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 not chocolate

As I sit here quite content in front of my new computer, I feel…spoiled rotten. And for the moment the phrase ‘spoiled rotten’ strikes me oddly. How do I mean to say I was lavished with things I like and it makes me uncomfortable even though I enjoy both the items and thoughts behind them?

My husband has been planning this series of purchases ever sense my laptop bit the dust. And I’ve stayed away from the process of selecting the components until today. We had to go out and pick a monitor and keyboard. Looking at the price tag was a mistake. I spazzed. He spoils me and I really feel spoiled.

I’m happy and giddy and uncomfortable and scared-all at the same time-all pretty high in intensity. It’s the second part I am unsure how to deal with. Never been comfortable with gifts and never been comfortable having what I want and like.

I have gotten better over the years with portraying a sense of grace in accepting gifts. But inside I haven’t gotten better with dealing with my emotions surrounding this. I know in a few months this feeling of discomfort with pass. Yet I want to tackle it now, deal with it and well stop feeling so icky about it.

Sometimes love doesn’t have tangible proof behind it. And this, today, was one of my husbands. He doesn’t tend to give me flowers and candy to show he cares. He just builds me a computer to the specs that I need and then makes it look awesome. And yes! I thanked him for it too.

For a friend

A bunch of years back I was in the middle of the worst depression I experienced in my life. I was watching my marriage meltdown from the inside. I lost friends I thought I’d keep forever and I felt so alone, so misunderstood and hopeless. I was nearing the end of my rope. Actually, I had passed that point. Somehow, I was still alive. I had planned to commit suicide, even set a date for it. Everything was planned. And then I reached out for help.

I did not receive help. I was met with horror and then denial. And I faced that date with pure fear and wonder. Would I or would I not? Nothing was going to stop me if I did. I hung on and battled the obsessive thoughts. I had no proof those thoughts were wrong at the time. I had no proof my life was worth keeping.

Now, looking back, I consider those days to be the blackest of my life. But I did have a question, why is my life worth saving? I felt no love, had no hope and yet I was still fighting, for what I did not know. I am an intensely curious creature so I decided to find out.

What if my life is worth saving? What does that mean? I had no idea and no one had any easy answers. I waited. I waited till the black clouds retreated and I could breathe again. I waited and counted time. I waited till I could feel again. Then I went looking for the things I wanted in my life.

I knew I wanted love. I knew I wanted friendship. I wanted to be happy again. I wanted more than anything to get rid of being so damn negative. That last one sounded like something I could change so I researched and studied. I hit upon the practice of gratitude. It didn’t promise much and it was extremely difficult. That difficulty told me I was in the right place.

The challenge was to come up with five things to be grateful for every day. It took a month, the first time out, to come up with five things. It took me six months to manage five things a week. A few months after I could write out five things a day.

I didn’t care if the only thing I was grateful for was that I hadn’t stubbed my toe that day. It counted! And I changed. It was like I was scrubbing the black clouds off my soul. I still had bad days. I still fell down the dark hole but I didn’t fall as far nor did I get stuck. Gratitude taught me the flavour of hope. Hope taught me about life. Shit is still shit but life goes on. And shit grows some mighty fine roses. It’s taken me a long road to here but I am grateful even for the shit in my life. That shit grows my rose garden.


If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please do not ignore it. Reach out and call the Suicide Hotline if in the US 1-800-273-8255


Blasting thought Blocks

The last three weeks have been a bit of hell for me. I felt the blackness coming and I didn’t run far enough to avoid it. It swallowed me up again.

It was different. I saw it coming and it didn’t last too long. I know it was deep and I’m not sure how in the hell I got back out of it either.

It screwed up some things for me in a big way. I am taking classes for creative writing and I am behind on my assignments. I was given a second chance to catch up. I will have to do two to three assignments per day just to get back on track with the class.

I think I may have broken through – or at least punched a big hole in – my block against writing fiction. For some reason, a little voice whispered in my ear that I needed to write out the bullshits I was having about this. Thank you once again Dreamwalker. I do learn. And I did. But I also rewrote the bullshits, correcting them for positivity and reality.

Twenty-five individual bullshits surrounding this issue between me, my mother, religion and childhood had to be worked out.

Everything is coming out stilted, raw, unready yet it is progress. I have a ton to learn and practice. I’m so raw in this process but I see hope for the first time. I see progress. I see possibilities.

Help! They had a buttonhold on me!

It’s Friday again.

I think my roller-coaster stopped to let a few of my marbles off. Nothing like going up an down, up and down till you beg for mercy. Mercy!

I started planning this post a few days ago. Between wanting to pick up the gratitude journal again, which really needs to complete the switch to Monday instead and wanting to start a new journaling project; I’ve been ruminating.

I haven’t been pleased with a bushel of things in my life. All of them alone are minor quibbles but like dust-bunnies, they multiplied and ganged up on me. I’ve been held hostage for years by these things! Threating me to be that last dirt dish in the sink..a sparkingly sink…gasp..or to be that one Lego on the floor that makes sure I step on it first in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom…the horror..or even to be that one more thing…that breaks my back…’cause surely I can carry it all on my own. I yanked out my secret weapon! Back you, beastly feigns! I’m waving around my living room with a pen in hand as I start sword fighting with these beasts. And I laugh! I laugh! Deep and full rumbling belly laugh and BAM! glitter rains down all around me.

Teehee. I laugh. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry over all that spilled milk that missed the glass. I’d rather laugh than walk hand in hand with sorrow.

That new journaling project I’m wanting to work on? It’s about self-compassion.

Stay tuned good folks out there and give it a go – laugh!

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.