Current and archived curated/annotated News in Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), or Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) as collected daily from Google Search utilizing Diigo and by visiting blogs of other people who are also multiples.
--- by Ann M Garvey --- Anns are dissociative and believe being dissociative is something that should be treated respectfully.
Mind Mapping - the NEWS (slowly - work in process)
Monday, October 1, 2012
***9-8-12 to 9-29-12 News Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) - Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) - Items marked in red meet Ann's criteria for being on the Ignorant List (BUT, none through this direct post!!) Sorry Google search!
We are still working on getting caught up, at the time of this post - we've gone through all the blogs we can find written by multiples with the exception of the blogs refreshed within the last two days. We're getting there, BUT still have about 40 blogs we'd like to read/respond to and curate of this last two days. Doing what we do makes sense to us and we hope it does to you as well. Mostly though we feel very strongly that multiples writing about their lives are much more "newsworthy" then most of what we gain from curating the Google Search News. Let us know if we're missing something in approaching or appreciating this "discussion." Kudos to all the writers who continue to think out loud! Connect further to their blogs/links!!! Always our best, Anns
When I tried to change myself, however, and join the world of Bigger is Better, Hurry Up, and Do You Want That Bonus, or Not?…. I tanked. I wasn’t motivated by the same, shiny objects, but with equal significance, I didn’t have the stamina to manage the noise, the nonnegotiable work hours, or the constant connection with people on a daily basis, 8-12, or 16, hours each day. Nothing about me belonged in mainstream culture in an ongoing way, but I didn’t know it until I was already in the thick of living the life I most needed to modify.
My bad, but I learned a lot about the consequences of letting other people define Worth for me. Personally, I do not believe that mental illness steals my talent, but it certainly tries my self-worth when de-sensitized, stigmatized, and scholasticized Voices of Authority create legislation that povertizes me, financially, for not following their ideas of what a good use of talent looks like.
I’m sure many of you don’t want to hear a single, political sentence, but I spent years advocating for my disabled daughter and being a part of getting the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) passed. I learned that if we do not speak up about what we need, we not only fail to get it, we’re ignored, so chances to begin creating opportunities to work, have a little food, financial stability, and health care do not easily take seed down the road.
This is why I’m walking for NAMI on Saturday. I’ve seen wonderful things come my way because of who I am… and I’ve seen wonderful things ripped from my arms because ignorant people fear who I am.
I did not foresee writing a follow-up post on the NAMI walk that opened with ‘Ironically, I had to deal with my own mental illness, letting the victory of simply going to Chicago on September 15th be enough.”
I’ve been walking around with this awful feeling for weeks – maybe months – and I couldn’t name it. Couldn’t find the words or the pictures in my mind. Nothing to conceptualize. To give it a name is to give it wings and let it fly away. But this one sat like a lead balloon.
I recently had to drop down to every-other week due to financial concerns. Right now I’m trying to satisfy my deductible so I’m paying out of pocket. i’ve been going weekly for years. I didn’t want to pull back – didn’t know if I could. It turns out that maybe it was a good thing. I have to value the time and make every second count. And today I was honest with myself and with K. AND I got some pretty good feedback.
Just a few minutes I saw it clearly.
My addiction is intricately and absolutely enmeshed in my dissociation. I eat and don’t know I’m eating – I make food choices like a five year old. Food triggers a dopamine response that brings me comfort from terror and anxiety like few other things can.
I need to stay present. I need to stay here and now.
K lauded that as a sign of improvement. That I am strong enough to tolerate it. I will take that compliment and keep it rolling.
I find myself in the position of being unable to help myself. It’s strange because usually I would struggle against the idea of being helpless and yet I can’t find the spirit to struggle against this.
I haven’t been mentally right all day and a few seconds ago I was hit with a sudden, deep sadness that put me on the verge of tears. I’m slightly overwhemed and don’t know why I’m being hit with this now. I’m trying to breath…trying to either not cry…or just give in, but they won’t come either way. Just that teary tightness and anxiety.
What I just love is the time her husband said he was worried that her past would cause her pain in their intimate life and she says that it wouldnever happen because all she see is him blah, blah, blah. Really?
Ms. Robb/Roberts takes lots of time to detail the various rapes that happened to Eve as a small child. And you’re telling me that would have NO bearing on her sex life and intimacy now? Really?
But I’m almost obsessed with this image I have of myself turning into bones and it’s not to be seen by anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me or ask questions about me or anything like that. It’s almost for…myself? Maybe I want to look the way I feel inside? That is of course, when I feel anything at all, which is less and less these days. I told my therapist that I don’t really feel emotions unless I have/ or are going to therapy that day. Then it seems that for a little while afterwards, my emotions get turned on. At least the sad, depressing ones.
Oh wait I see…it wouldn’t be very romantic if Eve had flashbacks during sex and had to stop would it? It wouldn’t be romantic if her husband wanted sex and she couldn’t do it at that moment because she had just remembered her father raping her would it?
I can’t properly explain to you or describe what happened because words aren’t enough. In the dream I started screaming…but the sound was like an animal screaming with a human voice. I screamed louder and louder and louder until I literally woke myself up. I jolted like it was a nightmare. Maybe it was. But the way I woke shook me even more. I was already crying when I woke up. This is the second time in my life this has happened, the first being maybe a year or two ago and it was also about my grandmother.
But I guess that I didn’t really allow myself to feel everything back then. How could I? I was surrounded by people who crowded my house. And I had to put up with my mother’s presence which was not remotely comforting.
I’ve been trying to keep politics off my blog. I guess I’m afraid I’d lose readers, people wouldn’t like me anymore, they’d say mean things, and I’d be all alone again.
But no one talks about politicians’ stances on mental health care. We like to pretend there’s no longer stigma attached, but anything that can’t be discussed openly is still stigmatized. And when there is public conversation about mental illness, its causes and solutions get way oversimplified. We need to have a real, in-depth public conversation about it.
My worry with politicians who have very little knowledge of mental health issues–and even many who are knowledgeable–is the tendency toward forcible and/or coercive treatment.
I wanted to punch him. Repeatedly.
But I think my reaction comes, in a large part, from growing up in a very conservative family where both financial success and happiness were thought of as something you could achieve if you just follow the formula and work hard enough. If you didn’t succeed, if you weren’t happy–it was your own fault. Obviously you just weren’t working hard enough.
That’s the insidious thing about indoctrination: if you tell a kid the same thing over and over for years, she’ll believe it. She may grow up and realize the logic is faulty, realize she would never judge anyone else so harshly. But she’ll never be able to stop judging herself. She’ll still feel like a failure at both independence and happiness.
I had an interview today for an internship doing legal research and trial prep for a defense attorney. It’s unpaid, but it’s the kind of thing that will look good on my resume and applications for undergrad and law school.
The interview went really well, and he offered me the job on the spot. He asked me to come observe/take notes on a discovery motion tomorrow.
Yes, I am one of those people “who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing.” Hell yes, I believe everyone is entitled to those things! Tell me, Mr. Romney, do you believe that because I’m poor, I should’ve been denied life saving brain surgery? Because I’m poor, should I have to live in my car and eat out of dumpsters? I’ve done that, but I’d be willing to bet the little money I have that you haven’t lived that.
I wonder, Mittens, when the last time you read our Constitution was. I recall this bit where it says our government was established “to promote the general welfare.” Generalmeans everyone, Mittens, not just the rich elite. If you’re instituting policies that would deprive people of basic needs, you’re not promoting the general welfare.
I feel like I frustrate people because I can’t break these rules. I know I should be able to take up my therapist on her offer of twice a week sessions, call people on my treatment team when I’m in crisis, or tell my therapist she upset me. I know good and well that these are not socially unacceptable things, and I know it would be for my own benefit. But when people tell me it’s okay, I shoot them down because I know I can’t break my own rules.
And I’m upset about what happened with NT, even though I know it’s a dumb thing to be upset about, especially a week after the fact. She did call me on wednesday and asked why she hadn’t seen me in a while. I said I dunno and didn’t say I’d shown up and she hadn’t. But unbeknownst to me, my team leader called her later that day and did tell her. Apparently she didn’t think to tell me she would be away and reschedule the usual appointment. I’m seeing her again on Monday.
The feelings–anger, sadness, guilt, betrayal, mistrust–are flying every which way, too fast for me to deal with them. There’s a strong urge to just not show up–whether it’s to protect myself from being hurt again or to show her how it feels to be stood up, I don’t know.
Trying to avoid thinking and feeling about the anniversary of mom’s liver transplant and the death of a friend’s father. So, I wrote a reply to a song I heard on Pinterest. Yes, apparently, I reply to songs as a distraction. Hey, it worked… so, whatever. (Click the link in the title below to hear the song.)
He wrote of wishing to make me happy and taking care of me. He wrote that all he had would be mine. His emails were never the slightest bit inappropriate, but he wrote of holding me and keeping me safe. As I got to know him, I saw he was the sort of fellow to put others before himself -perhaps to a fault. I believed him to be truthful and caring and genuinely wanting to love and be loved. Gradually, I pulled away from him. I knew it would not work
So, I’m sitting here with a headache in the dark, in front of my computer, bouncing from Twitter to facebook to Yahoo email to my blog stats to Pinterest and back to Twitter again. Yes, my life really is that exciting. Honestly, I’m not complaining. I’m not very good at being out in the “real” world. And, is that such a bad thing?
When I try to move forward, this is when I fall apart. When I try to hope, this is when I get crushed. When I try to imagine a different life and a different me, this is when I’m reminded I can’t change. I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t focus. Like being a mind alive in a body that can’t communicate. I’m trapped. I can’t function or navigate in this life. I can’t seem to ever be in step or get it right. I try and I fail. The frustration and pain stings.
I'm so glad its a holiday tomorrow, I can relax and get myself better for Tuesday.
i hate literally everything about my body. for some reason i want to kill the butterfly just to satisfy my need to feel. i feel fat and i dont understand why i keep gaining weight so quickly. im losing control and im trying not to eat so that i dont gain but i keep doing it.
UGH I wish I could explain how I feel right now.
I just haven't been feeling well and I don't understand why it is more lately. "Col" is away and the manager has been out all week. I talked to Cas but it's not the same. My therapist somehow mixed up my appointments and my med doctor cancelled bc she was too sick to see anyone. Luckily I see her tomorrow so at least I can talk to someone who is a pro. I don't know what it going to happen. A med change? Hospital? A kick in the ass? Too much has been going on and I don't know what to do anymore. I just want my thoughts to stop.
She would like to put me on a med for nightmares. I never knew there were such a thing to help that. I was pretty excited. I am willing to try anything at this point.
That is what I heard from three different lawyers when I complained about the “medication error,” The Institute of Living (IOL) had inflicted upon me.
I don’t blog much about me and my parts or the relationships between us. I am still trying to figure out if it is because I feel that it is private or secretive.
Victims of “legitimate rape” can’t get pregnant because a woman’s body will shut down and prevent the pregnancy. Rep. Todd Akin (R-MO) actually said that—in other words, he’s saying that if a woman does get pregnant, she must not have been raped.
I made this for Resident’s Council today. I used all-purpose flour and split the top. It was quite tasty, a cross between french bread and sour dough!
Peace out y’all!
There is a list of difficult clients that floats around each Local mental Health Authority (LMHA) called Personas Non Gratis. It has clients considered “high utilizers”and “Axis II’s” in essence, people who are challenging or even high functioning who just don’t shut the fuck up and take what measly crumbs are offered.
I suppose it might not matter if it taste good I’ll let you know k.
Edit: The bread was really quite tasty. I think next time I’ll add 1/2 teaspoon of instant yeast for ww instead of 1/4.
Down South when someone is bestowed a good turn or they are considered lucky, people say, “They stepped in shit, “or “I must’ve stepped in some shit!” Today, I stepped in shit! Actually, I first stepped in it around March but I didn’t know it then.
You know what this extremely kind and patient woman who happened to work also in customer retention did? She gave me a 25.00 credit for next month and upped my package from 300 to 450, which means I now get HBO and Cinemax in addition to SHO, Starz, well you can go see for your own self http://www.att.com/shop/u-verse.html#fbid=gRExfKwiJY7. See, I stepped in it again!
It stood before me in the dank basement storeroom, its chromed edges glittering in bare bulb’s dim yellow light. It was huge – an American Schwinn bicycle – fire engine red with a thick padded seat. I stared at it, my heart pounding with excitement. To me, a twelve year old boy trapped on an Army base in Germany, it represented freedom.
I learned these were the first things one should learn when arriving in a foreign culture – the words for politenesses and requests for basic necessities required for human life.
In it we had come back to the ‘hood – the object of my hidden desire: to be once again where my true friends did not change, where the neighborhood and everything in it would remain the same. The same dirt road with the same people living up and down it, pretty much as I had left it . . .
I took it down to the last bearing and wheel. Then I put it back together, lubing the parts and studying how it worked. A few round bearings were all that were left over. While a bit stiffer in the pedals, it still rode proud and tall among the lithe German bikes. Its padded seat was comfortable compared to some of the lean machines I had seen – not racing bikes, mind you, just ‘normal’ bikes the Germans used. And boy, did the Germans ever use them!
With my bike I could truly wander and roam, get into things. I could join my ‘friends’ (casual classroom or playground acquaintances, changing like the wind) – on long rides through the woods, or along German roads. It was so ratty nobody wanted it – and once again, I owned the poorest bike in the neighborhood. Not that it bothered me any. I was just glad to have a bike to ride.
And yet our inner child held onto that dream – still does; I can see it in his shining face with his memories of sunshine and running into the wind across the white sand, the cloud puffed sky blue, the sun warm on his back, and the excited calling of his friends ahead; bare feet pounding on the road . . .
There were a lot of things to see and do, but the Germans – they were good. Just strange to my twelve year old eyes at the time. As I learned it all seemed normal, until I was being accepted by them – which is good.
The sixth grade class was quiet. Preternaturally quiet. Normally you would think twenty some odd kids trapped in a classroom would make somenoise – but no. You could just barely hear pencils softly scratching as students finished their assignments, but aside from that – nothing. It was so quiet you could almost hear the dust settling. Behind a huge slab of a desk sat the teacher, her long hair pulled straight back into a ponytail. It was dark, like her expression as she glared at us with hawk like eyes that followed every move, every twitch. We sat huddled, heads down, eyes rolled up, following her every move in turn.
But we always stood out – Americans always did. And it seemed no matter where we went – we did not ‘belong’ there. We were there for a reason, and that reason was leaving . . . all the time.
And so it went on . . .
How they managed it – teaching us at all – is bewildering. I managed to change schools over four times one year – a lot more in the years before and following – and somehow the Army always seemed to have a new school ready for me. No matter when I arrived – I would fit in with the rest of the strangers and the course – just like taking a step in class. A few times I arrived I would be a few pages ahead or behind, but never very much.
Today instead of going back over the week I lost my adopted Grandma. I’m talking about what I lost with her. In a way maybe this can help my readers to understand that as I was going through that horrible week I was also trying desperately to hold on to her. To not let her go, because of all that she has meant to me. I will get to the rest of that week soon, but I need to write this first.
My beloved adopted grandma, died on Monday and it has been a hard two weeks for me. I’m still trying to process it all. The memorial service was today. So maybe next week I will get to write more on the subject. till then I’m just drifting.
I’ll miss the person who saw me more clearly then I can even see myself. The person who was like a mirror to me, with her undying love, who showed me what she saw in me, who let me see the person she saw. With her love, I began to believe the picture she showed me, and was able to quiet the years of other peoples’ voice telling me different.
For the week before and since that time the only alter that has been out is Rose. When Grandma was sick and I was here all alone having to deal with doctors, hospice, paperwork and her totally crazy grand-niece, I needed Rose. I needed her to be out. I needed to be on auto-pilot, to get things done.
I needed to not feel anything just to make it through each day. Because underneath of her was a scared little kid who was losing someone they loved and had no control what so ever. The problem is that now I can’t shut her off. She keeps trying to shelve all my feelings, turn them off, not allow them to surface so now I’m walking around with this big lump of feelings in the middle of my chest and tears that just can’t seem to break the surface and I want them out.
All our energy has been going into reading, processing, discussing, and addressing the nature of our formerly held beliefs about ourselves and our family of origin. An unimaginable spurt of healing and energy has resulted from our realizations after talking with our father last week. Incredibly, after being entirely open and honest with him, and receiving only his abusive denial and meanness in return, we have turned a corner.
i was really struggling with depression before this happened and i wasn’t strong enough to front much then, but here we are and the situation is an emergency and i’m needed to be in control.
It even went so far as for him to deny Bunny’s abuse even though he remembers it, and to ask for us to alleviate him of any guilt in the acquisition of our disorder, either through maltreatment or neglect.
It becomes a circular loop — I was mistreated, it was unfair, now I am sick, why? because I was mistreated. That is completely valid. But unhelpful for us at this junction.
We are committed to healing the “person” we have become and taking responsibility for our life now. We are not going to live as victims anymore, because living as a victim is an addiction that many never can give up and it brings no joy.
and i don’t. and even more than that, i know i shouldn’t say this but it’s how i feel right now, i wouldn’t even want her back anyway, not if she was gonna be despairing and suicidal and bringing all of that fucked up shit back into our lives. she wanted to be dead, she can just fucking stay dead. and if everyone could stop making me question it i feel like i could actually stop looking for her everywhere.
whenever i talk about a higher power, for me it just means what anara calls “collective consciousness” which is the fact that humans have an innate sense of what they need to be able to heal from things, and for me right now that’s 12 step work. i am pretty relieved and positive about my journey through the steps but i don’t want it to ever seem “proselytizing” (which is a word that anara was kind enough to give me here, cuz my word for it was “influencey” lol).
if u have already lost so much, there is literally not much to lose. and it’s weird cuz i always thought that phrase of having nothing left to lose was about desperation and vengeance and a turn to the dark side or something. but actually all it does is make me want to build a life that is better than the last one we had, from bricks that are about strength and healing and honesty and love for ourselves instead of the creepy hateful, obsessive, traumatized and fearful stuff that we were built on before
i never lied. everything i said i thought i was saying for the right reasons and with the right intentions. i have honestly, 100% honestly, never lied to the person who suffered from my wrong. i can look back now in hindsight without any mind altering drugs in my system and without hats and without a suicidal crisis and i can see the truth in a way i couldn’t back then. yes NOW i can see the truth in perspective
I want to write, again, because it’s my way of processing, but I don’t really know what to say. It was rough day today. There is so much confusion and uncertainty happening around me and I’m not able to process it thoroughly.
I feel pretty numb. My body has returned to it’s shut down, automatic, mode. I don’t like it
I’ve taken to shutting down as a way to escape and not having to deal with feeling any of the emotions because feeling them is just confusing.
So, when people talk about their love life, I don’t understand. When I think about the idea of losing my innocence and understanding what so many see as a need, my mind swirls in confusion. Maybe I am a bit over sensitive, I don’t know, but tonight I wept.
Let’s be honest, there are topics in this world that people just don’t talk about; topics that seem too deep, too scary to delve into. Or sometimes they are just too sad and without hope that we decide it better to just keep it on the down low. But who are we helping? Why are we hiding so much of what goes on? Why do we hide the things that have made us who we are or who we are becoming? Because reality sometimes sucks and we don’t want to have to face the reality of what really happened, or is happening. Sometimes things are just too hard and we think that no one will understand or believe our plight. But don’t you ever get tired of hiding these things? Don’t you get tired of keeping things on the down low just to save others the pain? I do.
It wasn’t until then that they realized that being an orphan doesn’t always mean sitting in an orphanage somewhere or losing parents, but that sometimes being an orphan can mean coexisting in the presence of the two very people meant to be your caregiver.
At 13 years old I was deemed a ward of the state, or as the papers indicate: orphaned. I was taken from all that I’d ever known, though not pretty, and placed into a home in which my case worker thought I would survive. Not thrive, not succeed, but merely exist. Each home I was placed, I was placed not to thrive, but to survive. Though expected to, none of my foster parents gave me the environment or tools to move forward and be okay.
How is a child to bond without touch, no hugging. Yes, that is a rule in some places: no hugging. How is a child to overcome the overwhelming feelings of unwanted-ness when every document with his/her name states: __childs name__, orphan? How is this idea to work if it’s so contradictory?
Telling someone of the time your dad made you sleep with him, his best friends wife, son, friend, friend-of-friend, stranger and man with the money would just be seeking attention and dear sweet thing we just can’t have any of that. Instead, we sit in mute waiting for someone else to let us know we are not alone, that things need to be different, that it’s okay. We don’t want to talk about the big scary things, but we need to because everyone needs to know they are not alone…and you can’t change something you don’t know needs changed.
One of the greatest successes I have had, thus far, has been quieting the voices and the girls. Ever since I can remember I have had both and though both have been helpful in my survival, they have also been very detrimental to my functioning ability and ability to connect to the world. The girls have fought and argued over control, who’s better, who’s liked the best, ect. and the voices have wreaked havoc on any and all attempts to connect with convincing threats of further abandonment and abuse. To have quieted and calmed them is both comforting and unsettling.
So now I’m doing that only way I know how to distance myself emotionally from him; I’m looking for someone else. I need to divert my attention and spread my focus so I won’t be tied up to just Sean. That should distract me enough so that I can keep a safe distance.
Right now I’m feeling grounded. Not much, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I know I keep saying this; that I need to find a new therapist, and that I’ve been saying it for a while. As I might have mentioned before once or twice, trust is a huge thing for me.
He wasn’t an asshole about the news at all. In fact, he was supportive and concerner – not only on his behalf, but on my.
The thing about hearing or reading something, if repeated often enough, is that at some point it will break through the barrier that’s surrounding me. No matter how hard the shell, even if one’s only equipped with a tiny needle – will eventually shatter the hard surface – and it will crack. My hope is that it will crack in time.
Blocking things out comes with a price. The price is exhaustion. Mental and emotional exhaustion. Having to spend so much energy on notthinking leaves me wide open for the darkness.
What I really wanted to say is “thank you”. Thank you for sticking by me and believing in me. It m
Slog-) to work hard; toil, to move with difficulty; plod, long exhausting work,etc.
I was tired and sore and everything seemed to hurt, my knees, hips, back, I had a slight migraine and as I felt like I was slogging through the whole two days. I thought to myself.” self, this is much like therapy, you’ve got to keep slogging through it and keep going, there is an end in sight.”
Also, these folks did not know me at the beginning of my diagnoses. The beginning when I could hardly function and thought I was losing my mind, and could not remember what I did 2 hours ago, let alone the day before. They did not know me when every muscle in my body ached, when every night I was treated to nightmares and terrors, waking up in a sweat and trembling. They did not know me when I could not function enough to read, or write, follow a recipe or hold a conversation. A time when getting out of bed and having a shower and getting dressed was called a victory. That seems like another life time ago and shows me how far I have come.
I feel very comfortable with these friends because they understand and accept me for who I am. I will enjoy myself with them and am looking forward to seeing the exhibitions. I will also remember the entire trip, which is like magic to me. I have had conscious linear memory for a couple of years now, but it’s still feels magical.
I would love to have a small studio/room to have a private writing space etc…then it occurred to me, I am getting ready for my next chapter, to start taking my writing seriously and be a serious writer.
So, the last few days I have been reminded once again "This is Your Life," I just wish someone would give me a scrapbook of memories to fill in the years of blank.
Mental illness is NOT a character flaw!!!!
I have spent the last few years advocating and educating others about DID and mental health. I meet regularly with my family doctor’s medical/practicum students and let them know what this condition is all about and how best they can help their future patients. I have done presentations at the local high school and college. I have a blog about living successfully with DID (http://suzy-livingsucessfullywithdid.blogspot.ca/) and a Facebook page (Building Awareness About DID), and this summer I am having an article published in "Insights to Clinical Counselling" (the BC Association of Clinical Counsellors journal).
Right away, my peeps did not like this. But I was so taken aback that I did not notice the internal chaos inside of me. There was too much going on all at once. The way I had to enter his apartment reminded me of my childhood home that had boxes of magazines from floor to ceiling in every hallway. I always had to walk sideways in hallways at my house as a child.
He followed me out to my car. Surprisingly, once I got inside my car I started to feel like myself again. The drunk feeling left my body. I was no longer twitchy or shaking. I even got my voice back. In the moment my voice returned I turned to him, and said without thinking twice, “I can never go back in there.”
I woke up and went to my second interview for that job in human resources.
The job was offered to me the very next day, and I accepted.
The day after the meltdown …
I turned 40 with the help of my best girl friends.
Finally you get home, and just melt down completely. It is full on panic/freak-out mode, and you are drop-kicked into the horrid past of your parents yelling at you in that berating voice. You find yourself wishing that your mother had killed you that time she tried to run over you with the car. One of your friends calls you in the midst of this episode, and comes over to check on you. They wisely assess that you need your Xanax, and a break from your brain. You take one, and eventually are able to peacefully sleep, and put this dreadful day to rest for good.
The job can be very adversarial, and because of this, I can get triggered at times. I most fear someone being horrible during the video conference tomorrow. I’ve seen it happen to other colleagues of mine. I just keep telling myself that even if the worst happens I won’t die. I’ll live through it. They can’t imprison me or torture me. I’ll be able to walk away at the end. There will be an end. That’s what I keep telling myself.
But she insisted, and the more she insisted, the more I shook. The more I dug my heels in, the harder I shook. Something had to give. Then Doc said, “I invite you to get under the table if that will help.” You get to a point sometimes in life when you run out of the plausible normal-sounding options. When you reach this point you are at the end of your rope, and you start entertaining those options that seemed crazy and insane because you are desperate for some kind of peace. This was that kind of moment for me.
We decided that the best thing for me was a neurofeedback session, and I did feel calmer after that. However, somehow, I got tangled up in the sensor wires without noticing. When Doc went to take the sensors off my head he picked up my hand to disentangle me from the wires. And that was all she wrote when he did that. I started twitching and jerking and freaking out. He started apologizing, and then the world went foggy.
Trying, trying, trying to fight the feeling of not wanting to be on this earth. I do small things, like start reading a number of books at the same time. Then I tell myself that I can’t be gone because I don’t know how they all end. I know, weird, but strangely effective.
That’s pretty much it, just trying to keep one foot in front of the other, day by day.
In 2006, when I tentatively began my blog in which I longed to explore the complicated terrain of DID, I couldn’t have known just where my journey would lead. I hardly knew what issues would arise, nor could I foresee the affect my writings might have on others.
A few weeks ago, one of my sons was telling someone about how when I was younger I was thin, and all the guys wanted to jump on me. Yeah, he actually used that term! Anyhow, he went on to say, "Mom kept her looks well into her forties." Oh yes he did.
We visited one another’s blogs and at times—at least for me—it felt as if we were meeting for coffee and long, rambly conversations in the cozy kitchens of friends.
Every morning I see an old Asian woman half-running down our sidewalk, getting her exercise for the day. It's become routine for us to smile and wave at one another, but this morning she startled me by waving, then running up onto the porch where she bent down to hug me, then gave me a kiss on the cheek. On the sidewalk once more, she waved a hearty goodbye, bobbing her head up and down, and then she was off.
This led me to contemplate the things I'm grateful for these days, and it occurs to me that I've gotten out of the habit of writing my Things That Pleased Me This Week posts.
I've a handful of friends I can turn to at a moment's notice when I need to vent, whine or just talk about stuff. Some of them are cyberspace friends; we encourage one another through life's hard times, and share humor and observations about life's absurdities. Life would be a dull, lonely affair without friends.
And then there are the unexpected blessings, such as the one which greeted me this morning. And the magical moments, moments when either your feet, or your heart, or both, are dancing for all you're worth. Because sometimes, sometimes life is just plain good.
My resilience was forged during the stormy era of childhood, when the fierce winds of abuse, mockery and non-protection blew at me from all directions. Often I was brought to my knees, but I didn't break.
I am more than abuse.
I am more than my multiplicity.
I am stronger than my abusers, for I've survived with my spirit and conscience intact.
Yes, even now when the winds of adversity blow I am often brought low. Bending, bending. Sooner or later I am able to once more stand uprightly, in all my gracefulness.
We have been silent for a while. Today was a big day for us. Had not seen G in a month. G is our therapist.
It has been a long couple of days. Lots of sleeping and memory recovery. I have discovered that I have a team of parts who are like paramedics for my littles.
Have been working a lot and talking inside. Keeping a balance and letting everyone have a little space when we can.
We talked a little bit about our internal structure. About the parts we can’t see. Can’t talk to. Why they are separate from us.
I had a friend stay for a week recently. Someone who I have known for years and trust. We did a culinary journey of where I live. I never knew that there were so many places that sold burritos.
Now that I am back to eating healthy food. I have my cave to myself. My littles are running around free again. Giraffe has reappeared on my couch. Things seem back to normal.
I tried to go the second day. I was out voted. We vote on stuff you see. It was all too much for many parts. So no more yoga this week for us. Well I have a yoga room. And my littles want to go and do headstand and shoulder stand and other fun things. We have agreed to do that later today.
I have an extra session with G today. To work on processing some of the grief of letting go of our previous T. We saw her on a train and all of my parts tried to vacate consciousness at the same time. It’s the first time we have seen her since the last session. From the reaction I think some parts are hiding their feelings. So today we will focus on grief. Maybe work on some of our abandonment issues.
This is a picture of my little sand garden. I don’t know who bought it. But it is supposed to be calming.
Then I remember that even if I feel normal, not everyone inside does. The fact that I feel normal means that I have been safely disconnected from a part who is in agony. A part who does not know that we are free. That the abuse has stopped. That we are an adult and safe. This stark reality often finds me feeling weighted.
there is just so much. coping mechanisms are remaining stable. i am still accepting what i have been shown and also denying it at the same time. which makes things a bit difficult. how the hell did i survive all of this?
I’ve experienced a whole range, a roller coaster between fear, abandonment, anger, apathy, self loathing and more.
Work has been busy, so that means no thinking about the bad stuff because I’m just thinking about the “doing” and “caring” and generally being awesome. I like it when it’s busy because it makes me feel like I’m using all of my awesome nursing powers against evil illnesses, but at the same time, when it’s busy, it means the animals are ill and sad.
She told me I had become a burden to her and she had to leave me to it so she had time for herself, because her own relationship was suffering due to the stress of this situation.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to in the heat of the moment. At first I felt shocked. Then the tears came. Not the silent type of tears, the messy type with big sobs where you can’t catch your breath and you saturate a tissue in ten seconds flat.
Thinking of the week as “bad” made me think back to something K said. I tend to write off weeks, or days, too quickly. I label the whole week, or day, as bad, if one thing happens that is to my disliking. There can’t be a bad moment, or a good moment, or even just a moment. They are all labelled, stacked in their boxes and when you have a pile of one bigger than the other, that is when it gets decided.
The lady explained that is important to talk to people, because we must let other people know they are not alone in the world, and no matter what else happens in life, people need to know they aren’t alone.
I cracked a smile.
I have yet to explain the situation. Part of this is because I’m worried about how I’ll be judged, but really I need to quit worrying about the judgement – I write this blog primarily for me, the fact that others read it and understand the situation is a bonus.
There was the fear that they wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the way I felt, my fear of abandonment and guilt that I had to rely on someone else, when I had always made the effort to only rely on myself.
Last week Mum asked me what I wanted to do for Christmas this year. I said “Nothing, run away, pretend it doesn’t exist“.
I was doing a pretty good job of pretending it wouldn’t happen until last night, when I went to the supermarket, and they had the Christmas aisle already decked out. Decorations, advent calendars, Santa shaped chocolate, mince pies. I thought one thing.
“FUCK YOU CHRISTMAS!!!!!”
So that’s it really. My self review. I didn’t suck, but I don’t think I was that awesome either. It’s kind of depressing that this is life though. Just trying to survive and only having a mini bit of fun in the meantime and a bit of suckage one day after another. I need to paint more and start working through my bucket list to compensate.
My first mental impression of group therapy, was a group that could possibly “gang” up on me if they didn’t like what I said or sit in judgmental silence as I poured out my story, which may not have been as exciting as theirs. “You think you’ve got problems? Well, it’s nothing compared tomine!” But, Phil H. talked me into it, so I might as well give it a try. I was a little apprehensive, to say the least.
But, by the halfway mark of my time in group, I knew these people, we became close. There was hardly anything about them that wasn’t revealed in group. I knew them better than my own family. We cried together, laughed, worked through some difficult issues, supported one another, comforted one another, celebrated victories, break through’s.
Our therapy sessions were open, comfortable, full of laughing, crying and engaging. I connected with her right from the start. I felt as if I had known her for years. She was full of disclosure in our sessions. If she felt one of her stories was appropriate in getting a point across or would put everything into perspective for me, she would bring a story out and share. Pat was also a writer, so her stories were always good, interesting, and helpful to whatever I was going through. She was an excellent story teller. Some were humorous, some sad, but whatever, it always fit the topic of our session.
I hated leaving her. But, I was well. She let me make the decision. When I was ready, not until, she would let me go. Oh..God..I hugged her so tightly on the last day. I had nothing but love and gratitude for her. Hey…I saw tears in her eyes too. She was happy for me…I was happy for me. I made it, I got through it. I was on the other side. I AM on the other side.
I hate it when flashbacks hit out of the blue. That’s what I get for beating myself up I guess. That’s what I get for negative self talk. I should know better. I hate pity parties, but I guess the whole situation just hit me fast. So, lesson to be learned from this is, watch the self talk. Forgiving myself has been the hardest for me, I don’t know why, but I’m very hard on myself. I should know better….yeah, my father’s words..”you should know better”.
No one has to beat me up, I do a fine job of it myself. I’m quick to forgive others, but not myself. No more. This has to change.
*If I am to tell my story of a survivor of child abuse and marital abuse, not only should I cover the past, struggles with disorders, therapy and recovery, but I must also include my present life. I only have the right to tell mystory, no one else’s. My feelings,my perceptions, my struggles, and my issues.*
But, I also felt unloved. I still felt that I had no one in my corner. No support, I felt alone. That made me angry also. I felt misunderstood, abandoned, betrayed, deceived, and I felt as if I was the only one “trying”. There was always this feeling that nothing was within my control, no matter how hard I tried (in the relationship), I was beating my head against a brick wall. There was a barrier that I couldn’t penetrate. I felt powerless, nothing I did was working; not getting the results I wanted anyway. It was frustrating to me. I tried from all angles, even marital counseling, nothing seemed to budge the brick wall.
But today I have the satisfaction of knowing what it is. And, it is not in my power to do anything about it. The only thing I can say is, that through therapy I have become my own person. My needs are met through me, I am in charge of my happiness…it depends on no one else. I don’t look for happiness beyond myself. But, that should be true for everyone. Others can contribute to our happiness, but they are not in charge of it.
I have faith and trust in all of you to understand and find something in each of my posts that perhaps you can relate to, I always find a word or two in each of your posts that resonates with in me.
Well it is asking the very same questions that I have been asking myself for several months now, what does the future hold for me? I have no idea, I have no long term goals like I used to have they have become superfluous, one day molds itself in to another and even I can’t tell the days of the week anymore, in truth I have nothing to do so I flow from one minute to the next, I have no competition like when I was in the corporate world, no deadlines hell I don’t even have the next project to look forward to, I also have no weekend warrior training to look forward to.
I will be this way for the rest of my life, I will run out of medicine, I will be put on different medications more than once and we will not know how they will affect me, I will get angry everyone does, I will get depressed it is a part of who I am, that’s what gets me this is not a thing that will go away, this is who I am, and who I will be for the rest of my life.
I am feeling hopeless, lost, abandoned and pushed away and that is doing all kinds of things for my inner selves. I want to shut down, stop working, stop feeling. I am a child again and everybody and everything I love is either pushing me away or making me leave. I want to crawl into the smallest space I can find and hide
I mean look at just what he has had to deal with, with me. I am angry, I am frustrated I am up, down and turned inside out.
I am proud of him, and I hope that, that comes through to all of you like a beacon in the night. You may not understand it but this has been a good day for him.
With much gratitude and devotion,
I know she doesn’t think that way but what and where am I suppose to go, I am a person that needs stability and the ladder has been kicked out from underneath me and I am hanging onto the gutter of my life. You tell me if this is right and that this is the best possible thing for me right now.
It has triggered all those thoughts of abandonment issues that I have to go along with the fact that I feel like I have caused my life partner, my wife, the woman I love more harm than good, good thing she loves me or else I would be gone right now and I don’t mean camping.
Sorry but this is the straw that broke the camel’s back, that was fucked up to say the least, I know that you know, you don’t even want me here and you would be happier if I weren’t here. Fine if that is really how you feel and that you would break up a family because of it then I will fucking leave, I don’t have any idea where I will go but I will leave this is how I have been made to feel the entire time I have been here, you make me feel as if I can do nothing right and what I do, do you go behind and redo it like I didn’t do it right in the first place. I cannot handle this anymore, I know you don’t like men and I know the reasons why, I am not those other men that screwed you over in the past
You can tell me I matter, that I am needed but in all reality I am not needed. I am just a dust bunny under the bed, an item to be put away and used only when nothing else will do (that last really don’t make much sense). They don’t really need me, I am superfluous, not needed, just stand me in the corner and don’t forget to dust me off once in a while.
Alternate personalities apparently can have alternate personalities of their own – ones ‘they’ invented along the way, and which therefore are a part of them. A part of a part, like a sub-assembly. For ‘me’ it seems to work in ‘groups’ of three, each major alter or former host having 3 (or more) alters of their own.
First, DID is not well understood, occurs more frequently in women than men, and is more prevalent in developed countries, indicating it may be more of a cultural affection than a psychological affliction. Some professionals consider DID a delusion created by a solitary mind in an effort to distant one’s self or one’s ego from events in the past. Negative vents may be assigned to a certain “person” or “alter” within that person’s mind; positive or neutral events to another.
They, like ‘me’, may have actually suffered ‘brain trauma’ while they were growing up, trying to survive.
Over time these ‘personalities’ may evolve and become endowed with traits which are not shared by other personas in the patient. This can be caused by the repeated reinforcement or belief that another ‘person’ exists in their head and by a consistent and uniform assignment of specific types of events and/or emotional states to “that person”. Like a path, the more it gets used the more apparent and ‘real’ it becomes to the patient.
But it explains some things; albeit in a complicated way – but not so complicated. Like a computer program quined each time for a new beginning; a fresh start.
I’ve got a feeling ‘we’ve’ embarked on another such ‘voyage’ – reassembling, rebuilding
In doing so we realized what we’ve learned from our psychology studies: that each alter is in its own stage of healing. Some (most notably the adults) are further along; some are still stuck in the past, or in some emotional state of being which does not fit ‘right’ now. (e.g. our alter “13″, who is slowly recovering from a lifelong fit of depression, and
Many people with DID are functional for a reason: they have adult alters to ‘keep them in line’. You have a life to live, ya know! And so some alters get shoved aside – mostly the younger ones – to deal with their own depression, suicidal thoughts / actions, etc – usually in ‘solitary confinement’, if you know what I mean. They are those little things you ‘try’ to forget – but can’t – or can, only a lot of other stuff as well.
For us it involves a lot of things. Treating an alter with respect and love; not shoving them ‘behind’; asking their concerns, “feeling them” (all you DID’ers know what I mean there) – sussing out their emotions, their contexts
In The Jumbled Jigsaw, I wrote of Reward Deficiency Syndrome as one part of some people’s ‘autismfruit salad‘. Reward Deficiency Syndrome (RDS) results in low levels of feelings of reward. As such there is disinterest in much of every day life, learning etc which we tend to call ‘the autism’. Such a person may progressively become defensive, avoidant, even dissociate from experiences their brain fails to give them reward signals about.
Independent adults will commonly compensate for RDS through alcoholism, gambling, risk behaviours, cocaine, heroin. But adults with DPD who have failed to develop to any level of adult independence and self determination may drive up their dopamine levels through FOOD.
Because sugars in particular raise dopamine (so do tyrosine rich foods including many proteins, so do amines in food), the person may find that eating these foods gives them reward feelings.
This process is progressive… its an addiction process When the person was craving their fix they would be tetchy, agitated, fixated then they’d get their fix, be blissed, euphoric. If their usually dopamine level then peaked beyond the pleasure level, they might have episodes of OCD/tics.
Those interested in further researching the effects of dopamine, the dopamine mechanisms in RDS or its relationship to autism, Tourettes, OCD, ADHD, ODD here are some resources.
A lot of people believe they can’t produce art or that what they produce is ‘crap’. From which perspective? The Realist Artist will spend a lifetime fixating on detail, striving for perfection, priding themselves in the skill of replication. But did they learn to express THEMSELVES?
Think of the things you can’t tell anyone… think of how you’d feel having gone through trauma, loss.. think of how you’d feel dealing with cancer, brain injury, loss of your speech, facing your own death. Would painting a bowl of flowers help you unravel and work with the feelings associated with your experiences, give you a means of expressing what words perhaps could not? Expressionist art is not prescriptive. You can take it to any place in the realm of your experience or imagination.
I find that no matter what I do in life, where I go or with whom, I always end up feeling guilty and being responsible for other people; most significantly for their emotions. It’s a strange thing, but I often wonder if one of the reasons we have a hosting team rather than one host, is so that we have enough bases covered to not make anyone miserable and to not hurt anyone.
So we had our first session with Ben today, and it actually went better than expected.
I also asked what he thought the aim for therapy should be and he didn’t say anything about integration which was a positive for us, as we don’t want to feel like we have no option except what he says
He seemed to be aware that some of the system were observing him and that I wasn’t alone, but dealt with it well when I confirmed that this was indeed the case.
We then spoke about where we would be going with therapy from here. He said that he anticipates we will be working together for a long time, probably 18 months with a review, possibly 2 years, and that we need to understand the degree of commitment required from us. He also rejected my question about having music in the room while I’m drawing as he thinks our if we can get over our discomfort with silence, it would be a positive thing. He also asked for a system list and the photos I manipulate to represent the system. He then asked if I had any questions or comments.
Honestly, I probably did, but my brain had already started disconnecting and I was quite dissociated. I did, however, express on behalf of some of us that his requesting commitment from us was unnerving and that it felt like he was locking us in without an exit. We made a provisional agreement that should he not see or hear from us after 3 sessions, that he would assume we no longer wanted to work together (this didn’t include holidays etc). This helped put our minds at ease quite a bit, and feel less trapped.
“How do I become multiple?” It’s such a simplified question to such a monumental issue. I don’t think I have the words to express all that feelings that it brings up; all the hurt and anger. What does that question even mean?!
“Who can I get to hurt me continually in the worst ways imaginable so my soul will split into enough pieces that the pieces started growing souls of their own?” Sounds like fun after all.
As I sat there just now holding his fragile little body and gazing lovingly at his tiny little face, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. He has never known any sense of love or nurturing. He was alone from the moment his egg was laid. He fought to get into this world all by himself. He will probably live alone and die alone too.
I know reptile brains are totally different to mammal brains and in all actuality he is probably happy as can be, all alone at the top of his little tree, but it made me feel sad. Sad that he is all alone, that he never had love but then a bit jealous of his content and independence and that he never has to heal from the pain of abandonment or neglect. He is alone; tiny and vulnerable but strong enough to stand alone.
I wish I could instead of always being so small and vulnerable.
The hallmark of having a dissociative mind is that drastic changes can, and will, occur in the blink of an eye. It is often called "switching", referring to switches in personality states. I have certainly come a long way towards accepting "parts of me" and know that acceptance has been necessary and helpful in order to live with such titanic changes of state.
When certain parts are massively triggered and there is an increase in symptoms such as intrusive memories or emotional distress, there is a natural tendency to isolate and compartmentalize. I will often say that I still accept parts of me, that it is not like the past when I would definitively say parts do not exist—a full scale denial.
The key is intention.
The issue is really not whether the statements I say to myself are true or untrue. It is how I set them up. I can take "true" statements and beliefs, put them through my internal intellectualizer, and the outcome is invalidation. Or I can put it through my internal acceptancer, and the outcome is validation without having to compromise my intellectual integrity.
For many of us, it is not about whether we come in first place or third place. Rather it is whether we stay safe or not. Stay functional or collapse. Have a positive outlook on life or are suicidal.
I am stuck because that shame forces me to be mostly silent, when this is not my true nature. I have kept saying to myself that I am sharing in therapy and with my wife and with very close friends. But that is not enough. This blog has been hugely important for me and helped reduce the shame. It has been critical for me to have a voice. In fact, I have long known that my leap forward in healing coincided with speaking out on an abuse scandal that happened in my home town back in 2007.
One could argue that it was a small change for humanity even though it was a huge change for Nick. But what would our world be like if nobody shared their story?
The bottom line is that it is not about one's own individual impact. But rather it is the impact of collective voices. And this blog is one piece of that.
We have found our selves in quite a few social situations.... because of my social phobia.. Bongo has stepped up to the plate.... uhhhh that would be a praise God....
So today the beginning of another week.. it was time to see P again... P is very into distraction as part of therapy...some more fun then others..... some days no distraction will make a difference...
I get home ..relax....turn puter on to work on the project....my mouse won't work... I change the battery....Nada....nothin.....I'm yellin at the stupid thing... calling it names...getting totally confused... and all of a sudden a light bulb goes off..... Bonnie.... you have P's Mouse and she has yours.... DUUUUHHHHHH LOLOLOL...
As I have shared before, I am working full-time hours for three more weeks. This week, my kid is out of school half the week, and we will be traveling on top of me squeezing in 40 hours of work, so I have no time to blog. I’ll try to get back to it next week. I should have more time after 10/15. :0)
Listening to my body is such a new and exciting experience for me that I will probably keep returning to this topic as I explore it.
I was unable to connect with my body for so long because of the disconnection after the child abuse.
This week there were several new articles on the Boy Scouts and their cover up of child abuse crimes. Jerry Sandusky was connected to a child porn ring by a former child prostitute. Information on US government workers with ties to child porn, articles on the abuse of native Americans and native Canadians, research on social interaction, stroke and teen dating violence and conferences and webinars for survivors of severe abuse and their helpers have been published.
The Times reviewed about 1,600 of the files dating from 1970 to 1991. In hundreds of cases, sexual abuse was not reported to law enforcement, and Scout officials at times actively hid it from parents and the public. In at least 50 cases, the Boy Scouts expelled men for alleged sexual abuse, only to discover later that they had reentered the Scouts and were again accused of molesting.
A week ago I returned from France which was both a wonderful vacation and amazing journey of synchronicity. This is my attempt to explain how I was led to the part of me known as Rose living at 44°N in Avignon.
We were able to get reservations at THE B&B whose website I'd found. The trip was booked. Before the vacation, I began to get internal messages as I always do.
Indeed, I did see things in my photos and also began to feel healing. It was Gracie who surfaced and who recently integrated into my heart in early June this year. This is the photo that most impacted me.
New pictures of her showed her healed and an adult. This brings the term "parallel universe" into play. How did that happen? Is it just a story given to me that is coincidental to my travels? How did I manage to go to 44°N twice without conscious realization?
My second night in Avignon I had a vivid dream/image of me at age three screaming. My mouth was nearly a perfect circle and a pink mist was coming out. I assumed it represented the moment I split and released Rose into the ether.
While she was ringing up my purchase, I read the tag on the bunny. Her name was Lilirose. I smiled. I had brought my pink bunny that day via backpack and immediately put the two together.
I have no idea why we find everything simple so damned hard. I’m sick to death of having this buzzing, foggy, lightheaded feeling all the time, and the slight pulsey feeling in my neck.
I saw N (new support worker) yesterday, which was an appointment I arranged, and I wish I hadn’t. I just wish I knew why, I mean she’s lovely but I just don’t know what it is about her that makes me ‘tune out’. She’s due to come wednesday next week to help me cook a meal, but i dont know if i want to, if i can face the idea. but as always I have no idea why i should feel like this. I feel like all i am is a ball of ‘i dont know’
I heard on the radio (well, actually I was listening in through my TV) (Magic FM, if you’re wondering.. I don’t listen often but it’s always quite gentle when I do tune in) that today is the first day of autumn. As it takes longer to get light in the morning and the evenings draw in, I have decided to introduce you, dearest reader, to autumn, LittleFeet style.
15 hours and 30 minutes until I need to leave for the airport and I am packed! (You might have the impression that I am quite excited about going on holiday AND YOU WOULD BE RIGHT!!)
There is not really much to report from LittleFeet Land and Happyville.
Y’know? New life… Lambs bouncing about through fields and snowdrops, that sort of thing.
For now, I am meant to be focusing on my dissertation plan. I’m not particularly keen on this because I’ve only just finished clearing the kitchen table of journal articles and essay plans from the previous two modules. I’m loathed to mess the table up again! Priorities, eh?!
Given that now we have skipped straight to winter, it is possible to take advantage of the benefits the season brings. Let’s take one of my favourites, shall we? Mulled wine.
During the week I had two rather exciting pieces of news in relation to my MSc. First, and most importantly, I am now a second year! Of the 4 assignments I submitted a month ago, I was awarded a pass, two merits and a distinction. Hurrah! The second piece of news is that I have the support of two Very Important People in relation to my dissertation. Although there are a few snags that need to be resolved, I can proceed with my research provided I receive ethical approval from the university.
The good news is that I have returned from my holibobs safe and sound. The bad news is that I have a sore throat and a runny nose. Naturally, I am taking the opportunity to moan about my sniffles and assume that the grim reaper is knocking at my door. At least I am ill when I am back home as opposed to when I am away.
I was looking at these stats, and I found one interesting site. So I decided to see what it was about. When I clicked on the link, I was a bit surprised to see what was waiting. This person had a blog that was about multiple personality not being real. This individual even listed different blogs, as well as links to other sites of those who talk about having DID/MPD, and lets everyone know to use caution when going to these sites. Well yours truly was listed in that list with a link to my blog.
DID does exist, it is real, and it is the cause of trauma severe enough that a person's mind can't contain nor absorb what is happening. If an individual is going to say that DID does not exist, then they might as well wipe out every trauma based disorder that is out there, and say they don't exist either. That would include somatoform disorders, borderline personality disorders, and PTSD. I guess it is okay to admit that people can get PTSD from things such as war, rape, etc but it is not okay to say people can develop DID from severe trauma caused to them as a young child. Kind of lopsided thinking if you ask me.
What I have found is that there is very little to nothing that is taught on DID in the colleges and universities. If students have any teaching, it is mostly what they have read in their textbook or from what they have seen or read in the media, not what has been taught by an instructor. This only brings up misconceptions and misunderstandings. I have been told DID is very rare, well that’s if you look at it from thirty year old material. Forty years ago, child molestation was thought to be rare; 1 in 1,000,000.
If there is one thing I could, and do try to change is to educate the medical and mental health professionals that I come into contact with. I encourage them to ask questions, and to clarify any misconceptions or misunderstanding they may have. I don’t have all the answers about DID but I am the live version, not the Hollywood, overdramatized, version of DID.
I feel like I am starting to melt. Well not literally but just emotionally. I used to never connect to any of my emotions, and lately my emotions feel like they are getting right in my face. Sort of overwhelming if you want to know the truth. My T has been working with me through The Courage to Heal Book for sexual abuse survivors. The section I have been working on for the last couple weeks is how abuse has affected my feelings.
Usually the only time I really find these feelings is when either I am getting ready to switch or I have switched and come back, and will feel the residue of the emotion from whoever come forward.
As I talked to my T, the tears kept welling up. Towards the end of the session, I ended up just leaning forward, burying my face in my hands because I just could no longer stop the tears that was flowing out. So I just sat there and sobbed. It was the first time in I don't know when that I have bawled like that, especially in a T session. The tears were flowing so much that they was just rolling down my arm, dripping on my skirt. I know it is very healthy to release emotions through tears but I felt a huge amount of shame because this was in front of my T. I also felt embarrassed, lost, and exposed.