???

June 30, 2011

Usually I shove it down best I can so I have control, control, control. Stuff those people down and just talk on the inside. Don’t let them out or let them up and be together with them.

If I didn’t give a shit about this blog I would write about the terrible things they say while I’m doing regular things. It’s difficult to watch a kid play a video game while inside they’re showing me what was being done to them at that age.

Write, write, write. Get it all down and take it to the therapist and talk about it. Then back home and it starts all over.

I think I need to see my therapist more often. Kids are home and there’s no one to watch them and arrangements with the in-laws have to revolve around their schedule.

So I stop talking because I don’t make sense. It sounds like gibberish, like I’m having a stroke. And I play with some toys and draw pictures and I’ve found lots of toads and frogs to play with. Many of the bird parents are bringing their babies and we can go right up to them. We have butterflies and moths and even the snakes are mellow, so I can pick them up and we can check them out.

Okay. Back to work. If it hasn’t been used in the past 5-10 years I’m throwing it out. That keeps me busy lately.

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*The following link is to an HBO documentary about MPD. Some may find it triggering*

This documentary may be familiar to people, but I only found it recently:

http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/multiple-personalities/

 

I relate very closely with the last woman’s story, including what happens when she switches. My husband and I were even discussing some similar things that have happened with us earlier this week. I liked this documentary and I really liked to see that many of the people credited at the end are people I know through books or through my therapist.

How do you feel about this film?

Febuary 9th Was a Long Day

February 10, 2011

Step 1. Ask therapist to PROMISE not to get mad at you before you even sit on the floor.

Step 2. Hand her suicide kit containing 40-50 narcotic pain killers, X-Acto knife, and alcohol pads along with note for her that reads “I’m really, really, really sorry”, etc., and expresses urge to self-harm while she watches.

Step 3. Let it all fall out. Don’t think about anything. Just let it fall, fall, fall, fall out.

Step 4. Buy a Caramel Mocha at McDonald’s, after she feels you can drive, with the window down, so that freezing cold keeps you aware all the way home.

Step 5. Don’t stop at the grocery store. That is a bad idea.

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.

Who needs a title?

December 15, 2010

This holiday season is hard. Like a cement wall hard. Like sure, it can be broken down and the little rocks can be dealt with somehow, but it’s really hard to break through that wall. It’s honestly a comfort to realize that I’m not alone in this, and at the same time I feel bad for us, too.

So, some things to do when the holidays totally suck and nobody gets it:

1. Rewrite holiday songs and sing them softly around people or teach them to your kids. (“I’m dreaming of being more co-conscious. With every switch that I might make…”)

2. Create Calvin and Hobbes snowpeople: http://www.chase3000.com/userpages/calvinhobbes/

3. Buy those $1 christmas craft sets and make some. You can burn them or smash them later.

4. Rewrite holiday stories. I recommend Santa as the world’s greatest ninja. Or Rudolf with an Uzi.

5. Buy lots of bagels, cut them in half, and cover with peanut butter and seeds. Then hang them out for the birds – off of your porch, in trees, on fences…

6. Color your hair (Nice-n-Easy is fairly inexpensive and works really well).

7. Plan a “Godzilla” movie marathon. Really bad kung-fu movies are fun, too. Do it MST3K style for added coping fun.

8. Send yourself a card (I know, I know…I got that from Mr. Bean…).

9. Make a favorite old recipe you haven’t made in a while, or ask someone to help you, if you want. Here’s one of mine:

Lemon Bread

6 tbl. margarine
1 c. sugar
2 eggs
grated rind of 1 lemon
1/2 c. milk
1 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder

Topping

3 tbl. sugar
juice of 1 lemon

Cream margarine and sugar. Beat in eggs and lemon rind. Combine dry ingredients and add alternately with milk.
Pour batter in 9×5 loaf pan and let sit for 20 min. before baking.
Bake at 350 degrees F. for about one hour, or until toothpick comes out clean.
Mix sugar and lemon juice and pour over loaf while hot.
Store one day before slicing.

10. Find a rock or make a snowball. Imagine all of your frustration, pain, and negative feelings going into it. Throw it as hard and as far as you can.

11. Buy a big, mushy stuffed animal.

12. Hang some apples in a wooded area where you know deer pass through.

 

That’s all I can think of right now. I’ve been mixing up songs and stories for a couple of weeks now which has been fun. I’m also baking and cooking really delicious and unhealthy stuff.  Not every day, but enough to make it feel comforting inside and outside.

I want to make it through the next few weeks okay. So far it’s not going well, but I’m working on it. I think that if I’m careful and aware I will squeak by with minimal damage. There is nothing I can write to describe how it feels because you already understand, and that means so much.

There is a lot of noise inside. There are a lot of new images, feelings, and emotions. There is a lot of Xanax in my medicine cabinet. It’s messy inside and it’s a lot of work trying to take care of it. As soon as my attention wavers anywhere but inside things get worse and it’s just cope, cope until I can be alone and straighten things out a bit. I have tried everything on the list I wrote and they do help, especially re-imagining songs and stories.

That’s all for now. Therapy has completely fried me for the rest of the day. I am however, going to bake sugar cookies shortly and eat some dough.

We made us a house

December 12, 2010

The people inside (who are NOT paying rent)  made a house all by themselves. I found it the other night while trying to make some sense of the chaos that’s been going on  inside lately. There are several large, brightly-lit rooms but very little furniture. The walls are almost pastel yellow with white moulding. In one corner there is a half-finished staircase leading upstairs, which hasn’t been built yet. There are two doors that I know of. One is in the living room and the other is a large, steel, locked and bolted door which leads to the Forbidden Basement (a young part’s name for it).

People are moving about rather freely within the house, though some seem to prefer staying in separate areas, and not all are aware of each other.

Some of the hellish images and chaotic noise has been coming from the area of the Forbidden Basement. The insanity that I felt was a combination of whatever is in the basement mixed with younger parts pushing against the door to close it. Once I realized that I made sure that door was closed and locked. I don’t know what triggered those images and noises yet, and I don’t want to dwell on it, either.

I have no conscious memory of helping to create this home and I was confused and impressed when I discovered it. It also makes me feel shitty, because I have been neglectful in this area. Sometimes things happen so fast that I can only cope and forget to check in on everyone inside.

I didn’t think I would create a house, because this house is similar to the one I grew up in, structurally. I was planning on a cozy cave, like some of the ones I’ve seen pictures of in Australia. Everything inside is different, though. I didn’t think I had any deep, dark, evil stuff either. Some are holding secrets and had experiences that made them feel that way, but I’m not prepared to deal with that now.

Between my husband, my therapist, the few things that have arrived in the mail that I bought unaware, the drawings, and the journal entries it appears that I am losing time, switching, and just zoning out. You know that feeling you get when you become so dizzy and tingly, and then it feels like you are being wiped off of your own face? I’m fighting that every day lately. Not the entire day, since I seem to be losing that particular fight every so often. However, I did buy some really nice Hanes shirts and sweats for everyone but me, and got free shipping! Even when I dissociate I’m a good shopper.

Last Friday, during therapy, she told me to call whenever I need to during the holiday if I need to talk. I hate that. What did she see during our session to tell me that? I have another appointment this Wednesday and then I’m on my own for a little bit before I see her again.

This was supposed to be a ho-hum holiday. I think that if I’m doing much of the work in the body I should have more say in what goes on, but noooooo……..

 

Processing

November 10, 2010

Above my head and over to the right is where an emotion might be. Since it’s over there I can’t reach it or feel it, but I know it’s there.  On the other side, perhaps farther to the left, are images. It is like watching a movie. Below me, also out of reach, are physical sensations. They are below me, but they can move up and into my body sometimes.

I like them separated that way. Everything has its place and it’s not too close to me.

When they all come together at one time it makes Lisa throw her glasses off, cry spastically, claw at her face, hide in her coat, shake uncontrollably, and want to hurt, hurt, hurt  herself.

That younger girl was really out. Weird. I had no control.

Today was a big step for me in therapy. We got through it, I am not in the hospital, and everything ended with me being sarcastic and able to breathe. I looked horrible, though.

It was easy to slowly work through memories and start identifying emotions bit-by-bit, but I can see the benefits of experiencing everything at once in a safe space and working through it that way. It felt like I was there for a week. It’s not over for that particular memory, and I’ll probably take back everything I’m saying later, but I came out okay afterward. It felt calm and peaceful for at least 30 minutes or so.

Did you ever feel like, “Wow! That was intense! Bring me another memory! I can do this shit!”? That’s how I felt at the end of the session.

Just wanted to share that.

 

Little girls are not very good cooks. They don’t drive well, either. They interact very well with girls their own age, but have trouble communicating with their parents. They tickle, eat candy, and squirt water at people. Some of those people are her own children, but in the moment they are just other little girls. She gets strange looks from parents when she’s talking because she isn’t talking like a 43 year-old. So…….

1. Attempt to have conscious control at school functions.

2. You are not 8 or 9 years-old physically. There is no memory of those ages, either.

3. It’s called a whisk, dipshit. You’re cooking meatloaf, potatoes, and gravy.

4. No, I will not be at the party. My daughter will be. Sorry for the confusion.

5. A belly-button lint Bratz doll is not a good conversation topic.

6. You’ve seen Aladdin 4 million times and you’ve never cried at the end before.

7. Yes, you do drive a minivan.

I hate it, hate it, hate it. When I go out in public I make a complete ass of myself. There was one person at my daughter’s musical who actually likes me and she just giggled. Any other adults I came into contact with just stared or frowned at me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

At least I’m not volunteering at the school this year.

I don’t know if I’m switching, co-conscious, or just letting my guard down around the kids. I think I was caught up in the story, songs, and the fun the kids had on stage. Whatever it was I hope there isn’t another school function for a while. Someone even walked up to me and said, “Lisa? Hey, Lisa?”. Grrrr…..that was really embarrassing.

Maybe if I close my eyes real tight and wish extra, extra hard some people will forget I was ever there today. Sometimes when I’m so in that space, even before the DID diagnosis, I have no idea how my behavior looks to others.

remembering

November 5, 2010

I don’t want to feel like a little girl anymore. Sometimes it felt good and she can’t understand why the rest of the System is reeling.  When it was scary it was very scary. I used to be two years old, and I know what it felt like to live in that little body. Names and faces of people I haven’t thought about in years are back. I felt funny about them back then and I’m learning why. I know why some people disappeared from my life so completely and no one ever mentioned their name again. I’ve learned why I behaved certain ways when I was with certain people, even if we weren’t alone. I know why certain people stayed away from me. I know that some people suspected something bad was happening and were so very nice to me. I was a very strong, strange girl.

 

This flood gates are open, but that’s the way I work in general. Get it out, get it over with and deal with it. So it’s coming up and out. I’m very good in emergency situations. I react quickly, seek help and provide immediate first aid. It’s just odd applying such skills internally.

So I switch frequently, even in therapy sometimes. I’m dizzy most of the time, I vomit nearly every day, and my vision is often blurry. On the up side, the house stays moderately clean, my System is communicating better, people get where they need to go, and there is food on the table. If I can maintain that I think I can stay safe.

Be good to yourselves.

***religious trigger***

I used to love Jesus. He was my brother and loving friend. Sometimes I dreamed that he was having sex with me, and that bothered me so much that I asked my priest about it in the confessional. The priest told me it was okay and my dreams symbolized Jesus’ ultimate love for me and that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Often at night I could feel Jesus lying next to me in bed and I felt safe. Later, and before therapy, I realized it was actually my father lying next to me, molesting me, and I was using  Jesus so I wouldn’t have to deal with what was really happening to me in my bed.

By the time I was 18 I completely lost my Catholic faith, and it’s very difficult for me to read or hear about abuse survivors finding their strength to recover from abuse through their Christian faith. I am very glad that it is helping them, but I get tired of reading about it. I honestly mean no offense whatsoever. I used to believe too, and quite fervently.

At this time I have no faith in anything whatsoever. I feel that I used Jesus, God, whatever to blind me and protect myself from what was actually happening. I used them just as my brain used different personalities to protect me. Using Jesus and God was a conscious decision that I remember. The alter personalities were an unconscious decision, I feel.

I cannot relate to those who have found solace and hope and strength in their faith of choice. I often come across blogs or articles written by survivors and whose stories I can understand until it gets near the end and I read something to the effect of, “And I would not have gotten this far without the help of Jesus (God, deity of choice).”. That means nothing to me. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who feels that way. I have NEVER responded negatively to anyone who has written “I will pray for you”, or “I will keep you in my prayers”. I truly appreciate those considerations. That means a lot to me. Anyone who would ever think of me, wish me well, or consider me in a positive way is super-duper in my book. I feel the same for others as well.

I would never try to undermine anyone’s faith. It simply doesn’t make sense to me and is not part of my present makeup. I know that in a large part this is a reaction to my abuse and the fact that my family were strict Irish Catholics. I also attended Catholic school K-12. I did everything I thought I was supposed to and still ended up here. I’m no Job, nor do I want to be.

This rant may also be a reaction to my surgery last week and inability to do many of the things I normally do. Perhaps my mind is wandering around looking for other things to be upset about instead of just looking at my belly all cut up.

***Sexual Trigger***

Part of the surgery involved 4 vaginal incisions. I didn’t know about that part of the surgery until the next day. I was aware that part of the surgery was vaginal, but not that it meant incisions there. This triggered some nasty memories/personalities and I’ve been working overtime to soothe them. When I am completely healed I will never have to worry about my original problem ever, so I’m trying to focus on the positive outcome of  it.

***end trigger***

Maybe I’ll create my own deity this week, or look around the house for one. I use spatulas a lot….The Supreme Spatula of Domestic Goodness…The Plunger of Perpetual Light…The Sponge of Sanctity…maybe not….