Mind Mapping - the NEWS (slowly - work in process)

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

DID/MPD NEWS (dissociative identity disorder/multiple personality disorder) Annotations from DID Bloggers that write - week ending 10-23-13

    • I have been so busy with my new job. Adjusting to working full time after being a stay at home mom for the last 6 years has been a struggle. My biggest struggle at the moment is my exhaustion and nightmares
    • have been trying to avoid going to sleep due to the fear I feel. During the day I am busy and distracted so there is very little time to think and process.
    • I can’t see a light at the end of this long drawn out tunnel.
    • Everyone tells me that the past is over and I need to think happy thoughts and try to move on. But I wake at night dreaming of the things my father did to me. I go days where I can’t convince myself he’s not coming back for me. I spend weeks jumping at every sound thinking its the cops coming to tell me he hurt more of my family. And I spend every day of my life doing, saying and thinking things that are just like him. I am sick. I am incapable of love. I don’t know how to love someone, not even myself. I don’t love my family. I don’t love my friends. Because my father twisted my idea of love up so much that I have zero grasp of what love really is. I’m broken and I have tried so hard. SO FUCKING HARD to fix myself. I tried everything I could to fix all the shit that is broken and twisted in me. But somethings can’t be fixed. Some things can’t be undone. And so I continue to pretend to be holding myself together, even though I fall apart more and more every day.
    • I am lonely. Surrounded by so many who love me. I am alone. I am angry. I am bitter. I am tired. I am sad. I love, as best as I can. But I don’t think I’m capable of actually loving anyone, including myself. I am self absorbed. I am mean. I am rude. I am a liar. I am a cheater. I am a bad wife. I am a bad mother. I am fat. I am lazy. I am depressed. I am not worthy of anyones love. I am not worthy of life. I am a waste. I am a failure. I am broken. I am damaged. I am useless. I am worthless.
    • I should be writing, that's what I'm supposed to do ..  aren't I? So very much has happened in the past months.. summer which usually is my good season seemed brutal...
    • I met a friend and lost a friend... My apt burned down.. we had to move and replenish everything,,, thank God for renters insurance. Physically I have not felt well and lost an amazing amount of weight.. food doesn't taste or smell good..
    • Todays session we went back to Jen.. she's 5 years old and sucks her thumb.. she rarely talks but she did talk to P today..
    • There are many difficult situations swirling around my existence.  One in particular that I have tried to allow myself to feel is the loss of my twin on our fourth birthday. I keep hearing a melody… I keep sitting down at my keyboard trying to find the notes and chords to play.  The words come a bit and I record what I can… the tears become so flooded in my soul that my heart feels like it’s going to shatter.
    • I’ve decided to password protect most of our posts.  If you would like to have the password you can comment to this post here with your Email address and we will be sure to get you the password.  I will make sure your Email will not be posted for others to see.
      Thanks for all the support!
    • Because there are ‘many’ difficult situations going on right now it is hard for me to truly process this situation and find the energy to go through this traumatic time in my life, and grieve this.  I’m hurt by the distractions and disruptions that are flaring up and attacking my healing journey to move forward.  
    • I’m trying to stay dialectical.  There are many things out of my control…. I don’t want ‘them’ to win!!!
    • My surgery is scheduled.  November 22nd.
      • It truly doesn’t seem far enough away.
      • They added on extra to what was initially planned, which has wrecked my psyche a bit.
      • I hate hate hate surgery.
      • And doctors
      • My surgeon is a guy. I am more uncomfortable with male doctors than anything.
    • But I’m mostly just terrified.
    • He also touched a bit on mental-health (I tried to be honest in the paper evaluation that touched on it) but was kind about coming back to it, since the hypertension is more pressing at the moment.  But I feel like he isn’t going to leap at me.  He was so very very sweet about my memory problems (he wanted to know a lot of details but I couldn’t recall them; especially hospital details, where I tend to disassociate the most).
    • ut this is really not what this blog is about. I have been discovering more and more about not only myself but my alters, or I should say one alter in particular. I have discovered one of my biggest fears and I am not going to say what it is here. But if anyone with DID is reading this, then I think they will understand what I am talking about. It is one of those fears of losing time, dissociating, and finally when time is “regained” or what is better known as being back out front, it is that realization of what did occur.
    • As I said, I should have stayed my distance but unfortunately I was getting wrapped up into what was going on with them and how just about everything in this person’s life ended up being a “crisis”. I could not see it at the time but every time one of these “crisis” came up, I ended up dropping everything to cater to this person. I felt like I was important and was helping them with their problems
    • What I have learned from that experience is that hopefully this will give me some major warning signs, red flags to keep watch for, and to listen to those who have always kept an eye out for me.
    • The other thing I discovered is just how much anger I held inside. I do not think that before I discovered what happened, I even knew just how angry I was. I knew I had angry alters and I was just barely beginning to connect with a little bit of anger but even then, I did not feel much anger. I still could not connect with very many feelings.
    • I guess the positive thing about this is that I am finally getting in touch with my anger, the anger that has been buried deep inside. I have been battling depression for a long time even though I never wanted to admit it. I have heard that depression is anger turned inward. That makes logical sense to me. I am so ready to be done with the anger, to be finished with the depression, and to be over the hurt.
    • It is interesting how things can evolve in therapy. But as I look back over the last three years I see a lot of growth, especially in this last year and a half. It has been a lot of hard work, a lot of pain and tears at times but overall if this is what it is going to take to heal then it is worth it. What I find is that if something that is badly desired whether it is a career, a hobby, financial freedom, or whatever it may be desired, then a person will do whatever it takes to accomplish that goal. I am ready and determined to keep continuing on my journey of healing.  To all those who are struggling with your own healing journey, keep striving because it will be worth it. You are not alone.
    • Avalon’s attitude towards my parents is basically that of a 16 year old who is kind to the incomprehensible elders but has no personal relationship and who occasionally does break out into a burst of, well, 16. She likes to say outrageous things, like in this case, when my parents launched into an anecdote about my brother-in-law’s knowledge of My Little Pony (due to having a daughter), Avalon shared extensive information about bronies.
    • This is so far from our usual mode of interaction that it produces confusion, and my parents deal with confusion most often with a kind of retreat into politeness.
    • Mostly what I remember is doing my homework while waiting for the Bronze Cross or NLS or pop organ lesson to start, or on the subway, or while babysitting. Talking on the phone until all hours with Kathryn H., or Marjorie (must call her…) or hanging out with the gang at lunch. We were basically on the run from our lives all the time, never without a book, and confused. But we definitely never discussed bronies.
    • Overcoming sexual abuse is very hard for me. I can still just go so far when engaging in causal conversation with the opposite sex. Fear somehow then finds its way in and invades my thoughts that "Ooooo what if the causal conversation turns into having the attention turned more seriously. Attention that is given to me as a woman? Where is that going to lead you?"
    • Obviously my belief system continues to some degree believing that I am not worthy of sharing personal experiences. That I have a voice and that I am important. The lies still creep in. I wonder at times if I am even making sense and if I come over as a bore. People will get tired of me. That is how I sensed my father was with me. Even into adulthood.
    • I cannot tell you the amount of paralyzing fear that still over comes my little girl when she feels threaten. Or perceive the possibility. Sure, big JRB can put on a front and kid and deflect, and appear normal on the outside to protect the little one. Just to survive and appear some what normal. But on the inside she remains an emotional mess.
    • I know only a handful of you really DO understand this pain and fear. Who yourself have gone through the abuse and are living the very same thing. Thanks for listening.....
    • I’m totally freaking out because I’m having surgery on Friday, and I have no one to freak out to.
    • The doctor who finally said yes was my last hope, and I went in fully expecting to be told no again, because I’m still in my thirties. When he said yes I cried, something I never do.
    • My mother has already made this all about her and how she has to cut her vacation short to take care of me, plus she has a bunch of questions that she didn’t get to ask the doctor and why can I put it off for at least another week. The whole point of doing it now was so that I wouldn’t have to continue being in pain any longer then I have to.
    • How the hell am I going to make it through 24-7 for the next six weeks of my parents.
    • So I saw this post on blanket forts and I remembered how I use to love them as a kid. I could hide out in there for ages and be in a whole different world so now I’m trying to figure out how to make one around my bed for when I get home.
    • Dying in a hospital, unless you have legal paperwork supporting your right to refuse treatment, you could be revived and revived and revived only to continue to spend your last weeks or days suffering.
    • Palliative Care by contrast is not designed to keep you alive, but to make your inevitable and eventual death from terminal illness one with minimal physical pain or mental distress.
    • Dying With Dignity represents those who believe in the right of the terminally ill to seek and obtain medical assistance to end their life with dignity.
    • Other groups like Dignitas in Switzerland or Germany already provide medically assisted death to those with medical documentation to verify they have a terminal illness with 6 months to live or living in intolerable pain
    • Today, Australian’s overwhelmingly support medically assisted right to end one’s life though this basic human right to a dignified death is not protected yet by law. With your help, we could change that. Spread awareness of what dying with dignity is, break down the fear and ignorance around the topic of a dignified death and the right to die with dignity
    • I so wish I could update by telling you all that I’m suddenly kicking ass at everything and a fearless warrior princess but alas, once again I must disappoint you with my human weakness. I haven’t wanted to write because I haven’t known how I feel — it takes me a very long time to figure out my own emotions whereas it comes very naturally for me to figure out what other people are feeling.
    • I feel like I’m playing catch-up a little bit. I am excellent at procrastination and it always leaves me with a lot of ground to cover in a — hopefully– succinct and interesting manner.
    • Me: I am learning I have anger to work through. I am going to focus on healing it awhile. It isn’t fair for either of us for me to bring that to the table.
      Dad: I understand. We seem to trigger each other. Take care of yourself. Love dad.
    • I have subconsciously been trying to shut down all my emotions about her, and about her leaving me, and I’ve been numb and even lashed out at her with judgmental words that effectively represent me saying, “Go away, I don’t want to feel hurt.” But as much as I try, I can’t block out everything.
    • I was sick of her living here. But my attempts to isolate myself completely sort of backfire in that they leave me, well, isolated.
    • Other triggery anniversaries are approaching so I don’t know how to figure out exactly which instances are to blame for which percentage of hopelessness. But I know it will lift, I just have to keep going.
       Yesterday was a lovely fall day, a crisp cool morning and a clear warm day. It was a beautiful day for a walk, so I took two. The first walk was one and a half hours long by myself, and the second one was a shorter one in the afternoon with a friend. They were both lovely.
    • 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.
    • I get frustrated with being able to do something one day, and not being able to do it the next. As I have mentioned before, this tends to screw up for planning ahead. I can hope to do something, but that does not mean I will be able to carry it out.
    • As I’m talking of this I realize that the “what am I going to do with my life?” really means, what am I going to do with my writing? Where am I going to go with it? What am I going to write? And what makes a successful writer? I guess the last question is the one I have been hung up on.
    • And, like every time I recover a lost piece of myself, I am elated, and I want to get on with my life. And like every time, I need to process what has happened and its re wiring the brain, this also takes time and energy.
    • Then I realized I am not going to go anywhere with my writing, it is going to take me and go where it is supposed to go! 
    • (to the tune of Lollipop)
      uh-uh, oh
    • Once upon a life, I had a little guy who made my mind pop and fizz with delight.  What a charm.  I loved him like crazy.  I sang crazy words to fun songs, and he’d laugh and laugh.
    • Then, I went crazy.
      After that… life became dark, and the little pop n’ fizz guy had to stay behind with his daddy because the place I entered was not right for raising children.  He didn’t understand this, of course; I couldn’t explain it, either. 
    • So, when you don’t hear my voice… or feel my embrace… or wonder if I even love you… be still.  Listen to your heartbeat.  I am there, loving you in all the rhythms of your day.
    • I want to talk about choices today. We all make choices every day. Many, many choices. Many of these are about minor things – cereal or toast for breakfast, which clothes to wear, which way to go to work. I don’t need to list them, your day is filled with so many.
    • The choices I want to talk about today are the ones that can affect our wellbeing. It’s taken nine years of therapy to realise that I can choose to do things that will help me feel better. I can only talk about this based on my own experiences.
    • In this situation I have a choice. I can allow myself to go along with the negative thinking or I can choose to do things that prevent or lessen that downward spiral.
    • 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 have only seen that look on my moms face one other time. It was a little over 9 years later, sitting in a courtroom first waiting for a juried trial to start and then 5 months later waiting for her husband to be sentenced to 50 years in prison for hurting her child.
    • 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.
    • Shell shocked and terrified of losing another thing in her life, that was the last time I saw my mom.
    • Every day I see that desolate, shell-shocked face inside my head and it reminds me that she’s still human and that so much of her still needs a little lovin’ too…that just like me, she is more than loveable…no matter her faults.
    • If you have followed my blog for a while, or even if you are new, but looked at the archives, you will notice that I am gradually healing.  Too gradually for my taste, but I don’t seem to get a choice in that one.  Still, I am grateful for any and all growth and healing.
    • Still because I want to be authentic, and more especially so I won’t give a false picture to those who are traveling this same path, I have to say: relapse happens.  I have days where I find myself feeling awful.  It isn’t as frequent as it used to be, but it still happens.
    • I was triggered, and without warning  found myself in that place where self-harm seemed like the only way to ease the pain.  I felt so torn.
    • I’m so sorry for what happened to you.  That never should have happened.  It wasn’t your fault.  I will do everything I can to make sure no one ever hurts you again.
    • Today is a quiet morning without the kids.  A morning of reflection that brought us to tears. We have moments like this now, where we cry and we don’t even know why we are crying. It’s just a slew of emotions that have been brewing inside for so many years.
    • We had another session of memory processing. More pieces of the puzzle fitting together. It’s an odd thing to experience our life as it is right now. We are processing these extreme memories but we are also functioning more and more smoothly.
    • …in general we are being productive. But this kind of productive feels different than when we were “productive” prior to treatment. Then everything was hazy and being “productive” then was actually more about avoidance. The beginning of recovery for us was letting go of everything else in our life. We spent years with our sole focus being on recovery. We didn’t plan this or want this, it certainly was not embraced with excitement, but it was necessary. Now we are able to add more things to our life.
    • It’s all about finding the balance and accepting that it is a constant process of needing to readjust. We spent this morning crying, processing, reflecting. Soon we will get ready and go enjoy lunch with a friend, likely including some good laughs and tonight we will go to an event focused on ending violence against women. There will likely be hurdles along the way. Unexpected triggers, flashes, frustration, but we’ll take moments to breathe and assess and readjust. This is life in recovery.
    • Oh yeah – I’m still “DID” as hell, but on the other hand (wry grimace here) – “we’ve” learned a lot more about coping within ‘ourselves’ as a result of that experiment/experience and what we went through.
      I’m not so sure drugs didn’t have anything to do with it.
    • In short I got to the point of ignoring them (for the most part) – those evil whispers and urges to hurt myself and/or others, to engage in those behaviors which we had identified as self-destructive to the whole – things like staying married and off of drugs, maintain some stability in our lives, doing the right thing . . .
    • So what we learned to do (and did) was separate ‘them’ into “two” entities: the one that was trying to do some good by you, and the one that’s totally insane.
    • According to the Doc’s theories regarding neuroplasticity perhaps (and this is a great BIG ol’ “perhaps” in this hypothesis/thesis) – maybe the ‘voices’ will grow softer, perhaps even go away if we keep on delegating them ‘to the back’, telling ourselves “it’s the DID” . . . becoming buried in the back as the wiring changes – if it ‘changes’ at all – delegating those less desirable ‘parts’ to another place, albeit probably still a ‘part’ of ‘me’ . . . a part of the Crowd, anyway.
      And that’s good enough for me.
    • Dear Mom;
      If you read my blog as the daughter YOU were, instead of as the mother you ARE, can you honestly tell me that you would not completely relate to what I am saying? If I wasn’t YOUR daughter, (if I was your next door neighbor), I know you would be a fan.
    • My mother always said a lot of things that indicated that I was the problem ~ her problem.
    • I don’t believe that lie anymore because I understand that it was part of the grooming process all along. The ‘price’ for my freedom from the abusive cycle, however expensive, was well worth it.
    • It is important to recognize that this message communicated in this dysfunctional family system ~ that children are worth less than adults or worth less than their parents ~ is achieved by discounting and dismissing children in order to ‘teach’ children to learn their ‘place’.
    • Have you ever tried to make a movie?  This afternoon I decided to find out what a limited-tech-savvy woman in her fifties could do on her own with only a phone and a laptop. Obviously, I am not a professional videographer! I am also not a professional musician - but the music in the background is my own - a song I'm still working on. I recorded myself playing it (not perfectly - but you get the idea) just by putting my laptop next to the piano. So - simply made, but all mine! It's three minutes long - the song - which I've entitled Ragdoll's Dance - plays through twice.  Here's the link:  Fall in Illinois
    • Sometimes we have "episodes"...that's what we call blank spaces is what has currently/recently transpired.  Last night we had one. It's been awhile.
    • Thank goodness midterms mean we're half done with classes. That class, anyway. Science gurus, we are not. Not one single one of us. I'm too old for most of this shit. Mid-December can't come soon enough.
    • Just let us write, forever, let us write, and paint, and be...well paid, so we can cook nice foods, and drink good alcohol, buy paints and canvas...and that's all we really want. And to die, someday, to go silently in the night.
    • Good morning.  This is just us.  We've been up for about four hours.  We've been moving around our general resources of people and answering correspondence.  This seems to be taking more time now than it had before, but communicating with people was what it was all about, so have to think we're doing the right thing there.
    • I say that especially, because we are having such a good life.  We're still figuring out how to handle our system, to be helpful to others in the Multiple community, and to work with them on making it a nicer place for yet, others.  PLUS, we enjoy the sewing, particularly the volunteer work.  Maybe it is contradictory working on volunteer instead of helping Rich make money.  That thought comes up periodically.  I feel strongly though that I'm on disability for a purpose.  What Dr. Marvin and I've worked on is making our life more livable so we're not at the point of wanting to commit suicide all the time.  I'm not saying it doesn't come up, but again as mentioned before we don't want to live in that kind of space by being forced to do what's good for others, but not good for us.
    • Ahh, I know one conversation we're now remembering.  Casey was out and complaining about Annemarie.  Casey was explaining that she was the one trying to wait very patiently for Rich's pie to be out, but then when the apple pie was finally done, Annemarie ate the pie and didn't share.  No amount of stomach counting was going to convince Casey it was LIKE eating, because it wasn't to her.  Holding up the fork was a tease, but then it went to Annemarie and not her.  Annemarie was out for a snarly moment, scared Casey and then disappeared.  I don't know who had it after that.  Someone who understood the story at least.
    • I reluctantly agreed to see K. I vaguely remember our first session. I was intimidated by her. She’s very, very pretty and to me, it was a huge challenge that I, a mad, crazy, ugly person could sit for an hour every week with her. Well, K has been amazing. She accepted me as a whole; and was the first professional to have understood that my “self harm” wasn’t remembered. I just ‘found myself’ having injured myself/having been injured ((see here).
    • I was broken into I don’t know how many pieces who helped me survive. I denied the existence of the dissociative parts for such a long time.
      Now, trying to work together, as a team is challenging, to say the least. Trying to manage traumatic memories that aren’t *mine* and all the emotions linked with them is one thing. Then there’s listening to what some have to say (many don’t speak).
      And so much more tough stuff.
    • Right now though, many of me/we are holding onto that intangible idea of hope and think it’d be a good idea to share it with anyone looking in. Since this blog began, we’ve been given huge hope-boosts from those who read and comment which we really appreciate.
      Thank you for reading, commenting and being an amazing group of bloggers.
    • We’re now almost six months post diagnosis and things have changed. K is amazing. Yes, we have our wobbles but she never tires of reassuring all of me that she cares.
    • I will tell you something of myself, I may have already told you but not the reasons why. This will probably not go over well and may scare you in some way but I am going to tell you anyway, and I will not be holding anything back. I am willing to accept whatever happens
    • In 2011 I tried, apparently unsuccessfully to kill myself. I was feeling of no worth, I was deeply depressed and so full of anger at myself and my lack of not being in control of me, my emotions, not being able to support my family. I was having constant flashbacks of horrible things not only from my recent past but from things that were done to me as a child.
    • This was and will always be the single most vivid memory I have or will ever have. I was safe for once in my life.
    • This week there were several new articles involving trauma and abuse crimes. These included Ariel Castro victims’ compensation (H. B. No. 197), a Satanic murder trial, an attorney charged in a world wide pedophile ring (chat room 70,000 members), a sadistic cult leader abused and enslaved six women and dozens of children, Jimmy Savile up to 30 hospitals involved and police censored the Jimmy Savile interview transcript (royal connections were removed).
    • Letty did not want to leave my friend’s house today. It broke her heart to leave as we had been there all weekend. She cried in the car for much of the way home. It was a long two and a half hours home. It’s still disconcerting to have the awareness that there is a part of me that was upset with leaving, and another part that was very calm about it.
    • I know I should write more, think more about why Letty gets upset when she anticipates being alone. But my brain just shuts down when I contemplate this, and when I start to write my brain goes blank as well.
    • All I can do is tell Letty that it will be okay. But I don’t know that it will be okay. It’s what I hope for us, more like a prayer, a wish, a hope set out into the universe every time it is uttered.
    • I am SO sorry to all of you who have emailed recently.  My life has been completely mental over the past two weeks and things are slowly returning to semi-sane.  I will answer your emails over the next two days.  I’m hoping those who were struggling are feeling a bit better and hadn’t given up hope on hearing from a fellow survivor.  Again- so very sorry!  I’m tagging this post with the subjects of interest, hoping some of you will see the post and know your messages will be answered soon!  Best to all of you.
    • I’ve missed a lot of this month’s normal activities such as painting. My shop hasn’t been updated in a good bit because I’ve missed no less than 3 weeks of painting. Me, Faith Austin, the chick with a room full of art supplies, hasn’t lifted a brush or sketched a sketch in over three weeks.
    • trusted them and that trust was violated. I shake my head as I write that. I think that’s why its the art that’s affected. It takes a lot of trust to pour out what I do on canvas and paper. I know I pour my very soul onto the canvas at times and so to bare it once again and trust to that degree feels unsafe.
    • My mind has been racing with images, information and questions surrounding my teen years.  Still trying to answer the question of my involvement at that time.   Ever since my defector appeared to me at my high school in my senior year, I cannot lay the suspicions down.   I have asked all parts to help confirm or deny this and what I have been receiving is a dream life full of junior high and high school images. 
    • My son and daughter just finished a unit in their high school that discussed abuse and violence warning signs and what to do if you or someone else are a victim.  Additionally, there are specific laws for “professionals” to report suspected abuse.  If they suspect and do not report, they can be prosecuted on “neglect” charges.   I looked at a large list of “warning signs” for “professionals” and was aghast over just how many of these signs I displayed during these years, to several specific people. 
    • Ever since I can remember, the minute I got the impression that an adult was a caring person (usually noticed them being caring to another child) I would insert myself into their world so they would have to care about me.  Once “care” was established, then all of these above named behaviors would push through.   Insiders crying for help in every way possible except for the taboo, actually speaking the need. 
    • What is clear is that I was continually disturbed, dissociated, and desperate for help through all my teen years’ schooling.  What is unclear is if those feelings were coming from parts who were still stuck in past terrors feeling “safe” enough to cry for help OR if those feelings were present day fears that I literally had no idea of.
    • Nothing else accounts for their looking the other way.  If it were just one person, that’d be one thing, but there were several.
    • Of course, it was also my father who didn’t want me dressing like a hooker, hanging around with the kids who were known to use drugs, or get into any other “trouble” that would put a magnifying glass on my family.   Not out of love, mind you, but out of a need to keep everything hidden.