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!


I don’t pay enough attention to my younger parts. They tell me their stories, but they don’t often get to play or express themselves. Part of the reason is that they trigger me. Even my own girls trigger me. It’s very frustrating. I have tried several times to color, paint, write, etc., but nothing comes out. I’m just frozen, and that’s a bit like how I was as a child as far as I can remember. So, Kate1975 has this great list of activities for younger parts and I’m trying some with the girls (and my son if he wants to).

So, my first project is the painted garden sticks project:

I primed the sticks and we have 3 sticks each. The girls are excited about doing this one.

I’ll take a picture when they’re finished, too. It’s really hard to connect with the younger parts and I don’t know why. They are willing to share some of their experiences but that’s about it. I can’t even remember what I did or enjoyed as a child. An important thing I do remember is my friend’s mother teaching me how to crochet when I was 8 years old. That’s it as far as fun, creative things.

How do you connect with the little ones?


It’s been about 2 hours or so and we finished some and placed them in the garden:

This is hubby’s flower garden. The plant behind the garden sticks is actually a huge pokeweed. I broke the news to hubby last week that it wasn’t going to be a flower, but it’s still a cool-looking plant.

Even while we painted these I didn’t feel any connection to the little ones. Maybe I need to just keep working on it.

Therapist: “If you get to the point where you feel that you are seriously thinking about suicide then I want you to call me so we can work through it.”

Me: “Why? If I’m going to do it I won’t tell anyone. The kids will probably end up in therapy some day anyway, and this will just give them a head start. If I were to tell you then I may be in a hospital, hubby would have to stay home, family and his co-workers would want to know why, and it would be embarrassing and unnecessary. Everyone would treat me different and funny when I came home, and I’ve had enough of being treated funny. Better to go and be done with it then make a big deal about it. I won’t tell you or anybody else. It’s my decision.”

So, yeah, that’s how therapy ended this afternoon. I think I hurt her feelings and I feel bad about that, but I feel like a big disappointment in general, so it’s par for the course.

I had so many questions and she really helped to answer them or at least tell me how to start finding the answers.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve learned what many of the alter’s jobs are in my system. There is still chaotic communication, competition, and blatant take-overs, but…I’m learning. Coping techniques are out the window for now. I spend a lot of time remembering to breathe and touching the things around me (“There’s a chair.” “That is my cold drink.” “Here is the cat.” “I am safe now.”) to help ground myself.

Memories of abuse have taken a different turn as I’ve learned there were two separate things going on (The insiders are saying “Duh!”). Some important things are making much more sense now. That’s good. I could still do without reliving the events over again, but then couldn’t we all?

I really, really like the collage idea of Meredith’s, but I need to do it when the girls aren’t around or they will take all of the good pictures! You think I’m joking……. I’ll make separate collages with them another time. Kate1975 has some great ideas over here, too:


My therapist wants to see me a little more often. Gosh, I wonder why? I was being honest. I’m not going to sit there and lie to her. The whole point of this is to manage myselves and live better, but sometimes I just don’t wanna no more. Pffttt…….

The Cure is probably not the best band to listen to when you’re felling depressed. I’m switching to Daft Punk. Tonight it’s 2am and “Fun With Insomnia”! I’m taking Xanax and waiting for unconsciousness. That got me thinking about how I often wait/wish for unconsciousness. Do you have the ability to fall asleep/power nap at will? I can sleep anywhere. It came in handy sometimes, but I also remember how I used to sleep under my bed, in my closet, and in the attic for different reasons.

I firmly believe that it is important to be honest in this blog. It helps me because I receive excellent advice, perhaps it will help someone else, and I have nothing to lose. The following paragraphs are an excerpt from my personal journal. Sometimes I just write the first things that come to mind and it often provides insight, especially when I discuss it with TherapyWoman. I don’t edit my journal, but I have edited this a little bit:

***********trigger warning***********

…I feel little, small and invisible. Little in age. Things look so far away and no one sees me. I walk around and my genitals have a tingly feeling like one might get right after sex. I don’t feel like I’m being violated the way I did before, or that I need to be “ready” for sex. It just feels like it’s over and I’m still here, but no one knows. That doesn’t even make sense.

I don’t have a good attention span lately. The days are done so fast, too. It can be hard to read and I lose interest quickly.

I’ve been forgetting how to drive over the past several weeks. I get into a vehicle and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes this happens while I’m driving, too. I’m trying to stay focused, though. Even cooking is getting weird. I’ll forget how to cook certain things, can’t think of what I should cook, or forget that something is cooking and I burn it.

It feels like there is no escape from this, from me. When I start to feel better the depression, apathy, and fatigue come back.

Dizzy, tinnitus driving me crazy, fatigue, despair. I have no one to talk to. There is no one I know (besides therapist) that I would want to open up to…

…Are you disappointed or frustrated with me? How can I be a better patient?…

…Some disturbing images came up last night. I was rolled up in a blanket or something and being hit and shouted at by my mother. Another scene that really bothered me was of her scratching my genitals the same way I do and mumbling incoherently. I don’t know if these are real memories or not (thank goodness for denial), but I do know that my mother was definitely involved in doing something like that. When I asked inside if there was truth to my mother abusing me in such a way there was a resounding “yes” from the younger ones. This is really bothering me. I know my mother hates me and is jealous of me, but I have never had any memories of abuse like this.

More 80’s New Wave music making me feel good. I love my new MP3 player that I didn’t know I bought.

A good part of my days are spent feeling like I’m being molested. … today a memory surfaced… of myself, around 4 years old, and those same boys who raped me later were molesting me and it hurt. Maybe it happened more often than I thought, but I don’t know that for sure. I hope to learn more from the little girl later.

Why do I feel like I’m being raped sometimes? Is it body memories?… I can even hear the sounds, feel the ache and burn, but rarely see a face. Why doesn’t it stop? This past weekend it was nonstop as I sat with my son watching You Tube and I was so embarrassed, feeling like he (or anyone else) could read my mind. So fucking frustrating. I can’t find a good, practically fool-proof coping technique for this…

****end of journal notes****

I do understand about body memories, but I just wish I could get a more linear-memory thing going here. Sometimes my therapist is so frustrating. She wants me to find the answers within myself but it’s hard, and when I really, really try they bury themselves even deeper.

I’m just going on and on and on. Isn’t insomnia great?

I don’t understand why healing has to hurt so much. I don’t understand why people did this to me. I, I, I…..I’m so tired of talking about myself.

The Xanax is kicking in and I’ll try to sleep again. Thanks for reading this shit.

There is no need to prove to anyone anything. The important thing is that I feel I have done my best.

I do not need to make anyone else proud but myself. My parents will never be proud of me or have an encouraging word for me about anything.

I need to stop trying to prove myself to everyone.

I need to stop proving that I can do anything.  My parents will never congratulate me or inspire me.

I have to stop projecting my insecurities onto others.

I don’t have to be an expert at everything.

I am the only one who needs to be proud of my achievements. I need to discover what is truly worth doing well. I need to learn where I am most needed and necessary.

It’s important to carve my own niche and stop pretending my parents will notice any damn thing I do.

I want to stop living and behaving like a child starved for attention. I will never receive any positive attention from my parents.

It’s time to stop taking out my frustrations on my body.

It’s time to stop living in an imaginary world where I if I eventually do something just right my parents will say “Good job!”.

I need to be healthy and aware for my own family and myself.

Therapy was not fun today. I think those statements were what I was supposed to be understanding. In looking back on the session I wonder if she was trying to pull these out of me and I didn’t see it at the time. During the drive home I thought about these statements and felt they should be written down.

Other than that I feel apathetically suicidal. She was urging me to call her if the apathy dissipates and I feel more motivated.

A couple of days ago I tried to draw, hoping to stimulate internal communications, and ended up with this:

It looks so childish, but I made sure I just drew and wrote the first things that came to mind. I’m a little embarrassed by the pictures, but I know there is some important information in them.

When I finished drawing these I felt more depressed than when I started.

We also talked about how to tell if I am experiencing psychotic symptoms. To me that means I’m off to the hospital, but she assured that isn’t always true. So, it’s normal for me to see things like shadows moving quickly, doors “breathing”, the floor tilting, and hear conversations and music  just above my right ear. Those, she said, are psychotic symptoms. However, if I experience similar things and feel it is originating from the inside then it is dissociative. I didn’t know that, and I’m at home rather than the hospital, so I guess I’m not too psychotic….yet…. 😉

Have you ever had similar experiences?

The session was exhausting and difficult and I have some therapy homework to do over the next week. My sexual self-injury is easing up a bit and I am doing it less at night now. The main reason for that, I believe, was talking to my husband about it. He was terrific. I even canceled my GYN appointment because it got so bad.

There are a few other things that are seriously bothering me, but I’m not sure how to write about it. Besides, I need to get my butt in gear and get some work done.