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.


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.

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.

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.

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.

Learning how to Love Yourself.

I have DID; Dissociative Identity Disorder. In short, my head is pretty much fucked up. I’ve functioned okayish for many years not aware of much that was going on. I’d lose hours, moments, days and weeks at time. I thought it was being very very forgetful. So I created many ways to keep myself informed. I write a lot. I kept a ton of To Do lists that cover typical routine months in advance. I used to use sticky notes all over the place. I enforced the idea that everything thing has a home; it’s proper place so I’d stop loosing my things. All this helped to keep my life from running off the rails.

Stress has a way of destroying the best of plans. I got worse. Blackouts more frequent. I was angry all the time. I didn’t understand the problems. I knew it was down right odd that me and my husband could feel and say the exact same thing. That is rather atypical. I knew I was stressed out. Body memory was over reacting and trigging way before real threats. I was a mess and I didn’t understand why.

It took getting caught switching for all of this to unravel; to have a chance to heal. Longer still for the other parts of me to start speaking up. Then it became more of a reunion in my head. My Peanut Gallery, always sitting on the bleachers of life, watching the game on a perfect summer day.

Acceptance is an amazing thing. My friends accepted me and understood what I was going though. They are like me too; kindred souls. Their trust in me and their acceptance allowed me to see, to learn how to accept myself, to face my flaws. It was my poly partners who saw and recognized this in me. It was them who helped me though the shock of this. It was also them who called out each alter and had a long conversation with each of them.

Trust is required for healing. I believe it is one of the things that broke me is that I didn’t trust myself. Trust is a risk. I’m not a gambler. I don’t like taking risks. And it’s very hard for me to trust. There are times that the possible outcome is worth the risk. I told my Master about what I had learned about myself. I was terrified that doing so would end the relationship. It didn’t. But I still kept my other parts away. It wasn’t like they weren’t interested in him. We were concerned that we’d confuse him or worse be wrote off as too much drama.

I don’t have tales of my alters going out and doing crazy things or claiming crazy things. We were always working to stay hidden, to not disrupt or get caught. Being labeled as crazy or being drama was the thing to avoid. Stepping out of the shadows is far more fearful thing than getting caught. It breaks the very rule of existence. So stepping out wasn’t really done. Being known and recognized was as good as it gets.

Telling my husband was a moment of healing for both of us. It gave us the chance to honestly work on our marriage. All that was unclear and muddled became clear. It was a true ‘oh shit!’ moment, ‘it all makes sense now.’ I didn’t know the hard work was just getting started.

Things get worse before getting better.

The odd part of being co-conscious is that in some ways it’s always felt that way. That the buzz in my mind were all the words I couldn’t hear before. I had rejected being split so I rejected the conversation that would happen but it didn’t prevent it. I’d freeze up, startle, choke on answering simple questions, always indecisive and close to perpetually confused.

Hearing them inside, it’s startling how familiar it was to me. My voices, my alters, my aspects of myself, each with a different voice, point of view, different motivations for life; fully formed individuals with an independence streak from hell. Team building was none of our strong points. Fights began.

It was ugly.
To be continued…

Part two