It’s not Thursday

I’m here listening to Jazz while sipping a chai latte. I already ate my blueberry Danish as I overlooked the early morn. These are things only I do. It’s a rare indulgence in my favorites. It’s one heck of a way to start a happy morning, alone with the gentle strands of music weaving in my soul.

I know it’s Friday. I woke up thinking it was Thursday. I laughed once I realized it, I’ve become so accustomed to rolling with the punches, with living with uncertainty it boggles me now. I wonder how many other things I’m going to discover I live with and think nothing of it.

Last night I realized how many stock excuses I’ve got that hides the DID. I’ve been playing an online game and I went back last night too it. Ran into a friend who knows our birth name and for a moment I had no idea who he was. That’s embarrassing but I’m so used to it, it doesn’t effect me. I rattle off a joke about how bad my memory is and wait for the whispers to tell me his name. She does and injects a whole set of memory and emotions as well. Turns out, he’s a friend Isa would like to keep. He’s a pleasant enough chap.

For a nanosecond I thought about telling the truth. For a nanosecond and then I decided not too. Am I being dishonest? I don’t know when he’ll see his friend again and I don’t know what to say to that. If I had, would he be understanding, would he accept things as they are or would he just write us off as a pair of nuts? Who knows, I don’t.

I’m not her and I know it will show eventually, in the tiny things but those excuses help smooth over the discontent folks have.

“My memory is shot. Just give me a moment, it will come back to me.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve been under so much stress. I shouldn’t have forgot x, y or z.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t tend to remember faces. Could you tell me your name again?”
laughs “I have a lot of favorites and I change-up. Thanks for remembering this one.” after receiving a mocha.
smiling appreciatively “Yes it’s my favorite station. But I also like this one. I hope you understand.”
after a comment of seeming a little different “ah, I feel good today.” said smilingly.

It’s all designed to stay hidden, unnoticed, out of the focus, keeping the peace, everything is fine and normal, nothing is wrong, it’s okay to return to your own worries and not mine, and I’ve got this.

Today it’s easy to forget I’ve got DID. The clamor inside is quiet and resting. I’ve got this.

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I’ve got holes in my armor.

Headaches seam to come with switching. Today I’ve been knocked down for most of the day with one that even pain pills barely touched. I’m more me now as well. I mean more Autumn. Don’t worry, there are times all this confuses me too.

There has been something that’s bothered me and Isa for a good while. It has us puzzled. I write poetry yet I claim to not feel. Actually that’s quite a bit of a contradiction. Writing poetry requires understanding and expressing emotions. So how is it that it’s me who’s writing the poetry?

I found a clue to this puzzle. Isa is our heart and I’m the mind. I’m split strangely quite neatly on ego / id lines to a point. Isa is mindless, reactionary, feeling, animalistic, sensualist, sexuality, needy, greedy, jealous, bundle that is desperate for love, affection, care, concern, attention, and comfort. Long ago I labeled her a love addict. I strongly believe it applies. And I can add she’s got a touch of OCD. In fact it was the OCD cropping back up that caused me to yank her back and place her in the cage.

And yet I too have issues. I’m the other side of the coin. I’m love avoident, suspicious, paranoid, analytical, arrogant, aggressive, asexual, as well as dealing with PTSD, CPTSD and I’m sure I could be diagnosed with more than just DID. But the biggest problem is the things I believe about myself.

Before I go into those, looking over this blog and seeing all of this from Isa’s point of view I realized I haven’t been participating in the healing at all. If anything I’ve been sabotaging from the inside.

I know I’m me. And I know that me, has me as Autumn, me as Isa, me as Jay, me as my birth name and has had me, in the various forms that were absorbed back in. That’s another story for another day.

I’m not comfortable as framing it as looking out the window as Autumn versus Isa. It’s more than just name, it’s a fundamental change in world outlook, behaviors and attitudes and triggers and reactions. I’m far more jumpyer than Isa. I’m far more liable to hit from a startled reaction. My head is on a swivel when in public. I carry stress in my body, in my clenched jaw, my knotted shoulders. I tend to hurt so much more than Isa physically. I am very quick to judge and to anger. I am prone to those angry outbursts. This is all part of why I’ve stayed away and stayed inside, only peaking out at times.

None of this has really been worked on sense the incident that I ended up with straight PTSD over. I had to learn to work with my reptilian brain and back down the adrenaline spikes, the racing thoughts, the hyper-vigilance, the chronic insomnia and get back to a functional level! Ha! Can you imagine what that means for us, a functional level of living? I was an utter mess. I knew it, didn’t like it and sought to change it. And I did. Our life was turned around but I think now, I stopped too soon.

There were a few longer lasting triggers that Isa had to work on and she did. She took about a decade to overcome them too. I took me six months to get back to rational thinking and a year after to be what I considered functional. Yes, I think I quit too soon.

I’m not so sure I can consider myself as a false self. I do know I hold things about myself that does qualify as a false self. It’s surprisingly painfully to think about those things.

Isa once asked me to ‘rewrite the script’ and I think she has a point. My life script is in part influencing everything else, perhaps even closer to being root than hers. I’m not comfortable with the idea that it is I who is the original personality. But perhaps I am the first split? I don’t know, that’s just something that’s always puzzled us all. Much like the joke, “who’s on first.”

Ripping off the bloody band-aid, the things I feel that I know are false:

I am hated and unwanted.
I am too aggressive, loud and uncaring.
I’m the bad girl, the trouble maker.
I’m unfeeling thus I can not be hurt.
I have no heart thus I do not cry.
I feel nothing thus your actions do not affect me.
I’m invulnerable.
I’m invincible.
I am run on cold logic.
You can not defeat me.
Of course I am superior, you are just not worth my time.

Yeah, it’s quite a delusional mix of beliefs, false beliefs that I’ve used to add armor to my thick shell of defense. In some ways all that I listed feels a bit like a child going ‘na na na boo boo. you can’t hurt me, no matter what you do.’ and sticking with it no matter what, complete with hands on the hips and blowing a raspberry. Was I that sassy as a child? I might have been.

The funny thing DID, at least ours, is it’s always been about staying hidden. There have been times of memory lapses between switches. And there has been more than few times of utter confusions and the feeling of what the hell am I here for now?

Like anytime I’d be out, aware that I’m out, it’s meant somethings gone critically wrong. And there has been cases where there was no clue left for me and thus no way for me to fix it. So I do have a bit of a rescue complex. It’s funny, I run to rescue myself. I bring this up because something happened September 14 2014. I don’t know what but I do know it’s locked into the body to the point I’m always back out on that date, a few days before and after. I think I’m shielding something painful so I carry the hurt on those days so the rest of me doesn’t feel it.

This time I’m out, I’m here because I know as a system, overall, we are hurting. I am hurting. And I was starting to do things that are damaging in the long term. It’s a drastic step to have me take over. Instinctively, I feel I am going to have to learn to deal with emotions. I can not just shove all that Isa feels over to the side and say that’s her mess to deal with. I am going to have to sort out Isa’s mess and mine as well.

I think Isa would be proud of me. I too am Seeking Sanctuary. I never thought I needed it. I know now that I do.

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I’ve plucked her back out
And placed her in the cage again
Not for failures want
But for needed rest.

Stasis needed to slow the bleeding
Let the healing begin
She will be alright
In time

Is it odd that I can pluck out parts of me and set them aside or even bring forward parts needed to express? Is this so strange from others? That I may indeed be choosing when and where to be what I am? That all that I am is based on this strange sense of choice?

Who can set aside their heart in such a manner? Let it sleep in twilight of life. Not so much as waiting, but giving it no focus as it mourns things lost, separate from daily consciousness. I’ve preserved qualities I hold dear and precious, innocence and joyful love. Even I morn my actions in my own way.

For I am alone, heartless and without her gentle touch. Is it strange to miss me being me? She would weep till the end of time if I allowed it. And she shall weep an eternity, but not in this dimension. I have moved her to a place no time exists, an eternity she shall remain. In this arrow of time, eventually I will call her back to see the sun has risen high and life calls forth. I know she will open up and bloom once again. For that is what she is, love personified, innocence and joy radiating.

For now I shall feel her loss, missing her beating inside me, her soft whispers tickling my ears. I know I should feel it more. Without her, I feel so little in this life.
I am Autumn. I am she who’s feel the sting of hate deep in her soul. I am she who’s bore the pain of life on her body. I am she who’s never given up no matter the cost. I am she who was rejected by those she protects. I am she who holds threads of time. I am she who is here, not to protect but to live. I am Autumn.

It will take time for me to get used to writing like this. I am more a poet than a writer. On Isabella’s urgings I will do what I can to keep this blog going. So, I am here to say hello. I believe I will be here for a measure of time indeed.

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Depression packs a punch

Brain fog, depression, body not wanting to cooperate with me; I keep pushing forward day by day. Just hoping to do better, feel better each day.

It’s Monday and I woke up at 3:30am. I haven’t been able to sleep much more than a few hours at a time. I managed four hours this time. I’m not even having the groggy. I just pop wide awake. I don’t know if I should be annoyed or not. I’m rolling with it, though.

Last few months have been mentally taxing. And my profile watching produced a most interesting thought. This 19-year old who I thought might be getting in over their head might actually be a 60ish something who’s having a blast trolling on the internet and being anything they wish to be. It’s a classic old school internet scam. The thought gave me giggles and relieved me a bit of my concern. Because if that turns out to be true, I’ll be glad of it.

Chances are, have no idea but I suspect it’s a long shot. I don’t often met such high-level fantasy players nor get sucked into their games. But this time, this one time I can say I wish this was the case.

I wish I could save everyone but I can’t. It’s not my job even if I see the danger, placed all the road signs, bordered with caution tape and set out barriers. If you ignore all that and keep going, it’s hard not to scream in frustration.

I can stand on the edge of the cliff and lend a hand back to solid ground. But I can not protect you from your own choices. I want you to grow up, grow in strength, grow in maturity so I will not baby you. I will stand aside and watch you and scream when you make a painful choice. It’s these moments I wonder why humanity decided the gods were like super parents, watching over, sometimes helping but mostly not.

It feels weird walking about life without a safety net under your soul.

It feels like maturity.  So be kind to each other.

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At the edge of the cloud bank

Maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m not feeling 100% better. More like 30% better. I’ve got enough brain juice to fire off some writing, thus this post. My health is teetering on an edge.

Somehow in the middle of brain fog I concluded I needed to go back on the regiment I was on in my early twenties. It took about a week before I could remember to follow though.  I’m now taking a bunch of pills daily, herbals and vitamin. It bothers me that it’s working. It bothers me that it points to some serious hormonal problems. I may be hypothyroid and hypopituitary but it’s just my current suspicion.

I’m not feeling the joint pain right now and my lower back isn’t on fire. My muscles have stopped threating to pull any time I move. My head is still clearing up, at least I’m out of the weeds. I could barely follow a story at it’s worse. I still feel the lingering tendrils of depression around me. I have no reason to be depressed and it feels weird.

And I could be wrong about what’s causing this. I look at my mom’s medical history and I wonder how much of it could be me. Or all that I’ve gone through really is nothing more than severe vitamin deficiency. Could it be the placebo effect healing me too? I don’t know. I just want to be back to functioning, moving around, happy and laughing again.

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Is Forgiveness For You?

Can Forgiveness be Self Improvement?

I cycle in and out of doing self-improvement exercises. I’ll follow something for a few days or even months before dropping it and evaluating the changes. If it’s a benefit to me, I keep it. I’ve found a lot of things that were just self-delusions, things that makes one feel good in the moment but have no long-lasting benefits. And so I drop those things and I look a little harder at folks who continue to push those things. Have they failed to evaluate its effectiveness? Or has so much been invested that for them to drop it, would crush them to admit they were wrong? Those are the thoughts that go through my mind.

From an early age, I committed myself to readily admit when I am wrong. I found it benefits me most of all as it continues to place me back on the path of Truth. There is everything to gain in admitting when one is wrong and so much more to lose when one refuses to admit the truth of it. It is an aspect I cherish in others. Those who never admit wrong doing travel a darker path in their own lives. I tend to call it willful ignorance.

Have you ever forgiven yourself completely?

The trouble with not loving yourself is that you become your own accuser, jury, and judge. In those eyes, you can never find any peace. Everything, every little thing you’ve done wrong is known and used against you constantly. You become your worst nightmare working to extract every wrong doing through punishment. It’s as if punishment; if enough punishment was doled out, we might become clean again. And we never become clean because we are always doing wrong. We always make mistakes. We always slip. Our self-punisher never sees us rise up again, nor does it see us working hard to stay on the right path. All it sees is our wrongdoing.

That is where I was for many many years. I worked on punishing myself for my wrongdoings. I didn’t have an alternative. I didn’t see a way out. And I was not willing to muzzle the truth to myself. I wasn’t going to lie and say I’m a good person. I wasn’t going to lie to myself like that. What other choices did I have?

Why not forgive yourself? How radical of an idea is that? Forgive myself. Sounds simple, really simple, like too easy kind of simple. It was anything but simple. It turned into a lot of hard work, self-examination, listening to the voice of the accuser, jury, and judge, actively listening to my deepest and darkest parts of myself. And accepting that this is who I was and what I’ve done and what I felt I deserved.

I still resisted forgiveness. I’ve got enough arrogance to think I didn’t need it, that I didn’t need to do it. I had to want it. It was repugnant to attempt to fake it. I had to want to forgive myself. But to do so, I had to admit that I had done wrong to myself, that I had actually done harm.

Seeing myself as someone who needed to be forgiven, seeing myself as someone who had hurt themselves, seeing myself as someone who could be forgiven shattered the power the accuser, jury, and judge had over me. All I had to do was ask, earnest, heartfelt ask myself to be forgiven. And I was, and I did.

From somewhere deep love flowed. Love is what forgiveness comes from. And forgiveness is a demanding task master. My work is not done. Saying ‘I forgive you’ is the beginning, not the end.

to be continued.

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Brain Fog

Brain Fog.

There are days I wake up and I have no energy, no motivation to do anything beyond peeing and breathing. Yeah, peeing is far more important than eating on those days.

This stuff, I call brain fog. I have no clue what it really is. I have moments I’m clear headed but exhausted, moments where I get clear headed and energy but mostly I battle various intensity of brain fog. I’ve figured out sometimes I can fix it though diet. I try to keep sardines, potatoes, almonds and bananas around. Most of the time, I don’t have any of it.

Right now, I’m at a 6 with brain fog, on a scale of one to ten and ten being somewhere just vegged out on something, just not here and one is super max energy and I’m blowing through things and making people scared with my activity. I have no idea how tomorrow will be. None of this I’ve ever been able to predict and it sucks big time. I’ve had plans for my life for a long time. Every time I get started, I run into bigger and deeper levels of brain fog. Kinda like I ran out of brain juice and I putter down like a train without steam.

This is a major problem in my life. I need to figure out how to fix it.

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