Once more into the breach, dear friends…

This is round four with Writer World boot-camp. Just got lesson 1 tonight. I get to write it this time, the worst writer in the system. I’m starting to think we’ve all taken the basics at this point. Why, oh why, does it take us four to five times as much head pounding to get it in?

Once more, we go to war, not with words and lessons therein, but in ourselves to battle the daemons of the past that drift like smoke on our chard remains of life.
Once more, we go to war, to win! To Write! To Express! To Feel! To Bleed!

Henry V, Act III, Scene I
[Once more unto the breach, dear friends]

William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers: now attest,
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge,
Cry ‘God for Harry! England! and Saint George!’

The end of a Dream

All things come to an end, eventually. But for us, this dream we’ve had, I only say we ‘cause being a multiple-it’s really Isa’s dream, sense too young to know any better ends today. Today I put aside her dream of power exchange once and for all.

It’s my job to protect us. I take it serious enough that I don’t do this lightly. I no longer see any way to engage in any power exchange relationship of the kind Isa desires with any measure of safety. I don’t see any way for a part of us to stand as a slave to someone separate from the rest of us. For it is I who am held accountable to all the actions and promises any one of us makes and if I must use that veto power then I need to veto this ahead of time, for all time. As I am not willing to be a slave, as I am not willing to let go of limits, expectations of civility and respect, and the ability to say no, I am out.

I know it is possible for us as a system to be submissive, slave even. I have proof dating six years back of this but that man in all the ways that are important has moved on. Isa needed more than he was willing to give her and her choices were unfortunate. She broke trust and broke herself in the process. I am responsible for it all. The buck stops with me.

I don’t like the idea of cutting away this major part of Isa. But it is a dream deferred if not completely impossible. I don’t see how anyone will be able to scale the walls I’m building now.

Isa knew her Master would have to be extraordinary. That much hasn’t changed. Now the probability of that man existing has narrowed to a degree that makes this a fruitless prospect. You could consider this as me quiting. I think of it as re-pointing all of us to a different goal that we can single mindedly pursue. A Master is no longer our life goal.

Isa isn’t doing too good. I’m stuck out here without her. She’s quiet, too quiet. Right now it’s just a lot of self care, placing her back in places she’s always felt safe, turning tunes on that make her feel safe. This betrayal will take time to get over. It’s just not worth it.

All this upset, all this work and struggle and lessons gained just to face the final lesson, to learn to let go. So I’m forcing us to let go of a dream. I can’t let any of us hold on to the past. I need us to walk into the future happily and hopeful. The past is just gonna drag us down.

I have large dreams that don’t have a damn thing to do with sex or relationships. I will bury our noses into those. Hard work will keep the daemons of the past at bay, long enough for them to evaporate.

Odd thought to all of this, is that there is no way for anyone to master us until I master all of me. And when I do master me, what need I of a master then? For it has always been out of love that Isa knelt. She may love but never kneel until I can first. And that, sadly, my friends, will never happen.

More thoughts about DID

A discussion group I’m in for DID, a member posted the video below about DID. I think this is an amazing find and one of the closest I’ve ever seen that describes me. I’m sharing this here so folks can get a better idea as to what it is and mostly, what it is not.

It took a bit to get through that video. The best explanation I’ve seen in a very long time. The more I related to what she was saying the harder it became for me to stay awake. It’s hard to face up to it.

But a couple of things I’d like to address, I think of all of this as being on a spectrum, with PTSD being one point and DID another point further on the line. Yet, CPTSD is somewhere before DID on this spectrum or crossroads of disassociative traumas. I believe that CPTSD is a part of DID or at least I feel they go hand in hand or one before the other. And the older we get, additional traumas have a chance to morph into CPTSD because it also reinsures due to past traumas.

I really appreciate that she mentioned the rules. I think that is an under-awareness of how much DID is actually built on rules. At least it is for me. Keeping hidden and keeping silent were the top two most important rules. But there are so many other rules, all designed to keep us safe and staying safe was the point of all of this. There is an order to the chaos.

About the whole bag thing, I recall a time before I could interact with the other parts of me. There wasn’t a wall or a bag or a car. It was just empty missing time, the vagueness of emotions, headaches, troubles and lots of confusions with other people and fighting with others. I was on the defensive near constantly. I hadn’t done or said something someone else said I did and I was sure I hadn’t and they were sure I had.

Maybe I’m weird but the bag thing doesn’t quite work for me. I think of myself like a giant with people inside who want control of the giant so we’ve gotten into body fights rather severe enough to land us into the floor because it became a free for all. And switching is rather sudden with massive headaches, sneaky as in waking up different, blinking – yeah literally blink and that’s all it takes- those tend to produce the worse headaches when switching out again or most recently, chair riders, having another ridding on your shoulder, sharing your mental space, eyes and ears.

I think there isn’t going to be a one size fits all sort of answer to what fits and what doesn’t in DID. I feel there is a sort of healing progression as well. I went from not having a clue to getting a clue to massive fights to settling down, to communicating and learning what we need as a system, to working on individual issues and problems.

You reap what you sow.

Next week a whole new insanity starts again. Here in Arizona, school starts up again. It’s a level of busyness that’s welcomed. I’ve had the kids take Karate classes this summer. It kept a nice routine going. Even had the in-laws came and stay for a week. Things are okay. It’s been a good summer.

I’m struggling again but I wonder how much is grief from old wounds, how much of it is just me? My mom’s birthday is on the 9th. I don’t remember a single day of it after she died. It’s a forgotten day. From July 11th to Aug 9th, almost always forgotten. The tail end of June is really rough for me. I still don’t want to look too hard into why. But the body knows, the body remembers.

How do I overcome these challenges?

I’ve been reading over old conversations with Dreamwalker and it’s very rough reading, seeing the villain really was me. I’ve not deleted one jot of his words and yet they stand in black and white testament to well a train wreck of hell. I can only take about 15 minutes of reading before I have to close it and I want to cry but I’m dry. It just hurts.

All is not lost. I can still learn the lessons he was teaching. I can still change and grow. I found my old five and ten-year plan he had me do. I half-assed it like nothing else. I was amazed. I need to redo it. I used to do these things for fun as a kid so what the ever living fuck was I thinking handing in that I will never know. It’s hard for me to think right now. I want to plan for the future. I have some goals but I need to do a break down on them, take a deeper look to see if I should keep them as goals.

These last two weeks have been eye-opening. Dreamwalker went silent and I about lost my mind in grief. My strength is nothing but bravado. I smacked up to just how much I’ve lied to myself. Losing his words was like I lost what was keeps me breathing. How can I say that I don’t trust him when I’ve depended on his words, his thoughts to guide my life still? I had never let go.

I have a lot of wants where he is concerned. But what I need is to stop waiting. As much as I want to hear him whisper “Good girl” in my ear, I need to have earned it first. I am unable to solve if he still wants me. I am unable to solve anything of this relationship. The fight was always inside of me, between holding to what I need versus what I am afraid of and my integrity held my feet into the fire until I found a way to run. And I’ve made him a part of me and it’s hard to run away from yourself.

Autumn was right in a way. We do push people away when they make us happy. We always have and we can trace this back into early childhood. But what we did to Dreamwalker was uncalled for and unprecedented in our history. I know I deserve abandonment. I did earn that. It’s a crippling thought that I’ve lost him forever. Even if it’s true, I refuse to let that be his legacy in my life. Through him, because of him, I’ve taken a harder look at who I am and how I act and who I want to be. I am Proud to have known him even for a little bit!

I need Autumn back and I need to be able to stay. I need to find that rhythm that makes the harmony in my life. I need Autumn’s strength and fortitude and I see she needs my empathy, compassion and ability to love. I need my Captain back in the seat so we can sail these waters again.

It’s about the journey, not the destination

Things are still pretty weird for me. Sense January I’ve had Isa ridding shotgun for most of the time. Silly chick doesn’t like cages. Well, she doesn’t like it when I shove her in one so she gets a fit and slams the damn thing on my shoulder and dares me to move it. Did I forget to mention we fight like sisters?

Switching is still, uncontrollable. Both of us are task oriented; she deals with sex and emotions and I get logic and life. Truth of the matter is, I had all the anger too. It got packed away inside of me to the point where not having feelings was a relief. And I’ve spent the last few months with Isa sitting on my shoulder, sharing herself with me, allowing me to feel anything other than anger.

I’ve also spent the last few months crying my soul out. The both of us actually. Every fresh hurt and pain became a way for older hurts to leak out for the first time. The more I allowed myself to cry, the more I allowed myself to feel, the safer it became to have and experience emotions. I think I understand the depth of the meaning in the phrase cathartic release. I’m not all wringed out yet. Still plenty wet inside.

Sorry Dreamwalker. I needed you to be the sadist you became. And you did so, so very well. I failed to count what this would cost your soul in the process. I don’t know how to make amends for that. I had to let go.

Having a relationship with us is difficult. More so when one is in the dark like my husband was for years. I have to say, he’s tenacious. But even he can make me smile. He’s a damn BRAT! And he keeps me on my toes. The way I feel about him is complicated but I do have feelings about him.

Everything I’ve ever loved, I kept hidden, first from the world at large and then from myself. And keeping it hidden went so far as to hate it. Because in the weird twisted thinking pattern I was stuck in, if I hated it then no one would covet it and take it away from me. No one would realize what I deemed as worthless was actually priceless. It’s a pretty core idea I’ve had and it’s shaped me in numerous ways. And in this case when I say me, I mean the whole, all of us, The Peanut Gallery.

I’m finding myself for the first time.

This is not a fire drill. This is real life.

Crap. Welcome to Friday. I have a splitting headache and I mean that literally and punnilly.

For a little while I thought I had it all together. Having all the baskets in the same egg and everyone is one and all is everyone. And now I am again standing alone, just one and all others are sleeping under the dome. But I’ve grown. These feelings are itchy and uncomfortable. Jealous of myself strangely, it’s true. Everyone loves Isa but me, I’m left out by the door.

I have a stronger sense of self than the rest. Think that’s from all the time I’ve spent with mop in hand cleaning spills. And now I’m here, alone, again, working to shut off the blaring alarms that have been sounding for a few days now. If I give Isa an inch, she’ll run and take the whole mile and keep on going.

I’m frustrated. I’m reading over the journals and freewrites and checking on work and it’s like reading something from somebody else. I know she wrote it and I know she is ‘me’ in a sense. It’s a pretty big mind fuck. I’m her opposite and it shows. When I show up, people tend to get really offended.

I’m not trying to upset them. I just want things my way and I don’t really bend on that. It’s the constant clash of authority that drives me nuts. And worse is the inability to stay put. I don’t even count the hours missing anymore. I count in days and months and lucky if I can backtrack moments.

I used to think I only came out when there was trouble. Cause Isa leads with her heart every time and there is always a mess to clean up after that. Normally I’m putting her shattered ass back together again, just like I always have.

This time, tripped five massive Red level alarms in the space of hours. A couple of ’em I hadn’t seen tripped in, oh my – a few decades at least. I know my protocols. I know what I am to do. And I know I’ve been in this very spot before. This time, I can feel.

Thinking Thoughts

I didn’t want to change him. I knew men don’t change. They are who they are. Either you accept them flaws and all or you don’t. It’s the don’t part that hurts the heart first. Then I made my own mistakes. I attempted to change me into something I’m not. That was my biggest mistake.

And now I’m nursing heartaches on heartaches. I helped in my own destruction. I battered down my own walls. I beat myself up, hard and for all for what? For a smile. For a atta-girl. Just to feel his pride settle down on me. It never will. It never did.

I refused to let pleasure-seeking be the thing that decides the flip of the coin. Logic as I understand it, granted I need to be careful of logical fallacies and exercise it to a greater degree, is what I choose to operate on. At least while I’m running the show. Emotions are such wayward things – impulsive, short-sighted and too often destructive.

I refused to ask so many things. I refused to confront so many different issues. I don’t believe it would have changed a thing. I wasn’t ready to accept that breadcrumbs are just breadcrumbs. I was starving thinking I was eating.

He once told me, he wanted to show me how amazing I am. I don’t feel amazing. I’m still waiting to see it. Rather I feel quite ordinary. But I was feeling low that day, very low and it was a hell of a boost to the id. I remember the smile it brought to my lips. It still brings a smile.

I didn’t want to change him. Still don’t want to change him.  There is some good there.  But right now, I’m worried that I hurt him. I don’t have a clue why I’d think that way or even feel that way.  Why would it matter that a cog popped off? It’s replaceable.

Or maybe I just wish I had hurt him. The thought of just being a cog in his eyes tears me up. An emotionless cog is how I felt in his eyes. Anything less than love an’ devotion was unworthy to spend a moment’s time on, a decision made to please him that ended up hurting me somehow. I’ve made massive mistakes.

What walls do I need to build up? Oh, right. I have a right to make a choice. I have a right to say no. And I also have a right to say yes. Oh, I have the right to make these choices of my own free will and in my own time.

It’s not such a little wall. It needs time.