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.

Facta non verba – Deeds not words

Sometimes the most important action you can perform is the one that says “I don’t need you”. It’s very empowering and helps release anger, frustration, and powerlessness. It’s not necessary to say it in front of the person, especially when your actions demonstrate to all around you and the person that this person no longer has any hold on you and cannot touch you or affect your life.

It just feels good. It feels even better when you don’t even have to try, or think about it, and it just comes naturally.

Save the anger for something else………like the person who washed the red shirt with the whites. Now there’s justification for anger.

 

Oh yeah!

 

There’s more to this, but I’ve never written about the abuse inflicted by my ex-husband. It was nasty.

My oldest graduated from high school today and while he was there with his wife and they did a very foolish, childish, very public display of stupidity I was okay and was able to laugh it off around them for the brief time I was near them. But enough of that silly stuff – my boy graduated! Yay!  *whew*

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.

The holidays and androids

December 6, 2010

This past Saturday my oldest girl participated in a Christmas play and had a blast.

Next week is her middle school chorus concert.

The week after that is my youngest girl’s 3rd grade chorus concert.

Holiday music is everywhere. Streets and lamp posts are decorated. People are wearing holiday pins, scarves, hats, necklaces and whatnot.

Hell, it is snowing right now.

The kids are playing Christmas songs on the organ and singing in the shower.

I have to buy supplies for their school Christmas parties.

They are having dreidel contests in school.

They have already made decorations and are putting them around the house.

They are clamoring for a tree.

It feels like my eyes are stuck open (a la “Clockwork Orange”) and I can’t stop the input of this holiday. There is no place to hide this year and it’s frightening. The only memory I have of Christmas as a kid is one midnight mass and doing some dishes at my grandmother’s house. Then it’s like I woke up in 1998 and I’m fine from then on.

So….I’ve decided I’m an android that was programmed to awake in 1998 and my memory chip was disabled somehow. I mean, really, what other explanation can there be? Oh, I know it’s probably some abuse thingie, but my android theory is much more exciting and interesting. And as an android I should be able to get through this holiday season by implementing a program that allows me to function without feeling any emotions until..oh, let’s say January 17th.

However, while I am searching my data banks for that program I have to suffer through gagging, vomiting, fear, shaking, losing time and confusion. I will also be careful around my children and smile, sing along with them, decorate the house, keep the cats off of the tree, and force myself to sit through holiday shows and movies (although it’s never a problem to watch “Black Adder’s Christmas Carol” no matter how fucked-up I feel).

I have been reading that the holidays can be upsetting and/or triggering for many of us, but I honestly thought I was immune. The holidays just suck usually, that’s all. This year it’s like they are alive, or have some weird hold over me. It worries me a bit.

Well, I have whined enough about it. Writing this out made me feel a little better, though I don’t completely understand why.

Thanks for reading.

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!

love & disappointments

November 17, 2010

Parents can be such an amazing disappointment sometimes. Most people are capable of being vile, careless, baseless creatures. It’s there, somewhere in our genetic makeup. I always figured that the biological urge to reproduce accompanied the urge to nurture and protect. It doesn’t work that way so naturally sometimes, and (many moons ago) I also used to be quite optimistic in general. To make the choice to warp and twist a life is inconceivable to me. How strong must a person’s will be to overcome the natural urge to comfort and nurture their child and instead disregard or experiment with it. Choose to bring them into the world and then choose to exploit and abuse them. I think it takes a mighty strong will.

My father is a vile creature. From what I have heard he has been vile most of his life. My mother was already screwed up by the time they met and I think it was easy to manipulate her, but she also had choices.

I know my parents do not love me. I know I was not wanted. If I were to “love” as they taught me growing up then I would most likely be in jail for abusing my own children, or dead.

When I look at my own children I know I love them but I often hold back on feeling that love. Seeing them interact with me, their father, each other, pets, or even stuffed animals demonstrates to me that they really do understand love. I don’t recall making a choice to love them, but at some point there must have been a spark in me and I passed it on to them. I don’t think I love appropriately sometimes, though. I still wade through the waters, trying to find the right current.

I believe that love is inexplicable and difficult, if not impossible, to define. I know it can be found and shared. It can be held and released, but it’s form eludes me. I know I can see love, feel it, hear it or touch it, but I can’t describe it. I’m pretty sure I’ve found it, but I don’t know exactly what to do with it.

If love is everywhere and accessible what is the point of trying to twist it and use it as a weapon, as punishment, or a sick kind of reward? I’m no longer sure what I’m even writing about. The closer I get to my hate and anger, the louder a small voice inside cries, “I love mommy and daddy!”, and the greater the urge is to stop everything.

 

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.

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.

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.

it was a good cry…

August 14, 2010

Accepting new memories…scheduling surgery for next month…first surgery since being diagnosed DID – yikes!….near riots inside….young parts on the inside screaming for attention as well….finding internal “babysitters” (thanks Meredith!)……..breathe….daughter’s stomach hurts and she’s not sure she’ll ever sleep again….find relaxing music and soft lighting, stuffed animals that will help daughter feel better….nightmares of the sexual abuse….tired, tired, tired….drive to farm stand in morning, too many people…relax, relax…..go to sporting goods store and it’s customer appreciation day with DJ’s and everything…aahhhh!…shaking, sweating, face turns bright red….chaos inside…eat out for lunch…another daughter starts crying at the table and she doesn’t know why…everyone inside comes together, works together, and lets her cry all she wants, holds her in the restaurant, speaks softly to her tells her how much she is loved until it all spills out and we agree it was a good cry and sometimes everyone needs a good cry.

So, why can’t we get together on the inside like that more often?