1. Missing a therapy session sucks
2. cutting group down to 1 1/2 hours sucks
3. Mom being sick sucks
4. losing friends sucks
5. Helping people rocks
6. expressing a long held feeling is scary and was probably stupid!
7. thinking your friend believes something not nice about you bites
8. mom getting better is awesome
9. getting to go to potrero is going to be awesome
10. Tutoring is fun
11. DVRs are convenient and totally awesome
12. my kitties love me!
13. I think working again will be good for a change
14. Having money again will be good
15. a car that costs $100 and actually runs is a huge blessing
16. Writing is awesome
17. Grad school is going to be great
18. getting published would be so cool
19. friends who offer up sofas to sleep on are rare and wonderful
20. clean laundry is a happy thing
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
ATTENTION
I have been accused repeatedly of doing things, almost everything I do, for attention. I will admit that there have been things that I have done for attention. I will also say that those things are few and far between contrary to people’s opinions. If almost everything I do is for attention, I do it unconsciously.
I spent years learning to cover up my lapses in time, my identities, my DID. Because I have been so good at doing this, not unlike so many other people with DID, I am now accused of lying about being DID. I lied to cover up my flaws and now, admitting to the flaws, exposing them, I am accused of being a liar about my flaws, ain’t life a bitch!
I learned early on in my family how to lie to cover up abuse, and then later get accused of lying about the abuse. I learned early on that it wasn’t normal to not be able to remember large chunks of the day or even the week, so now I am not normal for hiding being not normal? Is anyone else getting the irony here?
I have been more functional at times in my life, and considerably less functional. I am doing the best I can. I denied it time and again in therapy because I didn’t want to be DID, but therapists saw it. I dated a few women and had a few friends who are DID over the years, and every single one of them knew me for what I am, multiple, no matter how hard I tried to hide it or how much I denied it. I am now embracing what I have hidden so well for so long. I am working hard in therapy to come to know my alters and through them, know myself that much better. I hope that all of this knowing will lead to healing.
I have some faith in myself I haven’t had before. I have some goals which may or may not be realistic, but they are my goals and I plan to work for them. My first goal is to be able to work without having attendance problems. My next goal is to get out of my mom’s home and begin to support myself. The rest of my goals are mine and I don’t need to spell them out for anyone unless I’m asked.
I’ve lost almost every bit of support I once thought I had, and I have felt very lost. I’ve felt very lost for a long time. I misunderstand people, they misunderstand me. For the majority of my life, from childhood, I have wished I were either dead or had never been born. For a very special 8+ years of my life I loved and believe I was loved, and even in that time, the majority of the time, I felt like I would rather be dead than alive. From the outside my life has never seemed that bad. No one would look at my outward life, unless they witnessed certain physical abuses, and say it was a bad life. But people can’t see in my head. They can’t see how worthless I feel, how small, stupid, broken, hurt, sick, and tired I am inside. People get glimpses of it when I start expressing suicidal feelings, or describing feelings of worthlessness, but I never, outside of therapy, ever tell anyone how truly worthless and hopeless I feel. The part of my life when I felt best about me and about life was the few months I lived with Ed in Whittier on Friends Ave and that happy time ended when my grandfather passed away.
I try to put the real me into my poetry. I try to tell people how I feel, and they don’t believe me, or they think I say it to get attention or for effect. People think they know me better than I know myself. People think they know what does or does not hurt me or affect me. I don’t get it because I honestly can’t say I know shit about what goes on in the heads of other people unless they tell me, and then I have to take what they say as the truth because I can’t know any differently than they know.
So here is what all of this comes down to for me, lying for years about what is true, and being good at the lies, has made it impossible for people to believe me now that I have stopped lying. Now my truth is believed to be a lie. I lie to protect myself for the majority of my life because I am ashamed of these things in my head, and of the things done to me that I did not do enough, or anything, to stop, and when I finally tell the truth, then I get called a liar. And I have to ask myself, how much do people really dislike me to think that I am the kind of person who would make this stuff up? Why would I put myself through this hell? Why would people I thought were friends think that I would put myself in a place of such vulnerability in a world where mental illness has so much stigma attached? Were they ever my friends? Did they ever think very highly of me, or did they just put up with me? Have I only been tolerated because of other people in my life, because those people are liked? Perhaps.
So if people dislike me so much now, or never liked me at all, does that make every good thing I’ve done now something bad? Does it discount all of the good I have tried to do, or make false all of the friendship I have tried to show? Maybe.
Sadly, the people I would most like to read this, never will.
I spent years learning to cover up my lapses in time, my identities, my DID. Because I have been so good at doing this, not unlike so many other people with DID, I am now accused of lying about being DID. I lied to cover up my flaws and now, admitting to the flaws, exposing them, I am accused of being a liar about my flaws, ain’t life a bitch!
I learned early on in my family how to lie to cover up abuse, and then later get accused of lying about the abuse. I learned early on that it wasn’t normal to not be able to remember large chunks of the day or even the week, so now I am not normal for hiding being not normal? Is anyone else getting the irony here?
I have been more functional at times in my life, and considerably less functional. I am doing the best I can. I denied it time and again in therapy because I didn’t want to be DID, but therapists saw it. I dated a few women and had a few friends who are DID over the years, and every single one of them knew me for what I am, multiple, no matter how hard I tried to hide it or how much I denied it. I am now embracing what I have hidden so well for so long. I am working hard in therapy to come to know my alters and through them, know myself that much better. I hope that all of this knowing will lead to healing.
I have some faith in myself I haven’t had before. I have some goals which may or may not be realistic, but they are my goals and I plan to work for them. My first goal is to be able to work without having attendance problems. My next goal is to get out of my mom’s home and begin to support myself. The rest of my goals are mine and I don’t need to spell them out for anyone unless I’m asked.
I’ve lost almost every bit of support I once thought I had, and I have felt very lost. I’ve felt very lost for a long time. I misunderstand people, they misunderstand me. For the majority of my life, from childhood, I have wished I were either dead or had never been born. For a very special 8+ years of my life I loved and believe I was loved, and even in that time, the majority of the time, I felt like I would rather be dead than alive. From the outside my life has never seemed that bad. No one would look at my outward life, unless they witnessed certain physical abuses, and say it was a bad life. But people can’t see in my head. They can’t see how worthless I feel, how small, stupid, broken, hurt, sick, and tired I am inside. People get glimpses of it when I start expressing suicidal feelings, or describing feelings of worthlessness, but I never, outside of therapy, ever tell anyone how truly worthless and hopeless I feel. The part of my life when I felt best about me and about life was the few months I lived with Ed in Whittier on Friends Ave and that happy time ended when my grandfather passed away.
I try to put the real me into my poetry. I try to tell people how I feel, and they don’t believe me, or they think I say it to get attention or for effect. People think they know me better than I know myself. People think they know what does or does not hurt me or affect me. I don’t get it because I honestly can’t say I know shit about what goes on in the heads of other people unless they tell me, and then I have to take what they say as the truth because I can’t know any differently than they know.
So here is what all of this comes down to for me, lying for years about what is true, and being good at the lies, has made it impossible for people to believe me now that I have stopped lying. Now my truth is believed to be a lie. I lie to protect myself for the majority of my life because I am ashamed of these things in my head, and of the things done to me that I did not do enough, or anything, to stop, and when I finally tell the truth, then I get called a liar. And I have to ask myself, how much do people really dislike me to think that I am the kind of person who would make this stuff up? Why would I put myself through this hell? Why would people I thought were friends think that I would put myself in a place of such vulnerability in a world where mental illness has so much stigma attached? Were they ever my friends? Did they ever think very highly of me, or did they just put up with me? Have I only been tolerated because of other people in my life, because those people are liked? Perhaps.
So if people dislike me so much now, or never liked me at all, does that make every good thing I’ve done now something bad? Does it discount all of the good I have tried to do, or make false all of the friendship I have tried to show? Maybe.
Sadly, the people I would most like to read this, never will.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Losing Time
Lost Time
I lost time yesterday. I lose time in bits and pieces frequently. I have even lost bigger chunks of time, although I’ve always been able to cover. Yesterday I started getting a migraine, so I went to lie down and nap for a while. Lying down is the last thing I remember until coming to awareness drying myself off after a shower. I guess I actually lost a chunk of time earlier that I don’t remember losing. It seems that MJ and Mikey decided on a plan. Now usually I know everything Mikey does, but he can hide from me, as can all of the alters. MJ asked Sean for details on how to use his beard trimmer as a haircutting clipper. Then after I thought I was lying down napping, MJ and Mikey got up and cut all of my hair off. So when I came to after my shower I was shocked to find I had no hair.
Now many of you don’t believe I am DID. You don’t believe my experiences. That’s truly ok, you are entitled to believe whatever you believe. But this is real for me. This is my life, always has been. So often I come to after “they” do something that will embarrass me, get me in trouble, etc. I have a shoplifter. I have children, mischievous children, teens, adults, gay boys, girly girls, all hanging out in my head. It is often a cacophony of voices, but sometimes they are silent and I am getting better at hearing them, giving them time, and working with instead of against them, and yet this kind of thing happens. Learning who they are is taking time. Learning what they do is taking time. Learning what they know will take a lot of time. I have been getting memories, in flashes, which when all bunched up, can overwhelm me. I remember things from my adult life, from the years with my ex partner. From years before my ex partner and I were together. The memories are of freaking out and creating drama; they are of finding myself in the middle of things and not knowing how I got there. I also am beginning to know that certain alters come forward when I drink too much and do things that I would never do, including touching people in ways I would never touch people.
I have been losing time my whole life and I have gotten damn good at covering up for it. I come to in the middle of things, I am told I have done things, I find things done in my room, saved on my computer, written in my journals, and I know that I did not do these things. So I have to lie. I have to cover because I don’t know how or why these things happen until 1995 when a therapist tells me she thinks I dissociate. I throw a box of tissue at her head. Several therapists after this make the same suggestion and I deny lost time and all of those things. I deny and deny, even when girlfriends and dates who are DID tell me they see it in me. Until the night this therapist catches me in a dissociative state as Mikey. I couldn’t deny and was actually tired of denying at that point. I just wanted to admit it and see if I could get help. Now I am in this nightmare where I thought I could tell my friends and they would be supportive, instead they have rather turned their backs on me. And now I am alone in ways that I hate and fear and feel make me worse. I want friends. I want a girlfriend. These things will not be possible until I am better if not well.
I don’t get to date for at least two years. I may not have any friends for even longer. I have made a few new friends, but I will drive them away as I have all of the others.
I lost time yesterday. I lose time in bits and pieces frequently. I have even lost bigger chunks of time, although I’ve always been able to cover. Yesterday I started getting a migraine, so I went to lie down and nap for a while. Lying down is the last thing I remember until coming to awareness drying myself off after a shower. I guess I actually lost a chunk of time earlier that I don’t remember losing. It seems that MJ and Mikey decided on a plan. Now usually I know everything Mikey does, but he can hide from me, as can all of the alters. MJ asked Sean for details on how to use his beard trimmer as a haircutting clipper. Then after I thought I was lying down napping, MJ and Mikey got up and cut all of my hair off. So when I came to after my shower I was shocked to find I had no hair.
Now many of you don’t believe I am DID. You don’t believe my experiences. That’s truly ok, you are entitled to believe whatever you believe. But this is real for me. This is my life, always has been. So often I come to after “they” do something that will embarrass me, get me in trouble, etc. I have a shoplifter. I have children, mischievous children, teens, adults, gay boys, girly girls, all hanging out in my head. It is often a cacophony of voices, but sometimes they are silent and I am getting better at hearing them, giving them time, and working with instead of against them, and yet this kind of thing happens. Learning who they are is taking time. Learning what they do is taking time. Learning what they know will take a lot of time. I have been getting memories, in flashes, which when all bunched up, can overwhelm me. I remember things from my adult life, from the years with my ex partner. From years before my ex partner and I were together. The memories are of freaking out and creating drama; they are of finding myself in the middle of things and not knowing how I got there. I also am beginning to know that certain alters come forward when I drink too much and do things that I would never do, including touching people in ways I would never touch people.
I have been losing time my whole life and I have gotten damn good at covering up for it. I come to in the middle of things, I am told I have done things, I find things done in my room, saved on my computer, written in my journals, and I know that I did not do these things. So I have to lie. I have to cover because I don’t know how or why these things happen until 1995 when a therapist tells me she thinks I dissociate. I throw a box of tissue at her head. Several therapists after this make the same suggestion and I deny lost time and all of those things. I deny and deny, even when girlfriends and dates who are DID tell me they see it in me. Until the night this therapist catches me in a dissociative state as Mikey. I couldn’t deny and was actually tired of denying at that point. I just wanted to admit it and see if I could get help. Now I am in this nightmare where I thought I could tell my friends and they would be supportive, instead they have rather turned their backs on me. And now I am alone in ways that I hate and fear and feel make me worse. I want friends. I want a girlfriend. These things will not be possible until I am better if not well.
I don’t get to date for at least two years. I may not have any friends for even longer. I have made a few new friends, but I will drive them away as I have all of the others.
Friday, May 14, 2010
after triggered
After I wrote triggered, I got very upset. I was overwhelmed by memories because of assessments I was doing for my therapist. I took some of my pills and put them in my pocket and then I went to a park that has great memories for me. It is a place from childhood and also a place I went with my partner when we were together. It is a place we took our daughter. I have caught fish in the pond, fed the ducks, been chased by the geese and even swam across a short portion of the lake to an island and back again in Levi’s. I sat at the side of the lake and called a few people. I wanted to thank the people who had loved me and stood by me for so many years.
I had a long conversation with my therapist. I told her I was trying to decide between taking the pills and not taking the pills. I finally decided I wasn’t going to take them and I told her where I was. She freaking called the cops on my ass and got me held on a 5150.
I spent 4 days in the unit. It was awful for me. I couldn’t eat the food there. I couldn’t find anyone to talk to. I was forced to be friendly with a person I was afraid of so that I would not become one of her targets. Strange how that is, I was afraid of her, so I made friendly to fly under the radar. I was always nice to my brother to his face to make sure I didn’t give him any ammunition to get me later. I made nice with all of the boys/men who hurt me so they would maybe stop. Unfortunately my playing nice meant that they thought I liked the things they did.
I did not want to hurt myself; I just want to stop existing. I am confused by memories I did not have before. I am sinking under huge debt. I want very much to go back to school, but the job at Target would make that difficult at best. They won’t give me the 10 days off in December that I need to go to school. But maybe Target is just a step to a better, real job. I am overwhelmed by the feelings the memories bring up. I hate my body feeling like this. Parts of me were shutting down, I couldn’t pee. It was painful. I was feeling pain in places I didn’t know I had ever been hurt in.
I felt hurt in so many places I couldn’t even talk about it. My alters were switching in and out. I don’t remember all of my conversation with my therapist. I don’t recall the ride to the emergency room in LA. I don’t remember about half of my time in the unit that I spent 4 days in. I am told calls were made repeatedly to my therapist. I know I made a few; others in me must have made others.
I got home to find an email from my therapist telling me I can’t call her or email her anymore. That’s sucking big time. I need a connection. I need it, but I can’t have it because I abused it. Her email sounded angry and it hurt us. We all felt bad and hurt and scared that she was going to fire us as a client. We brought her flowers when we went in on Wednesday to try to make peace.
Then we went to group. In group we were told we say sorry too much. Now we feel like we can’t say it at all anymore. We don’t know in between. We don’t know grey areas; we know black or white, yes or no, all or nothing! So now we can’t make calls or texts, we can’t email. We can’t say we are sorry. We feel stifled and we haven’t written much of anything since we got home.
We are getting headaches again. I have a lot of pain right now. I took some Excedrin. I hope the headaches and body aches go away. I am going to lie down now.
I had a long conversation with my therapist. I told her I was trying to decide between taking the pills and not taking the pills. I finally decided I wasn’t going to take them and I told her where I was. She freaking called the cops on my ass and got me held on a 5150.
I spent 4 days in the unit. It was awful for me. I couldn’t eat the food there. I couldn’t find anyone to talk to. I was forced to be friendly with a person I was afraid of so that I would not become one of her targets. Strange how that is, I was afraid of her, so I made friendly to fly under the radar. I was always nice to my brother to his face to make sure I didn’t give him any ammunition to get me later. I made nice with all of the boys/men who hurt me so they would maybe stop. Unfortunately my playing nice meant that they thought I liked the things they did.
I did not want to hurt myself; I just want to stop existing. I am confused by memories I did not have before. I am sinking under huge debt. I want very much to go back to school, but the job at Target would make that difficult at best. They won’t give me the 10 days off in December that I need to go to school. But maybe Target is just a step to a better, real job. I am overwhelmed by the feelings the memories bring up. I hate my body feeling like this. Parts of me were shutting down, I couldn’t pee. It was painful. I was feeling pain in places I didn’t know I had ever been hurt in.
I felt hurt in so many places I couldn’t even talk about it. My alters were switching in and out. I don’t remember all of my conversation with my therapist. I don’t recall the ride to the emergency room in LA. I don’t remember about half of my time in the unit that I spent 4 days in. I am told calls were made repeatedly to my therapist. I know I made a few; others in me must have made others.
I got home to find an email from my therapist telling me I can’t call her or email her anymore. That’s sucking big time. I need a connection. I need it, but I can’t have it because I abused it. Her email sounded angry and it hurt us. We all felt bad and hurt and scared that she was going to fire us as a client. We brought her flowers when we went in on Wednesday to try to make peace.
Then we went to group. In group we were told we say sorry too much. Now we feel like we can’t say it at all anymore. We don’t know in between. We don’t know grey areas; we know black or white, yes or no, all or nothing! So now we can’t make calls or texts, we can’t email. We can’t say we are sorry. We feel stifled and we haven’t written much of anything since we got home.
We are getting headaches again. I have a lot of pain right now. I took some Excedrin. I hope the headaches and body aches go away. I am going to lie down now.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
triggered
In order to help me get permanent disability my therapist asked me a crap load of triggering questions. I remembered things I hadn’t before. My body started feeling like it was being touched or was going to be touched. I started getting paranoid. I get paranoid a lot, but never thought of it that way. I start thinking I am the reason people aren’t around, that I am the reason they are sick. As if the fucking world revolves around me, HA!
The thing about all of these “lovely” memories is that I am not allowed to work with my memories. I feel like I have been forbidden to remember. How in the hell do I not remember what is in my head already?
I feel like I am in prison and never going to be free. At times I don’t know if anything is real. I wonder if it was all a dream. So many tell me I am a liar, how do I know they aren’t right. I know what I know and yet I doubt. How can I ever be sure when so many are against me, disbelieving?
I am having so much trouble just getting through a day. I can’t get out of the house alone without monumental effort. I don’t think my friends know how much it takes for me to get out and go see them. But I want to see them so I go. I have to really work myself up to go to therapy, where I know I am going to leave feeling worse than when I went in. And then I have to find a way to feel safe and ok hanging around LA until time for group some 8 hours later.
I keep being told to ride the wave, as if I will get over these feelings, news flash, they never go away. When “I” seem to be in a good place, check and make sure it’s me, because I think it could be another. Some of us do have good days, but Maureen never has good days. She is not riding a wave; she is sinking below the waves and is dying slowly. I really feel this bad daily. I have no idea which of my alters is going to go to work at target, but it won’t be me. Maybe Moe, she’s funny and light hearted and a joker. She’s the one who can be fast fun and friendly.
Family hates me. Friends have walked away. I isolate, avoiding people when I am down. I isolate avoiding people most of the time. I don’t want people to know how fucked up I am and yet I write this crap, this blog, just so people who are interested can see what goes on in my head.
The thing about all of these “lovely” memories is that I am not allowed to work with my memories. I feel like I have been forbidden to remember. How in the hell do I not remember what is in my head already?
I feel like I am in prison and never going to be free. At times I don’t know if anything is real. I wonder if it was all a dream. So many tell me I am a liar, how do I know they aren’t right. I know what I know and yet I doubt. How can I ever be sure when so many are against me, disbelieving?
I am having so much trouble just getting through a day. I can’t get out of the house alone without monumental effort. I don’t think my friends know how much it takes for me to get out and go see them. But I want to see them so I go. I have to really work myself up to go to therapy, where I know I am going to leave feeling worse than when I went in. And then I have to find a way to feel safe and ok hanging around LA until time for group some 8 hours later.
I keep being told to ride the wave, as if I will get over these feelings, news flash, they never go away. When “I” seem to be in a good place, check and make sure it’s me, because I think it could be another. Some of us do have good days, but Maureen never has good days. She is not riding a wave; she is sinking below the waves and is dying slowly. I really feel this bad daily. I have no idea which of my alters is going to go to work at target, but it won’t be me. Maybe Moe, she’s funny and light hearted and a joker. She’s the one who can be fast fun and friendly.
Family hates me. Friends have walked away. I isolate, avoiding people when I am down. I isolate avoiding people most of the time. I don’t want people to know how fucked up I am and yet I write this crap, this blog, just so people who are interested can see what goes on in my head.
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