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.

No one nurtures Lisa except Lisa. No one asks if I need help or could use a break. No one offers to scratch my back, rub my feet, or play with my hair. No one asks about all of the band-aids on my body. They just come home and eat, mess up rooms while playing, and have their fun. No one asks if I had a good day.

I know they are happy, secure, loved, and comfortable with themselves. I know they feel safe and self-confident. I know that they feel that way because of me.

There is never a break. When I’m home alone it’s a flashback fiasco and a fight to stay aware (There’s this new “twitching” thing going on all the time, like my hands are moving independently. What’s that mean?). Out in public I’m suffering through anxiety attacks in stores, doctor’s offices, and store bathrooms. Last Wednesday I thought I was having a heart attack and asked to go to a hospital, but my therapist talked me down and I was okay. I’m not thinking straight and my vision is blurry.

I feel a little sorry for myself, a bit whiny, semi-suicidal and very confused. It’s this “first year after being diagnosed” stuff, I think, in large part.

On the up side all of the shopping and wrapping is finished. My best friend bought me an Affirmation Ball (“You Can Do It!”, “Nice Outfit!”) which is hysterical, as well as an Emergency Yodel Button. I have baked 4 million cookies, 12,000 loaves of different breads, convinced the kids that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and decorated the house.

Only one thing left……..the Christmas Eve Chinese dinner while watching Father Ted’s – A Christmassy Ted.

So, what have we learned? Lisa is a whiny, needy bitch, she has some strange “twitchy” thing going on, DID sucks sometimes, the kids are just fine, Christmas shit is done, and Father Ted is epic, so go buy it and watch it.

Have at the very least, an acceptable holiday, however you may or may not celebrate it. I’ll be reading, and in lieu of a complete breakdown I hope to be writing again next week. Huzzah!

Monday I remembered what they said when they hurt me in college. I already had the flashbacks a few weeks ago, and the details have been filling in ever since. I saw the common room, the curtains, and their faces. Nothing.

Tuesday afternoon I drove past the house where he started the sexual abuse and saw that it had been torn down and a small parking lot was in its place. Nothing.

Later that afternoon I had a flashback. I remembered where I was, what happened, and why I know so much about ceilings and ductwork. I heard the voice, felt the pain and the confusion. Nothing.

I can’t bridge the memory with the emotions. It still seems like it happened to someone else, but intellectually I know it was me.

During therapy today we talked about that bridge and how I will eventually get there. I could feel the emotions trying to surface, but another voice broke in and said, “No time for that. We have to go to Gander Mountain and the grocery store after this. You can’t go there as a mess.”. I told her about that voice and she feels (so do I) that I’m protecting my kids more than myself. I don’t want them to see me broken. We agreed that until the kids start school again it may be very difficult to make that connection.

Now I’m home and it feels like a battle is raging inside. Some want to scream, some want to forget, and some are wondering what we are going to do with the ground beef for dinner. Cooking Mommy is winning.

There are some younger parts inside who feel as though they are constantly assaulted. I understand that they took the abuse and now feel safe to tell me. It can be a real pain when it happens at school, in the store, at the bank, etc., so, in the event of these experiences happening in public I have created the “Emergency Traumatic Memory Response Team” (hereafter referred to as the ETMRT) inside. When the body memories or flashbacks become too much to handle, and I cannot safely keep them quieter, two amazing women gently take the memory/flashback/alter, surround her with love, acceptance, and safety and lead her to a room where she can relax and chill out.

I bet one million bucks (American or Australian) that most of you already have a system like that in place.

I wanted it to be more dramatic, like the television show “Emergency!”, but it was too scary and dramatic so I had to tone it down. It works very well and I can have a conversation with someone outside while tackling the inner troubles. The two women seem to actually enjoy having this responsibility, too.

Anyway, it happened again today and the response team did a wonderful job. That got me wondering about how many parts there are inside. I know some are incomplete, memory fragments, or created during one specific event. I am keeping track of any names I get and the information they can give me. Stupid me…..I thought of a number that I felt was appropriate and of course I was wrong.

This week (until my next therapy appointment) is supposed to be a mentally relaxing one DID-wise. The more relaxed I am, however, the more people on the inside want to communicate. That’s fine. I write down how they feel if I am near my journals, reassure them, and ask them to move into our safe space. If I’m out in public I call on my ETMRT. I’m trying to be la-la-la, easy-going, and not pushing myself to find immediate answers. And lo! Some of the answers come to me. Who would have thought…….. I am so pathetic. I should have learned that by now. Silly me.

A Teensy Step…

May 19, 2010

Today in therapy I wanted to begin picking away at the “Intense Emotion Barrier” I feel inside. I also brought excerpts from a fellow blogger’s posts (I hope, hope, hope you don’t mind!) which described much better than I ever could the shame I feel. I really wanted my therapist to ask me direct questions about what I have printed out for her over the past several months, but she was a little reluctant, and I understand why. Then I said, “I wish you could pin me up against the wall forcibly and make me answer questions!”. Yeah, I know where that comes from and we discussed it a little. It would make it easier in the short-term, though. She did finally ask if I wanted to talk about the last thing I had written on the pages I gave her. I said yes, and then very calmly described an abuse situation with no emotion. The flashbacks for that particular abuse situation are disgusting and horrific, but I talked about it like it was the most normal thing.

I know why I talked about it that way, but I was hoping there would be some emotion attached to it, any emotion to start getting this crap out. It was a good start, though. My homework for the next week is to relax and try to be aware of my daily routine. She also liked the co-conscious driving experience and said that was fine as long as I’m fine with it.

It was so odd to hear myself talk about these terrible things as if I were recommending a book, or talking about a recipe. I was hoping it would feel more real, but I know that will eventually happen. I know it is real, I just don’t feel the reality of it. Plus, I am being good and not pushing myself. I’ll let it happen on it’s own when everyone is ready. There has been a bit of talk in DID BlogWorld about telling your story and I wanted too also. Not here in my blog yet, but I started and after I talked about that abuse situation in therapy I did begin to relax a little.

I want to tell my story, I want to be free of this shame, I want to feel, I want to feel like a functional human being, I want to be able to look in a mirror, and I honestly do want it right away. It won’t happen that way, I know, but it doesn’t mean I can’t wish that it would.

So, here I am, beginning to test the “Intense Emotional Barrier”. Just a teeny bit….