tree house

The tree house, haven to all, is where I hang out when they summon me. This is the place each comes to give me news, memories, greetings. It is the place where they can connect and use my body to their own ends. This tree house is really the hub of all activity that concerns me. I have a campsite in my head, where they live. They all meet in each other’s tents or in the comfort/rocking chair tent to spend time with each other, but they come to the tree house to see me. I never even knew there was a tree house until I drew the campsite and it arrived in the drawing. The sign below does not bear the name Maureen, it says “Moe house.” Weird because I keep seeing Moe, looking exactly like me except smiling and laughing and being unafraid. Why doesn’t she just take over, or meld with me? Her name is down below, but my mind is the one in the tree house being filled with more crap than I can deal with. So much is coming at me so fast, and I can’t get all of it out to talk about it. I feel overwhelmed and ill equipped to deal with everything. I need a way to deal. I need a way to process the insanity. It’s going to take hours of journaling and hours of talking to get this shit out of my head. I am drowning and I can’t reach out for fear of rejection. I make many acquaintances and few friends. Friends mean connection, I either connect too much, too hard, and drown others in my need, or I shy from any true connection. In the tree house the alters connect to me and I want to run, climb down, hide, but for me once I am there, the trap door slams shut and I am there until I hear and listen to all he, or she, or they have to say. I always wanted a huge tree house, one I could actually live in, but now that I have one in my head, and it is filled with memory bombs, I am not so certain I want one anymore.

Rainbow Umbrella

Rainbow umbrella
I see rainy days
When you folded
All the colors touch
When you are open
Lines divide all

Rainbow people
I see every day
When you are open
All the colors touch
When you are closed
Lines divide all

Rainbow ideas
I have every day
When I am open
All the words touch
When I am closed
Lines divide all

Rainbow people
I live with today
When I am open
All their worlds touch
When I am closed
Walls divide all

Rainbow umbrella
I see rainy days
A mind became open
All the words I touch
With eyes half closed
Ideas just fall

Why Is It That I Know Who I Am...

Why is it that I know who I am, what I am, and I love me, know I am good, kind, loving, generous, decent, and then at the same time I am insecure, unsure, afraid, and constantly making mistakes? How am I both of these people, the confident one, and the lost one? I’m torn, confused. I wonder if these are alters of me, or sides of me. I wonder if I’ll ever triumph over the dark side, the small side, the insecure side. I don’t want to be her. I am not her. I know me; I am smart, funny, capable, and cute as hell.

I sometimes don’t recognize this person who is living on the outside of me like some kind of costume I can never take off. I want it off. I want me to show, to shine. Look at me, I am perfect. I am happy, carefree. I skip, I play, I am; Freedom. There is nothing wrong with the me I see, the me I think I am. But then there is the me that wants to be out, to be seen, not for attention like some think; no, not attention for me, for my pain, but attention for the pain and suffering of so many who didn’t survive. I survived. I am alive because I am strong and perfect and because the love of The Is, the light of the Universe is in me and I am unreachable by the nastiness of the world.

MJ poem

Pendulum swings
Big & little things
In our moods
In our minds
What feels so normal
So alive
Medication dulls
Creativity destroys
Cemented in place
Cracks
No medication
Isn’t there
Nothing holds
Flying, racing
Thoughts
Emotions
Confetti on the
Wind
A gun looks
Good
A mind shot through
Alone or taking hostages
Along the way

Strange the World

Strange is the world inside my head,
I wonder if one is called Fred.
Whirling boys versus swirling girls,
Pitter patter, like scurrying squirrels,
Run around my brain, up my halls,
Down my stairs, and around my walls.

This one feels guilt for liking dick.
Oh my god, that’s so sick!
Some make others feel even worse,
Come to save? Or just an evil curse?
Others try to fix every tiny thing,
Quick with a kiss for any sting.
No two eat the same, have similar likes,
All enjoy scaring me with memory spikes.

I have to listen, I hate asking inside,
Who owns this feeling, who just cried?
Talking to them makes me feel nuts,
Facing this tribe takes a ton of guts.
Some days I haven’t got any of those;
Too bad this is a door I can’t close.

Not just any old swinging door,
Oh no, it’s a trap, in the floor.

Don’t climb my tree, enter the house,
Once inside, Snap! Trapped like a mouse.
Memory bombs fly at my head,
Still wondering if one is called Fred.
This is the stuff I packed away,
Never thought it would return this way.
Many voices calling me at once,
They know about me; I’m the dunce.

How many live here in the zoo,
I’ve no idea at all, do you?
Revelations of names, dates, places,
Times, and in the mirror, new faces,
All come at me daily, twisting thoughts,
Like I’m the target and they take shots.

It is strange to live in the world, and in my head.
I wonder where they go when I am dead.
If I have one soul, in one body, alive,
Explain the existence of the alter hive.
I can’t explain them though I understand,
Bitch trying to describe, ain’t DID grand?

What is the point of this twisted bunch?
Saving my mind maybe? Just a hunch.

If I could lead a tour around the halls,
I would point out the crumbling walls
That once separated me from them,
And show the twisted flower stem
Of memories, violations, acts of pain,
That brought the group, to my disdain,
That helped survive that which destroys,
Leaving me to have the girls and boys
Living in, standing in, taking abuse
For the me who couldn’t. What’s the use?
The tour could never show the glory,
The wonderful invention, the real story
Of how they saved my tiny soul,
And in pieces they kept me whole.

Strange the world inside my head
Still wondering if there’s a Fred.

Ask Inside

Ask inside,
Ha, ha, ha,
As if I could do less
Every decision
Every thought
Every move
I make
Discussion, argument
Inside
Each opinion
Shouted out
Those who care
Some are silent
Cacophony
Voices
With faces
Voicing opinion
Voicing resistance
Disobey
Argue
Choose differently
Hear the roar
As all who
Disagree
Fling their thoughts
Into my thoughts
Put their voices
In my mind
And mouth
Who needs a
Conscience
When you have
A team
A system
A committee
To debate every
Damn decision
Ad nauseum
Ask inside, ha,
Why, when they
Voice everything
Every
Little
Thing
So next time
You ask inside

Fantastic

I am getting better,
Edges are tightening,
Solidifying,
All is going well.

Fantastic!
What are you
Doing these days?

I go to therapy
Four days
A week,
It is helping,
Lots.

Fantastic!
How do you
Get by?

Very well
On
Generosity,
Charity,
Tutoring.

Fantastic!

What about you?

I’m practicing.

Practicing?

Learning to say
Fantastic
Instead of
Bull Shit!

I Don't Want To Be Fucked Up

I don’t want to be fucked up anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up
But layer by layer the fucked up
Fucks up my layers and layers
Of screens and protections,
Projections on screens.
This is really me, I swear to you!
I swear, is this really me?
I haven’t a clue about this shit;
Shit for years I’ve been given clues.
They seek help to be known,
Had I known, I’d seek help.
I hide them away from everyone;
Everyone knows even when they hide.
People think it’s untrue, denying
Untruths because I think it’s untrue.
Denial a fault deadly left all alone;
Alone I’d be dead denial at fault.
They came here to save and protect;
Protect me? Save me? I’m good here!
Truly I am, just look in my eyes,
Eyes in the mirror, truly which am I?
I don’t want to be fucked up anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up.
Therapy “they” say is creating all this;
Creative therapy this makes go away.
How do I manage to hold others in?
Hold on, it’s me the others manage.
Where is the release valve, deflation’s tool,
Deflating the very essence of me, or we?
I don’t want to survive just to live;
I don’t want to live so hard to survive.
Thriving is better, allowing growth.
Growth is better, allowed to thrive.
Where is the answer hidden inside?
Inside is the answer I’ve hidden.
I didn’t create them on my own.
The brain owns their creation;
All by itself it built these walls,
Walled in, all by myself built,
Unknown to my mind in part,
In parts my mind is unknown.
If this is the way a brain survives,
Then surviving is a brain thing.
Damn lucky for me I have smarts!
Smart ass me thinks, lucky be damned!
I don’t want to be fucked anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up.

They Work for Me

They Work for Me


Is it possible,
Could it be,
That someday
I will be me?

What are the odds
That day will come,
If not just one
Out of many, some?

Funny thing to live
In this group,
Who’s who
In the crazy troupe?

Some show up
Then don’t come back.
So damn many
I can’t keep track.

If I made this up
And they were fake,
Probably a list
Is what I would make.

Some who outside show
And who some don’t,
I never see or hear.
Let me in, they won’t.

Why are some a part
Of my conscious mind,
Fully loaded so to speak,
And others hard to find?

I still lose bits of time.
If I called them “friend,”
If I acknowledged,
I thought that would end.


They come in,
Out I go.
Some notice,
Few know.

I fool myself to
Think I have control,
But truly who
Controls a soul?

They seem to know
Times they should hide,
And when to show,
I’m along for the ride.

Oh gee! And gosh darn!
Shouldn’t I be thrilled
Riding such a coaster?
But couldn’t I be killed?

Why do I hate
Certain ones?
They hate me,
And kick my buns.

Tricksters all,
Using me as pawn
To fuck with people on
Whom truth won’t dawn.

This isn’t me,
But rather a host
Of alternates,
I’m just a ghost.

Tricky they believe
Themselves to be,
But the trick is
They work for me!

10/13/10

Just because I haven't posted in a long time

It is truly amazing how the Is is working in my life. Call it God, Goddess, the Is, no matter, the Higher Power, the creator is making a big difference in my life. I walked out of a life I hated, full of fear and anxiety, full of feelings of inferiority and self loathing, to become homeless. I never thought homeless would be an adjective that described me, but it does in a sense. I am now blessed enough to be living in a transitional home for a year if I need that long. I have some really great friends. I have someone special taking care of my kitty for me until I can take care of her myself again. I found a church where I can believe in my own way and not feel llike I am doing something wrong. I have food enough, a roof over my head, gas generally comes to me when I need it. But the truly best part of all of this are the services of therapists, social workers, and agencies that have come my way. My needs are being met. I am working through the tough stuff a little at a time.
I am coming to terms with the fact that I do indeed seem to be multiple. But every time I think this is it, I accept them, then someone new shows up or new memories are transferred from them to me and I get all wigged out and start thinking it’s all crap and I made it all up. But today, right now, I know that there is no way I made it all up. I am not the only one in denial, my family denies, my friends do not accept, and I am now certain of which are the really good friends. There are so many people in my head, so many that friends have seen and not known who they were dealing with. How do I convince anyone that I am not lying now when I have lied and created falsehoods to hide my inner selves from others forever? How do I make this real for anyone? Those of you who are accepting of me, all of me, thank you.
I thought all of my alters were created during childhood trauma, but in making a Power Point slide show of faces, Big Mikey showed up and on further investigation of who he is, when he came to be, why he is here, I found out he came when Buddy died. He came to be the brother I lost in a sense. I’m feeling really weird about him. He says he is Mikey grown up, but how is that possible? How do I have two with the same name? And why is there a big Reeny too? Big Reeny came when we when we graduated Cerritos College and had no idea how to procede, what to do, where to go.
I came up with this the other day, you might find it confusing, but it makes perfect sense to me. “I just had this crazy idea that I don’t exist, that I have never existed, that I have been trying to exist, to prove to others I exist, all the while never believing I exist, and because I don’t believe, I don’t exist!” Chew on that for a few minutes.

What is it Like? a poem

What is it Like?


What is it like?
You want to ask,
To wear so many faces
Like a costume and mask?

The things I don’t know,
The memories they show,
Make living with it,
Feel like shit.

Memory is tricky,
Feelings are strange,
They’re them, and they’re me,
Kind of an inner exchange.

We feel like we’re faking,
Others time we are taking,
We don’t need to pretend,
We made them up in the end.

So we wonder is this real,
All of these people I wear?
The ritual horrors of childhood
They came to share.

Always there have been
Those around, sort of kin,
With people inside
That they also hide.

How we find one another
Is the same as with magnets.
We sort of clump together,
We, the wounded sets.

Fist you ask the question,
Then say it is all suggestion.
You just will not see
All the pieces of me.

This is not fun for me.
It is not fun for anyone one.
Tell me why you think
I would create for fun?

In essence the mind did
Create the others in my kid
To protect me from pain
I could not contain.

I have wanted to blow them
Out of my head with a bullet.
I want to bleed them from me.
They just want an outlet.

Years of being me when they
Want recognition one day
Has made them all celebrate
Being free even though it’s late.

You don’t have to believe me
But if you think it’s shit,
Don’t ask me to tell you
About it one little bit!

Friends

This will never be read by the people I want to read it, but I am going to write it anyway. I made a choice to survive, and more than survive to thrive. The choice meant walking away from one of several abusers, and a parent who claims she didn’t know about the abuse, but I know she saw evidence of it, so her insistence is denial. In making this choice I had to decide when and to whom I let loose my new phone number and location. I was told certain people were asking around about me on behalf of my family, family told me this. It turns out they were not seeking me on behalf of my family; I was given false information to make me lose more friends. It has indeed lost me friends. So has an error in interpretation of something I said a while ago concerning one of my cats. I asked someone about what to do with my feral kitty when I was about to take a job as caretaker of an elderly woman. The job included being able to bring my kitties with me, but the feral one needed someone more patient than I to take care of her. My question was misinterpreted so that when I did leave the family and leave my cats behind because I could not live with them in a car, the person I had asked was certain I meant to be mean to my cats. I never meant for bad things to happen to them. I had no idea I was leaving when I did it. Violence was erupting in the household and I had a small window in which to pack my car and flee. I left behind my precious kitties and a whole lot of other important things because they would not fit.

For the friends who don’t understand what I did, imagine being hurt repeatedly by someone, getting a break from it, and then seeing it coming your way again; would you stay? If you had in the past, but it turned out badly, would you stay? If you had grown a spine in therapy, and had the support of loving people, would you stay? I couldn’t.

I am sorry I have lost friends, and certain family. I regret that there is so little understanding from those who have claimed to love me. I am not the same person now. I am stronger. I am lonelier. I see more clearly what is and is not important. Today a shower that I can linger in because no one is waiting for me to get out so she can get in is a blessing. People who love me enough to bring me small gifts of change, gas, food, anything a homeless person might need, are indeed the generous and wonderful ones. A friend who fosters my cat while I wait for shelter plus housing assistance is one of the most wonderful friends I have.

Any friend who can forgive me my hasty departure, and trust that what I did was the right thing for me and everyone else, is truly a good friend. Nothing I have done was done lightly. Nothing I’ve done was done to hurt anyone, not even my messed up family. I did what I did to save myself from a hell I had lived in off and on always. I am done living in hell. If you are still friend, I am grateful, if not, thanks for the time we did have.

I Am Not Leaving My Mom

I Am Not Leaving My Mom
My mother is not well; among other things she has had a stroke, stints in her coronary arteries, and mysterious blood loss. I am trying to get on my own feet and out of the house. I am catching a lot of flack about trying to get out of the house at a time when my mom is going to be eventually come home. Try to understand that if I cannot stand on my own, what will happen to me if my mom passes away? I must be able to stand up and take care of myself. I do not want to be penniless, homeless, and dependent on others. It is not wrong for me to be thinking of taking care of myself now because if I can’t take care of myself, I can’t be there for, or take care of my mother.

I am not leaving my mother. I will still be here to take care of her when I am needed. I plan to share the care of our mom with my brother. I would never just walk away from the woman who has supported me my whole life, and especially for the last 5+ years since I had to move back in with her. She supports my decision to get on my own feet. She supports my decision to follow my heart and get my MFA.

I AM NOT STUPID, are you listening Dad?

So many years ago I finally shed the label of stupid that I felt both of my parents, but especially my father, had put on me. I shed it and I knew myself to be smart, very smart. Then a few days ago my father and I are talking and he is going on about smoking, bugging me about it, pissing me off, making me more determined to smoke, and he says that smoking makes me stupid. Now he doesn’t say I’m stupid once, or even twice, but four times he says smoking is making me stupid. And there I was, that eight year old who felt useless and stupid and incapable of anything. I was lost again; I lost hold of who I know I am. It hurt, oh God did it hurt. I had to go and talk to the Is to ask why, why would my father want me to feel bad about myself?
I am so tired of feeling bad about myself. I begin to feel better about me, I make progress and then the word stupid can pull me back to a place I no longer want to be or even belong.
Do you want to know what I think is stupid, staying married for over 30 years to a woman who treats everyone like shit, who makes you choose between her and your oldest daughter, who is so awful verbally and emotionally to her own kids her son’s suicide note says he hates her. That is stupid. He is stupid to stay with her. I think he feels as bad about himself as he wants me to feel about myself. The difference is I realize I don’t feel good about me and I am taking steps to change. I have changed. I reject the labels of shame, and other negative labels that my father and my family have placed upon me, fuck them. I am smart, I am pretty, and I am capable. I’ve been stagnating someplace safe, but I am working to change that as quickly as possible.
I am changing my life now and every minute.

Suicidal thoughts

The title might make you think I am feeling suicidal right now, I am not, much. I want to write about a couple of things related to suicidal feelings, first is that I have realized that I have done something similar to what my mother used to do, tell people that I am thinking of it hoping they will save me. The second is that on some level, at all times, I am somewhat suicidal. I think about death a lot. I feel like escaping my life so very often, if people knew how often, I might be locked up forever.

I do not like my life, my past, my present, and what my future looks like from here, of course no one really knows what the future holds. I want to escape all of my debt. I want to escape all of my fears and anxieties. I want to escape my compulsions. I want to escape my alters. I just want to be myself, free of the baggage I have been dragging around for so long.

But, and this is a big but, if i leave this life, I lose friends, I lose the family I have chosen for myself. I would lose so much that is good in my life.

I am working with, and sometimes against, a therapist that specializes in the kind of things I think and feel, with PTSD, DID, OCD, and anxieties of all kinds. I have faith that she can teach me to overcome the crap and get on with my life.

I have realized that one reason I feel like I am still living my past is that since my brother moved in with us, I have been afraid I will do or say the wrong thing and set him off causing the anger and violence he holds just under the surface to come out. I am basically afraid he is going to hit or beat me, which is what I grew up with, never knowing if Dad was going to hug or to hit. Being afraid sucks and so far I haven't learned how not to be afraid.

It is not surprising really that I think of death so often, it seems like the perfect escape from this life I am so tired of. My other escape is going to therapy, doing what I am asked to do or try, going to group, and sharing with others like me. I have a very hard time letting go of my brother's suicide. It affects much of what I do and feel.

list

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

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.

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.

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.

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.