Fading Out for a Bit

September 2, 2011

The past several months have been very difficult to live and work through. I feel like I haven’t found the support in blog world or in real life that I’ve needed lately. I don’t even know what kind of support I’m expecting. I feel I tried to reach out for help or advice and I wasn’t understood. I think my choice of words didn’t convey what I was feeling properly, either. I don’t seem to be getting across how I feel in therapy, and I’ve only been able to see her twice since summer began. That is my own fault and I blame myself for being screwy and misunderstood.

I am in a better place than I was two years ago.

I’m angry at the world and at myself.

Time slips away and I’m unable to use it effectively.

All my energy is focused on my family making it through the day safely and intact. They are fine, but that’s because I make sure they are.

I have no focus and no purpose. I’ve lost interest in my hobbies and I don’t have any time for them anyway.

There is no time to make time. It’s all accounted for.

Things I hate:

My parents (Die already, you fucking assholes!)

My life

My thoughts

My body

Food

Sex

Time

People in my community

People in general

Responsibility

The Internet

Television

Telephone

My in-laws

Money

Sleep

Anxiety

Love

Memories

Universe

Mental health

Hope

Truth

Optimism

News

I’m going to lay low again for a while. Life is punishment. I feel I’m being punished for surviving child sexual abuse. I feel my only purpose now is to see my own children live safe and free. My life has little meaning for me and I don’t see the reason for giving it a purpose. Two years I’ve been actively trying to make and find my life, not in a selfish way, but trying to integrate myself internally and externally. I have the diagnosis and the tools and the desire, but I feel the Universe just pushes me back into a box where I am a mom and wife and that’s it.

Things go much more smoothly when I play mom and wife. If a DID issue arises I deal with it and get back to mom and wife. When I try to find my purpose, or try new things bad things happen or get complicated.

I’m not going to try anymore to find myself or be more than I am for now. It’s depressing, tiring, and it unravels all the mommy and wife work I’ve done. It feels like the Universe wants me in a box for now and I’m willing to be there. I’m not a hero, I don’t have the strength to fight constantly, and I have no reason or purpose that I understand.

If this makes no sense to anyone, I’m sorry. This isn’t a pity party. I’m just giving up for now. I can’t find inspiration in myself or from others and I’m tired. Maybe things will start looking up this fall. Rose is tired of roaring.

I wanted to write and rant but it’s sooo loud, loud, loud! Therapy left me more frustrated than ever. We talked about a million things and I cannot focus or finish a sentence or thought.

It’s hard to stop and prioritize. And I’m so tired. So much needs to be done.

I know what mom did. I see the look on her face and I hear what she said. That vindictive fucking bitch. And it’s playing over and over and over in my head.

Inside there is an alter who seems ageless and another one that feels older than me and is very nurturing and loving. I’m trying to give everything over to them so I can breathe. It’s just starting to feel a little better. It needs to feel better because I have:

* another surgery soon

* my daughter’s birthday

* my son’s preparing for college

* and basic running around for food, appointments, sports, concerts, life in general shit

Over the past week I have run out of two stores in a panic, I’m hiding in closets and behind doors in my house like I did as a kid, and continue to search for noises that turn out to be more hallucinations. I forgot my birthday (I don’t celebrate it, though), anniversary, and nearly forgot my kid’s birthday (she reminded me in time). Things are moving too fast inside and out. I cope during panic attacks, walk around the house after I wake up from increased nightmares, and load up on drugs to sleep. I look like I’ve been hit by a baseball bat and makeup doesn’t really smooth it out. On the plus side I’ve lost a dress size and bra size, but there’s more gray in my hair.

That’s my fucking rant I suppose. I’ll call the stupid psychiatrist about my stupid hallucinations and my stupid nightmares even though it’s stupid. Nyah.

Invisible

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.

“Talking out loud about your abuse can help bridge the gap between the emotion and the memory.” – Therapist

“I was severely and seriously sexually abused. I was neglected, verbally, emotionally, and psychologically abused.” – me

This has been going around and around here for weeks.I’m waiting for some breach in this wall inside.

I have a question: Often when a memory comes through, whether new or revisiting, it is accompanied by an intense physical reaction and it is difficult to reach the emotions associated with the memory. Do the physical responses block the emotions? Do I have to keep reliving these body memories before the emotions come through? Is this one of those “Everybody’s different” questions?

Two things that have been helping me sleep better: Marcus Aurelius’ “Meditations” and Lao Tzus’ “Tao De Ching” audiobooks on my MP3 player. I figure that by next year I will become a Stoic Taoist naturally after listening to them each night…… Without the audiobooks my dreams are either horrific or symbolic. I’d rather be a Stoic Taoist.

I would love to share relevant information or amazing insights, but I got nothin’. I’m just taking it moment-by-moment.

It’s difficult to fall asleep lately. As soon as I hit the pillow I wonder if I’ll wake up in the morning. So, I have to make sure I can feel my heart beating  all night, if possible. Then night terrors – cannot feel my heart beating, panicking, sweating, trying to breathe – it’s been less than half-an-hour. I rearrange the pillows, leave my glasses on and feel for fuzzy animals. I wake up in a sweat, can’t breathe, panicking, etc. It’s been 17 minutes. This goes on for much of the night.

During the day the kids don’t leave me alone. Mommy Time has become Let’s Make Sure Mommy is Okay During Mommy Time. I’m never alone. No time to do therapy homework, read, do internal work, journal, or process the body memories that are beating me up.

During this crap, Bobby Darin’s version of “Call Me Irresponsible” has been playing over and over in my head. I adore Bobby Darin ever since I heard “Splish Splash” on Happy Days when I was a kid. Now I own every song of his I can get my greedy little hands on. “Call Me Irresponsible” is a good dissociation and perhaps DID song:

Call me irresponsible – call me unreliable
Throw in undependable too
Do my foolish alibis bore you
Well I’m not too clever – I just adore you

Call me unpredictable – tell me I’m impractical
Rainbows I’m inclined to pursue
Call me irresponsible – yes I’m unreliable
But it’s undeniably true – I’m irresponsibly mad for you

Hubby is a prick, as I expect him to be in the summer, but it’s wearing on me.

In therapy today I tried to talk about my mother trying to kill me, hubby the prick, body memories, night terrors, and no time for anything. She said this is probably the time to focus on coping. I feel I have coped enough. I think it is time for bazookas and Howitzers. I feel it is time to be rid of everyone who has, and or is, pissing me off at this time (children being the exception). She feels this is the time to tame my anger a bit until it can be released in a more constructive way. I think I need to invest in the illegal arms trade and get me some scud missiles. I also think I may be VERY overtired. However…..being both DID and bipolar does give me an alibi for just about anything……..

This rant was brought to you by severe child abuse and neglect. Remember – children are our future, so stomp on them and grind them into the dirt until they have no concept of who or what they are.

Last week there was another meltdown at the therapist’s office. It wasn’t quite as bad as the previous one, but bad enough. She seems to be very concerned about my sexual self-injury (golly, I don’t know why…) and I lost it. I really don’t completely understand why I do it, but now I have some ideas and I walked out armed with some things I could do to try and stop or ease it. If anyone is interested I will write more about why I think I do it and the suggestions she came up with. If anyone would feel safer if I wrote it in an e-mail, please feel free to write to me at annerose0@gmail.com.(That’s a zero after annerose, by the way.)

I wanted to discuss my mother and how & why she’s trying to kill me (or if it’s all in my imagination), hubby’s lack of interest in anything I say, do, or feel, why WordPress takes so long to friggin’ load sometimes, why I’m afraid I’ll explode in front of the kids and how to manage that, etc., but no. I wonder if I walk in on Meltdown Mode she tries to get me to open up on subjects she feels are relevant, and not what I have written down.

There is virtually no communication internally now because I just don’t give a shit. Thoughts and images pop up and I just deal with them and use my coping techniques. I’m remembering some nasty shit, though, and the night terrors have returned. The days go by so quickly, I lose time, and I don’t care. Oh well. It could all change soon. I think that’s what is fun about DID – you just never know anything.

Ramblings, Part 2B

July 5, 2010

A couple of months ago I left two books on one of our bookshelves in the hopes that my husband would catch a glimpse of them – The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook and Got Parts?. I was nervous about telling him my DID diagnosis and I thought I’d be oh, so subtle about getting around to telling him. It turns out that he not only saw the books, he also took a peek. The past week he has been calling me different names jokingly. If he can’t find what he’s looking for he says something like “Maybe it was Gloria who put it away.”, or something similar. We finally talked about it for a short time last night, and although he doesn’t believe I have DID (which is why I was reluctant to tell him) he does believe I have mixed episode rapid cycling bipolar disorder. He does understand my abusive background, and he is supportive of me (even when he is behaving like an ass), and I can count on him when things get bad. He does feel I am extremely dissociative, just not to a DID degree. I knew he wouldn’t agree and I can’t tell him exactly what’s going on inside, and that does hurt. Maybe he will see it differently in the future.

The abusers were at my house yesterday and they brought me things which I promptly threw away after they left. It was very fakey-fakey and pointless, but when they left I felt okay and did not have a meltdown. I made sure that all the younger parts I could round up were in a super-safe place and not aware of what was happening and that made such a difference. You could see in the abusers faces that they knew I was finished with them and that was a relief. Hubby was also there the whole time, but at the end of the day we were exhausted.

I complain about hubby a lot. He is an asshole, very self-centered, and has been abusive in the past (sometimes we marry what we know). On the flip side he is supportive, he loves me and his children, and he would kill for us. It’s confusing. I wish I could confide about my DID in him. There is only my therapist to talk to about that and I often feel lost without someone else to confide in about that. Too bad there isn’t a Buy-A-Friend store nearby……

Recently I started making  jewelry again and I’ve been using broken pieces along with the good pieces since that is how I feel. I’m  also using necklaces or bracelets that have broken and incorporating them into jewelry, too. It’s no big deal, I just like stringing things together and wire-wrapping, and thought that would be a neat theme to play with. Plus, with children, there are often broken things around to work with. Hmm….that may a good project for the kids, turning our broken jewelry into new things…… This is what I did yesterday – the earrings are made from broken necklaces, and the bracelet is made from some broken clear quartz and green flourite and pieces that I couldn’t use in other projects:

I was also thinking, since I am having great difficulty with any other kind of child art therapy, that I may make a blanket out of scrap yarn. A bunch of leftover pieces put together into one. I wonder if I can’t do the coloring, children’s crafts, etc., because I never did as a child so I have no clue. I don’t know.

I’ve rambled on enough. May your day be pleasant and banal!

…my husband was more like the Stepford wives

…all coffee tasted as nice as Dunkin’ Dark

…Dunkin’ Dark wasn’t so expensive

…clothing was guaranteed always-ironed, all-the-time

…dogs were the sweetest-smelling creatures ever

…thinking about exercising was good enough

…I had a Time Manipulator Ray Gun

…there was enough food to feed teenagers

…arthritis actually meant “Your body will only become stronger over time.”

…crocheting and knitting went faster

…my imaginary telekinetic powers were real

…one of my alters was a superhero that looked like this picture below (my hair is red, too) and was known as Dissociative Identity Disorder Woman (DIDW for short). She would roam the world offering support and assistance to DIDer’s everywhere and slay the causes of their DID. The people would shout, “Look! It’s a wounded bird! No, it’s a woman with an inconceivably large weapon! Wait! It’s Dissociative Identity Disorder Woman and her Lance of Therapeutic Value!” (DIDW and her LOTV for short)

Okay. That’s enough. I have to get to work.

So it’s a horrendous day, I can’t focus, and my car is still in the shop which means some horrible disaster will happen at school and I’ll have no way to get there. Then I started thinking…think, think, look at the computer screen… think, think, look at the keyboard (yes, it’s still there)…think, think…..ah yes…

*****possible triggers*****

Reading blogs is often triggering, which is okay. Sometimes that’s the best way to bring certain issues to the surface so I can help myself or even realize them. I’m never upset about that. Rather, I appreciate that one is willing to lay it out and share their experience with others. Reading other’s stories, questions, perceived failures and susscesses is one of the few things I look forward to.

I think I may have a point here…..soon……maybe not… First, a question: How do you feel about purposely triggering yourself to get information about your personal history? (Yeah I have done that before and there is much wailing and knashing of teeth.)

Another question: What the hell does it mean if I’m carrying a stuffed animal, a sex toy, and Avon catalogues in my purse at the same time? (I’m thinking different ages put them in at different times, but I just noticed them together tonight when my daughter asked to play with my phone. She didn’t find all those things, though.)

From your personal therapeutic and non-therapeutic experience how far off kilter am I, and what would be some good questions to ask in therapy? You get full credit for any suggeations and ideas. It’s hard to see what’s going on from the inside, and the inside is a mess. I am beginning to think that certain children are taking advantage of this, too. “Oh no, Mom. You said I could have it. You just forgot.”, or, “No I didn’t do that. You probably did that and just don’t remember.”. Me sees a mutiny a-risin’!

Finally, it is not easy to respect your alters when they have no respect for you. I know it’s still early on in DID World, and it can be normal for there to be internal chaos, but I’ve lost control and anarchy has ensued. I don’t know if I’m dissociating or switching or what. That’s a question I have for the therapist on Thursday.  This post made no sense. Oh, don’t act like you’re surprised! Now it’s time for some sleep.

Stupid, angry post

June 20, 2010

It feels like everything is a lie – me being here, my marriage, my life, my likes and dislikes, my children, my dogs. I don’t know who’s eyes I’m seeing out of but I don’t like it. I’m always ranting, too. Just one time I would like to offer up some intelligent and informative posts.

Today I remembered how I used to comfort myself when I was little and how ashamed I felt doing it, but I didn’t know what else to do. Sometimes when a memory comes through I remember how I used to remember. I don’t remember what I was doing 5 minutes ago lately.

I wish I wrote more intelligently and coherently. My brain just spills onto the computer anymore. I haven’t accomplished shit in this life. I don’t see what the purpose of me is, so one of the kids better win a Nobel Prize or something.

This summer is going to be a real challenge between not seeing my therapist as often, having little privacy or alone time with the kids home, and buffering the kids from the hubby’s stupidity. How will I write in my journals, or write here, or do therapy homework?

I want to write stupid, corny things like, “This is too much. I can’t go on this way.”, “I’m just going to stay the way I am. No more therapy.”, or “Goodbye world. Kids, fend for yourselves.”. But I don’t want to hear about how this too shall pass, I’ll get through, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, because I’ve heard that soooo many times and I think it’s shit. It’s not going to end, or it’s not going to end until I end it one way or another.

I have to go do something active and physical. Maybe that will help.