it’s over, happy about the changes the surgery will bring, and ready to move on. The host wanted all of us to be terribly upset about losing our girly parts, but everyone inside felt nothing but relief.

Maybe the host feels that this is probably the last surgery so we need to milk it. I don’t get much support after I have surgery around here, although the family is doing really well this time.

DID isn’t an issue at the moment. Neither are flashbacks. I’m having recurring nightmares, though, of an area I’ve dreamed of for years, and the medicine isn’t helping, so I’m going to stop taking it. One less pill. I also stopped taking Nexium because long-term studies show that over time it can lead to increased anxiety, racing thoughts, and rapid heartbeat, which is what was happening the past several months. Since I stopped taking it I haven’t had a problem with that and I just need to tweak my diet a little.

School ends this week which means cutting back on therapy and rearranging my daily schedule.

My mother continues to send me annoying emails like this from June 11th:
“Good morning Lisa,

How are you doing?
The girls should be finishing school some time this month, right? Didn’t (daughter) say she was playing softball this summer? I bet they are looking forward to a fun summer. Hopefully it will be a little less hectic for you.
Margaret is coming in from Montana today and Theresa is having a family picnic tomorrow. Margaret has been coming home a lot, I think it’s because Iona is getting older and she wants to see her as much as she can. Iona will be 98yrs old this November. Iona refuses to use a cane or walker and she falls a lot but she will not gives in. She is an amazing woman.
I was thinking a lot about you last week when I was weeding the garden. I was over by the English rock garden you made when you were with us. Right now it is full of your grandpa’s lilies. And a couple of days ago we had to trim your heather bush, it is getting fairly big. The yucca plants are growing good, especially the one in the front yard. Who was it that gave you the yucca plants, for some reason I thought it was someone you met at… college. All but 2 of them are flowering now.
Did you plant your vegetable garden yet? The only vegetables we have is an upside down tomato plant on the patio. I hope it works. We have a lot of flowering buds on it right now.
Did you lose any trees from all the storms. Our neighbor next door had 2 tree limbs fall on the house 2 days ago.
The nurse I broke in a little over a year ago quit and now they are looking again. I still only work a couple days a week.
Your dad is doing well with his health.
Well, I have to go, hope all is well with you and hope (hubby) and kids are doing good.
Miss you and love you, Mom”

I do not speak to this woman (it’s been over one year since I’ve spoken with my parents on the phone), and it’s been several years since I’ve had any contact with the people she mentions. She lives in an imaginary world where we have some kind of relationship. It helps me to post her emails and know that they are out there for anyone to see. Oh well.

It’s quiet inside, which spooks me a little. I made it through the surgery, though, and I thought I wouldn’t. When I opened my eyes in the recovery room they had already put my glasses on and tucked the stuffed animal I brought with me (my oldest daughter made it for me) under my arm. That was cool.

I’m okay today so I’m going to test myself and go shopping. First groceries and then to the video game/movie store to pick up the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. With my trusty tummy binder and knowing that I still have some Percocet left for pain I will be invincible!

See ya round!

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.

***religious trigger***

I used to love Jesus. He was my brother and loving friend. Sometimes I dreamed that he was having sex with me, and that bothered me so much that I asked my priest about it in the confessional. The priest told me it was okay and my dreams symbolized Jesus’ ultimate love for me and that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Often at night I could feel Jesus lying next to me in bed and I felt safe. Later, and before therapy, I realized it was actually my father lying next to me, molesting me, and I was using  Jesus so I wouldn’t have to deal with what was really happening to me in my bed.

By the time I was 18 I completely lost my Catholic faith, and it’s very difficult for me to read or hear about abuse survivors finding their strength to recover from abuse through their Christian faith. I am very glad that it is helping them, but I get tired of reading about it. I honestly mean no offense whatsoever. I used to believe too, and quite fervently.

At this time I have no faith in anything whatsoever. I feel that I used Jesus, God, whatever to blind me and protect myself from what was actually happening. I used them just as my brain used different personalities to protect me. Using Jesus and God was a conscious decision that I remember. The alter personalities were an unconscious decision, I feel.

I cannot relate to those who have found solace and hope and strength in their faith of choice. I often come across blogs or articles written by survivors and whose stories I can understand until it gets near the end and I read something to the effect of, “And I would not have gotten this far without the help of Jesus (God, deity of choice).”. That means nothing to me. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who feels that way. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who has written “I will pray for you”, or “I will keep you in my prayers”. I truly appreciate those considerations. That means a lot to me. Anyone who would ever think of me, wish me well, or consider me in a positive way is super-duper in my book. I feel the same for others as well.

I would never try to undermine anyone’s faith. It simply doesn’t make sense to me and is not part of my present makeup. I know that in a large part this is a reaction to my abuse and the fact that my family were strict Irish Catholics. I also attended Catholic school K-12. I did everything I thought I was supposed to and still ended up here. I’m no Job, nor do I want to be.

This rant may also be a reaction to my surgery last week and inability to do many of the things I normally do. Perhaps my mind is wandering around looking for other things to be upset about instead of just looking at my belly all cut up.

***Sexual Trigger***

Part of the surgery involved 4 vaginal incisions. I didn’t know about that part of the surgery until the next day. I was aware that part of the surgery was vaginal, but not that it meant incisions there. This triggered some nasty memories/personalities and I’ve been working overtime to soothe them. When I am completely healed I will never have to worry about my original problem ever, so I’m trying to focus on the positive outcome of  it.

***end trigger***

Maybe I’ll create my own deity this week, or look around the house for one. I use spatulas a lot….The Supreme Spatula of Domestic Goodness…The Plunger of Perpetual Light…The Sponge of Sanctity…maybe not….

Nap time….or is it?

September 15, 2010

It’s chilly here. The temperature starts in the 40’s and slowly drifts way up in to the 60’s, but not until late afternoon. The pellet stove is on and my handspun silk and onion-dyed wool, and alpaca wristwarmers are on (Yes, they are lovely. That’s why they are mine and not for sale.). Even the dogs are in front of the pellet stove.

A short time ago I woke up from a four-hour “nap”. It was originally intended to be a nap but it turned into a System classroom/board meeting/rally/conference, interrupted with actual napping. For several days I have had Earthquake Headaches and could not find any relief for them. If they lasted through the weekend I was going to schedule an appointment because no pain reliever, allergy medicine, or muscle relaxant could relieve them. I assumed it was a result of the kids back at school and my husband back at work after nine days or so of caring for him. However, I now believe the headaches were caused by those on the inside needing to give me information, their points of view, or needing to be recognized within the System.

When I read other people’s blogs and they describe, or know that they have switched, I’m almost jealous. Here I have this DID diagnosis, my therapist sees it, my husband sees it, all of the signs are there, but I often don’t believe it. Well, I go back-and-forth, I guess. I have lost several months of time, so I read over my posts here to see what I was doing or thinking, and usually I can access those memories afterward, but I don’t have a name for whomever it was running the show at that time. Several months ago I did have several alter’s names, but only two have stayed by me, accessible at all times. I know that’s normal for alters to come and go.

Back to my nap. I laid down with the headache and tried to sleep. Then, like a classroom, questions, suggestions, and answers started. The alters asked questions, I asked questions, they showed me the memories and emotions they held, back-and-forth, little nap, back to questions and answers and memories……… I feel it was a backlog. Before summer started and I was home with the kids I was writing questions to my alters in a special journal, writing their information on index cards, and having daily meetings. Then I stopped for three-and-a-half months. Then the Earthquake Headache hit. Coincidence? I think not, sir!

I could have stayed in bed all day. It was warm and a warm, fuzzy thing was purring next to my head. I feel funky but much of the headache is gone. Someone in this group wrote about headaches being a signal to ask what’s going on inside if nothing else worked, but I can’t remember who. I need to bake lemon bars and get my strength back.

…shhh…they’re gone…

September 9, 2010

…..shhhhh……..they are all out of the house right now……..kids in school, hubby at a dentist appointment…..I am all alone and it’s GREAT!!! Damn, I hope that wasn’t too loud………

One whole fucking week! Twenty-four fucking hours a day! For the next hour I have the computer, kitchen, television, living room, and Sirius/XM radio all to myself. There will not be another time like this until next Monday. Hubby has had a rough time since his wisdom teeth came out and I took good care of him. It was his first operation and his first experience with narcotic painkillers.

I think everyone inside handled it fairly well, except for some sexual self-injury which I felt unable to control. Lots and lots of nightmares and only one panic attack. One phone call and psycho email from my mother which threw me for a loop and I’m never going out in public in this town again because I just say embarrassing things. I was triggered by an invitation to a 25+ year high school reunion, my youngest playing with Barbies, and the show “Masterchef” which I don’t watch but was on when I walked in the room. So… not too bad. It’s not like I’m keeping track or anything.

Today is therapy, which is always sheer delight, and then I am making Scotch eggs which should result in a heart attack later this evening. But it will be worth it. I only make them once or twice a year because it takes that long for our bodies too digest all of it.

Be good to yourself, people!

Everybody now…..

August 30, 2010

(everyone together now…)

‘Round and ’round the anxiety bush, anxiety bush, anxiety bush!

‘Round and ’round the anxiety bush

So early in the morning!

Your heart will race, your breathing is shallow, breathing is shallow, breathing is shallow

Your heart will race, your breathing is shallow

So early in the morning!

(okay, you can stop now)

The faster I fall, the quicker I’m coping with skills I had forgotten I learned. If only it wasn’t happening so fast. It feels like as each memory, flashback, panic, or anxiety attack begins an invisible hand reaches out to help. The invisible hands may have soothing words, a blanket, a cold or hot drink, or a Xanax, or simply a pillow to collapse on. It is exhausting going through this day in and day out. Boy, you have ONE allergic reaction and anxiety attack in a clinic under safe, supportive surroundings and your brain thinks it can do it over and over – yeesh!

This September will be my six month DID diagnosis monthaversary and I have decided to skip to the end. My brain is arguing with my obvious flawless decision, but I’m sure it will come around (yeah right!).

Since at least April I have trying to organize my System by building a safe space internally. There would be a safe space for younger parts to play, eat, watch movies, etc., a conservatory of sorts, arboretum, kitchen, and central meeting area. At first it was working well, but only for a few weeks, so I tried different types of places. I visualized a house with different levels, a home built into the earth, and so on, but it always ended up falling apart and everyone scattered about. Recently I tried again and I felt a seething, disgusting pit, way in the back and nearly in the dark. When I tried to see and feel it there were muck-covered young girls trying to crawl out, but they were stuck. It was horrifying. They were just screaming and crying and I didn’t know what to do, so I tried very hard to send safe, loving feelings their way. I also lost my appetite for the rest of the day.

If a younger one comes through with a memory, or feeling there are always  a couple of older ones who quickly surround them with safety and love. They do that even when I’m not completely aware of what is happening, or before I can consciously realize what they are holding. I asked the older ones to help with such younger girls and they take this responsibility very seriously.

Time has been passing quite oddly this summer. My husband has been asking me to “Please pick a personality and stick with it.” (I think he’s accepted the DID diagnosis). Often I wake up and shortly after the day is over. I guess that may mean I’m dissociating a lot, or switching?

One of my books, The Dissociative Identity Disorder Soucebook, mentions that some Systems are very fluid. Last week I asked my therapist if perhaps my System was fluid, and that is why I am having trouble attempting any sort of organization. She agreed that it may very well be.

**Trigger** Over the past week I have learned two important things about my past. First, I remembered the first time my father had actual intercourse with me and it felt like the pain, anguish, and confusion of that flashback would shatter me. Second, the recurring dream of a particular street (my previous post) is an actual street. Two days after I learned that the street was real I felt and saw the young girls way back there stuck in the disgusting muck.

I believe that over the next several days or weeks I need to soothe those memories and those little girls and try to remain focused and aware. I’m not sure how to accomplish that if I’m losing all of this time, however. In other news, my husband is having minor surgery next week and the kids start school soon. I see my psychiatrist tomorrow, but he primarily deals with my medications. I feel I should tell him at least some of this, though.

Well, I’ve rambled on enough. I need to start my day and try to remain aware and calm. I’m going to keep my goals simple for a bit.

Hello. Most days I am up rather early, but today I slept in for four extra hours. I’m trying not to feel like I’ve wasted the day. This is why I think I slept in:

1) I’ve been having the same dream for several years, maybe once or twice a month. It’s on a street with two railroad-like tracks at the top. It’s a residential street with Mom-and-Pop stores among the houses. I’m a little girl, holding my father’s hand, and we always go to the same place. We enter a small business, he talks low to a couple of other men, and he leads me to the back of the building. The dream always stops there.

Two nights ago I had the dream again and I saw the street sign. I looked it up on a street map, found it, but there were no train tracks there. Hubby suggested trying to find where the trolley used to run. I went online, found a map of the old trolley tracks, and there they were at the top of the street I had found. They are just paved over now.

I really want to go and walk around that street, but hubby doesn’t think I should go alone. He’s probably right, damn him. It could very well be that absolutely nothing bad happened there, but my gut says otherwise. My father liked to take me places and sexually abuse me and I wonder if that was one of them.

So, the younger parts were very stirred up about that, and then this much smaller development:

2) A nurse called and scheduled my surgery yesterday. It’s going to be a two-fer (as long as he’s in there fixing one thing, might as well fix the other) deal. I hate going under anesthesia because of that loss of control feeling as you slip into unconsciousness, I’m afraid I won’t wake up, and  during my first major surgery they started cutting before I fell asleep. Granted, it was an emergency (they lost mine and my daughter’s heartbeat), but scary nonetheless. The surgeon who is doing next month’s operation assured me over and over last year (he operated on me last year, too) that what happened during that first c-section only happens during emergency c-sections and heart attacks. I believe him but I’m terrified anyway. Now I’ll probably start some stupid countdown. I asked my therapist to help me prepare mentally for surgery.

Well, anyway, I think that’s why I slept for 4 extra hours this morning. And look at me! Sitting at the computer when things need to get done……..

What do you think about the dream? Should I go to that street and walk around alone, or take what’s-his-face with me?

Have you ever had surgery while aware of your DID? Any suggestions?

Dream

August 18, 2010

*Trigger warning*

Last night I am taking my daughter’s most precious items and giving them to a man who will viciously kill and mutilate a woman while holding and looking at their item while she is forced to watch. I take one item at a time and slowly and methodically hand it to someone who will give it to this other man. The items are returned covered in blood and I make my daughter take them back that way. I do this to her over and over. By the end of the dream I tell her she doesn’t have to do that anymore and I am violently ill.

I woke up up suddenly, my arms pounding the table looking for my glasses, reoriented myself, and tried not vomit.

My first thought was, “I would never do that to my daughter!”. Well, duh…of course not. I feel this dream means that my mother knew what my father was doing to me, I felt betrayed and maybe closer to death, or stained each time he abused me. Also, my daughter did just as she was told, under protest, but I hushed her and she went to this man. I’m sure I did what my mother told me to do also. She didn’t try to run away or tell anyone else, but she was very confused.

This must be how I felt when it happened. That’s indescribably horrible. I feel like I was pimped out and left for dead. No wonder I’m fucked up.