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.

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Note to Self

March 22, 2011

There are many things I need to keep reminding myself of. Things such as:

*My opinion is not important

*I enjoy being interrupted mid-sentence since I couldn’t possibly have anything relevant or interesting to say

*I really do only exist to serve others (Bene Gesserit maybe? If you get this reference I’ll love you forever.)

*It’s not necessary that I have time to myself

*I must always be at the beck and call of others, and always within hearing range

*If anything should happen to me I must deal with it alone and unsupported

*Anything medical-related is my own problem and cannot inconvenience anyone else

*I am responsible for any and all negative happenings to anyone

*The only hobbies I need to have are those that benefit others in any way I can

*There is nothing I can do or say that have any worthwhile contribution in human society

If all you knew for years and years and years was abuse then you make decisions based on that experience. Can changes be made? Yes. Is it worth the pain, agony, misunderstanding, confusion, and anger to make those changes? Maybe. Do you need to reinforce those changes constantly? Yes. Does it ever end? I doubt it. Will you die frustrated and unfulfilled? Probably. Is this what life is all about? I have no fucking idea.

My oldest daughter has taken care of a stuffed baby this week for Health class. She had to sew the body, draw a face, choose a name, and carry it with her everywhere. She also sewed a blanket for it, drew on an anime face, and decided her baby is Buddhist, too. She hasn’t taken the entire project seriously, she’s hired her sister as a babysitter several times, and I found out why this morning. She can’t imagine being responsible for such a tiny, fragile person and keep it safe, fed, and happy. At 12 years old she understands that at least she is not ready for such responsibility.  A lot of the kids doing this project thought it would be great to have their own baby for real, and she is telling them “No, it would not be great. It would be a lot of work and I want to be a veterinarian first.”. I know it’s a 12-year old realization, but I’m proud anyway.

That brings me to an obvious point. My parents should have never had children. If I had the choice I would rather not have been born. I’m not happy here and I don’t function well. So many things are a struggle and I can’t seem to get it right. I work, work, work, inside and out and I’ll be dead before I can sort things out. My parents didn’t keep me safe, fed, or happy. I am the bane of their existence, as they have reminded me. They couldn’t look at a little baby in wonder and love, but rather in disgust and anger.

These birth and responsibility thoughts I have aren’t new. I keep coming back around to see them from a different point of view every so often. When I was 14 my parents forced me to have an abortion. I didn’t know I was pregnant and we were just learning about female reproductive stuff in junior high. I found out I was pregnant shortly before I had the abortion after school one afternoon. In the very short amount of time I realized I was pregnant (and subsequently threatened if I told anyone) I knew I loved and could care for that baby and give it a better life than I had. Later, while recovering, I swore that I when I was ready to have a baby I wouldn’t let my parents have anything to do with it – my pregnancy or raising my baby. I know a baby at 14 would have made my life even more difficult, and I had no idea how to care for a baby, but I still loved the baby as intensely as a hormonal pre-teen could.

I’ve been thinking about this over the past two weeks. I was 25 when I felt ready to have a baby, and I did make sure my parents were not involved in any way. Part of it must have been subconscious knowledge because I remember freaking out if my mom or dad tried to be alone with them without knowing exactly why. I brought this up (the abortion) in therapy many months ago, but just started discussing it the past two sessions. It was such a relief to get it out. The body memories that always accompany this are gone and I can look at it from this other point of view and see what a good, healthy mother I am.

Looks like I’m rambling again. I feel okay today and I felt okay yesterday afternoon after therapy. It was a bit depressing talking about the abortion, it was my mom’s birthday (which I don’t acknowledge), so when I got home I went in one of the girls rooms and just cleaned and cleaned (and had a discussion later about how to use the garbage can). Feeling okay is nice. I get work done and cook fantastic meals. I draw pictures on fruit to make people laugh. I vomited up that incident and that part feels clean inside. The rest of the house needs some cleaning, though, so it’s time to wrestle with my vacuum.

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:

*masturbation

*cutting

*hitting

*overeating

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.

Holiday happenings…or not

November 23, 2010

We’re staying home for holidays for the rest of our lives. It’s no longer important to visit with people who trigger us (hubby and I), behave like idiots in front of everyone, upset the kids, and just depress us in general. Most are very upset with our decision. Fuck them. I’m no longer wasting my time, life, etc. because it’s “expected”. I take enough Xanax already. And this was all hubby’s idea, too. The holidays are just another day to us, anyway, but we try to fake through them for the kids.

– We’re smoking our turkey this year and it will take 14 hours to cook! We thought a horror movie marathon would help us stay awake.

– The chocolate pudding and pumpkin pies, as well as the cranberry bread were made in partnership with a 22-month old I’ve been babysitting the past two days. They are messy, probably unsanitary, but yummy, and I send home bread and pies to her mom, too.

– Each kid picked out a side dish, so we have mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry relish, sausage stuffing, chicken fingers, french fries, cheesy quesidillas, and cocktail meatballs. The table should look quite interesting if everything fits.

– Everyone also picked out what to watch over vacation. We have “Mork and Mindy”, “Happy Tree Friends”, “The Tick” (live version), and “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” so far.

I don’t make a list of things to be thankful for. I just try to make it through a day. If I didn’t have a little-bitty to watch this week I’d be carving up myself as well as a turkey. Any contact with the abusers will be terminated as of January, but hopefully they will die in some freakish, painful accident before then.

Life is okay here in the house, but not in my head, or in my body and I can’t disengage. I don’t know why. Having little-bitty-Mia-Monster is a big help, though. I’m so glad I kept all of these toys. It’s fun to play with her. I half-wish her mom had asked me to watch her more often. At least she knows I can do it in a pinch.

That’s all. The kids will be home Wednesday through Monday. That should keep me safe.

Mia just finished lunch (I think. If it’s on the couch I think that means she’s done.) and we have two more pie crusts to roll out. Huzzah!

Girl Talk

October 20, 2010

Over the past several weeks I’ve had to talk about “feminine” issues with the girls. Each time I address the subject I automatically use baby words (It feels like the little girls inside are nervous talking about it.) and that makes my girls laugh. It seemed to help, though, because they relaxed and really listened. After the giggles I used more clinical words, showed them pads and pantyliners, and talked about their concerns.

My mother never sat down to teach me about my own feminine issues, and she is an RN. I tried several times to engage her and she either ignored me or walked away. When I got my first period she dismissed me, made me leave the house, and I had to go next door and ask the neighbors for a pad. Thank goodness they had three daughters, but I was so embarrassed and depressed about it.

I went through life completely unaware of what my body does or why my body does. Once, I hid in the library so I could read Judy Blume’s Wifey (all us girls were reading it), and I didn’t understand how I knew the way the main character felt. I even became sexually aroused while reading it which made me feel very dirty and weird.

During my first GYN appointment (which I insisted on having) the doctor stopped and asked me “Are you sure you’ve never been pregnant? Because your cervix is soft and shaped like a woman who’s given birth.”. My mother was in the room and she jumped all over the doctor insisting I had never been pregnant, and how dare she accuse us of that. Later I tried to find information about my cervix and yes indeed, you don’t have a soft cervix for no reason. I also learned the reason why I didn’t have a hymen, either, as the doctor also noted.

I never let my mother come with me to another GYN appointment, or any appointment.

So anyway, there I’ve been, teaching my girls as much as I think they can handle and answering their questions honestly. My older daughter wore a pantyliner to school this morning just to see how it feels. I told her that when she starts menstruating we are having a Period Party to celebrate. She thinks that would be awesome.

My first 8 months

October 13, 2010

Recently I began to use the term “littles”. I have been avoiding that word because then I would actually be relating to other DID folk and would no longer consider myself special or unique. It would mean that there are other people out there with similar consequences to similar experiences. It may even mean that I actually exist, which I haven’t believed for most of my life.

If I admit  that there are little girls inside that chatter, play, scream and need hugs then I need to realize I was terribly abused and these beautiful girls came out and took the damage. They made sure I was able to continue living.

I don’t feel guilty that I, the host, was not there. I feel guilty because all this time I have been holding up the curtain and it’s time to let it fall and clean up backstage.

So, I have littles. I have a young man who is awesome at video games, especially arcade games. I have a New Age hippie who sometimes wants to know if I will getting any pot soon. I have more alters than I know, and I have a very dark place, way in the back, where there are even more.

I few days ago I wrote some prose for everyone and it is having an interesting effect inside.

All of these memories I have happened to this one body.
This one body experienced the abuse and trauma.
We are all connected within this one body.
We own these memories.
We own these experiences.
This is our physical body.
These are our collective memories.

That’s it. Nothing memorable. There has been a bit of shuffling inside as a result of it, though. I also felt okay talking about littles and alters in therapy today.

I talk about being DID, but I don’t feel that I could possibly be DID.

I understand we go back and forth with this diagnosis. I feel I have been “playing” DID until recently, and I didn’t want to write about this because I didn’t want people to lose hope or trust in me. Meredith is right about the first year (Damn her! :p) being so difficult and unbelievable. I had no idea. It’s a confusing maze and I don’t know which way to turn.

I’m not sure I’m even making sense.

 

ranting again

October 10, 2010

My brain has shut down the parts that held the English language beyond a fourth grade level. I can’t find the words I need to express myself and I sound like a stupid little girl.

I used to be the editor of the college’s feminist newsletter and I trained to be a government documents library technician (long title for someone who knows the Library of Congress’s system), and I trained as a pharmacy technician. Lots of long names in the pharmacy business. My majors  in college were social anthropology and German. Lots of long, interesting words there, too. Be damned if I can remember any of them.

I can’t find a language or words. There is no access to them. It’s like a big door is blocking me to those words.

Last night I had a dream. there was a large field with many people milling about at the Mental Health Picnic. I went to a counter to order 2 pizza slices, 2 tuna fish subs, and 2 club subs. The lady didn’t see me, so I was politely waiting to order. Another girl pushes me out of the way and barks her order and the woman immediately responds. I lose it on the girl, scream in her face, and push her. Then everyone at the picnic goes silent and they are staring at me. I profusely apologize to the girl and say that there was no reason for my behavior. She gets her order and I get mine and everyone gets back to having a good time.

No consideration for me whether I’m polite, whether I am respectful, whether I’m nice, etc.. But as soon as I step out of that character I get in trouble, I’m at fault, I’m in trouble, it’s my fault. Now no one can have a good time. I ruin it for everyone. I am so fucking tired of this!

There is nothing for me. If I die life goes on. of course it does. If I leave life goes on. If I stay and play nice-nice things go more smoothly.

I’m not self-centered or a narcissist. I just feel like I sacrifice, play nice, and give up what I want and need, or it’s taken and I don’t do anything about it. Why should I? It would probably make my life more difficult anyway, and it’s already difficult finding reasons to simply get through the day.

I couldn’t finish my degree because at the third college I attended because someone found me in a corner of the government documents bleeding from a hundred slices I’d made, and she quickly put me in my car and told me to go home. I wish she had gotten me to a hospital. Maybe someone could have helped me. I couldn’t finish at the first college I went to because of mental health issues and they gave me back to my father. I couldn’t finish at the second college I attended because of mental health issues so I eloped and ran to Texas.

If I raise my voice or become angry here at home it really frightens my kids, so I try to reason with them. I don’t hit and I’m lucky because I rarely need to take something away from them if they misbehave. They really are good kids. Not angels, but good.

I wish I could show you how I’m crying and pounding the desk while I’m typing. Even if I went to my therapist feeling this way I know I would not thrash around this way. I would be very polite and quiet and try to keep my voice even.

How do I write the way I really feel? I don’t communicate well.

My FIL is coming over in half-an-hour. I would like to tell him to fuck off because he is so annoying. Hopefully he won’t stay long.

Okay. Enough ranting.

just depressed today

October 9, 2010

There is no reason to feel depressed. Some good things are happening here. It’s getting harder to muster up enthusiasm for anything. I’m not stupid. I know what depression is and how it feels, but I can’t understand what the trigger may be.

Over the past few days I’ve made a “What makes me happy” list and worked through it with no happy result. I have tried talking to my significant other and had no response (he has trouble understanding sometimes and doesn’t know how to help), but I may try again later today.

All of the textbook signs are here, and I’ve tried many of the textbook depression-reliever methods, but they don’t help, which is no surprise.

It has permeated everywhere inside, too. I can’t sense any alters past the depressed ones. Except for the fakey-fakey one, making sure the people around me don’t know I’m feeling depressed.

It could be the surgery, I guess, but that was a week-and-a-half ago, and I’m almost in the “Nothing heavier than 8 pounds” groove. Therapy is next Wednesday, and I see no reason to call her now since I’m in no danger. I’m not suicidal. It’s just sad, sad, sad inside. Everything around me is tainted with sad, sad, sad. It could just be a time to feel sad, too, for no real reason.

It could be that I’m writing this post because no one else knows I’m sad and I need to let someone know how I feel, even if I don’t know why. Okay, it’s out there. I’ve thrown my little pity-party.

Today I’m going to watch shows that make me cry and see if it helps.