The dream.

The dream.

Last last night, early this morning in fact, I didn’t feel in any way capable of communicating with the mes. But I tried, anyway. I asked that if they had anything to share to please feel free, now and always. I said some kind, soothy things. And after my mom popped downstairs and said something she didn’t need to say as the obvious result she was after was to upset me, I asked the mes if they know why that stuff gets to me sometimes when I could easily ignore her and not give her that power.

Flash forward to my needing nap. Rob had had an enormous meltdown before school, a kind of meltdown where I was worried he would break the dishwasher or something, because scratch.mit.edu was down and stayed down for a long long time, and that is his one go-to website before school. It didn’t help that we went to the Is It Down Now? website to check if it was down or if it was on our end, because Rob kept refreshing that age, and he became more and more upset. So we were a little late for school. I told him we would wait until it was back up because how he feels in more important than being on time for school. Once I got home from taking him in, I was already beat. So, the nap.

I had one of my EXTREMELY vivid dreams. The kind where I can actually direct what happens a little bit. This one was disturbing, at best. The dream had the usual characters who are involved in my crap dreams: my mother, my brother, and my father. He comes back in these dreams as a drunk, dumbass, and we all know he died, but we stopped reacting to his presence as if it’s freaky. It’s like, oh, there is dead drunk dad again.

In the dream, my dead drunk dad kept trying to grab at me and fondle me and grope me and kiss me. And other things. I got away from him many times. But then it occurred to me that I needed someone to see it happen. So, I made the dream kind of reset. My dad came at me and I honestly couldn’t get away. And my mom walked in and totally saw it. My dad stopped and those two walked off together, with their heads together, discussing how I always do things wrong. How things are my fault. And my mom assumed that whole my dad attacking me was my fault. And then she was telling him about the money I used for emergencies.

I saw her a little later and I was, like, what the fuck? You saw what he did. And she said why, no, I didn’t see anything like that.

This same basic thing played out a few more times. Once with my brother watching. But then he turned into Chris, and Chris got right in my dad’s face and really let him have it. He yelled at him, then he yelled at my mom. But it was like they couldn’t hear it. But in my dream I was happy that someone believed me. I am not really sure if that was Chris or my brother believing me. But my mom never, ever did.

There is another layer to this dream, but I don’t feel comfortable discussing it yet.

I feel like the dream was a way for me to know she did know but pretended she didn’t. And it also answered the question of why I let her effect me instead of ignoring her. I have serious rage issues about her.

I can’t shake this dream. Maybe that means I missed something?
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Who is zooming whom?

Who is zooming whom?

Now that school is in, I am going to really dig in and work on this stuff. I took today off, because I do that every first day of school. You know, I got him through the summer alive! Woo! And then I nap.

Anyway, I hadn’t said anything to anyme today, so a little while ago I sort of cleared my throat and said I would like to have a meeting, and that any of them who would like to come may come. And then I said something like, you know, not any one of us is more important than any other one of us. Just because I am doing the talking certainly doesn’t mean I am any better than anyme. And it hit me. I actually know the very least about myself. About my history, about who I was, about what happened in my life. I know nothing. I know what they tell me. I am just the talking head. I am the least important part as far as who I am goes. I am extremely impaired. I have a sketchy at best idea of who I am. I am just a reactive duties-doer of a highly dysfunctional collection of parts whom together make up the whole of me. I am Coach Buttermaker. I am Professor Harold Hill. The head in front of the curtain the man hides behind.3272915636_51e30050d3_o

This is very interesting to think about.

I want to prove to the others that I am strong now. I will not let anyone hurt them ever again. They are safe. Plus, the bastard is dead and has been for seventeen years. They are all stuck in time. But not me. I am the doofus up front for the ages. I could have doofed my way through more decades if I hadn’t figured out that I am just a head. I am going to make sure I do this work. I am not just another pretty, useless head.

It’s surprising to me that I will play a key role in all of this. The leader. The organizer. The Parts Whisperer. That’s a lot for me. Me who knows nothing. Maybe we could find the one who knows the most and put her in charge.

Heh, I was reading that some parts have natural talents that went missing when the part closed herself off. What if I can really sing? Or do handstands? I know I have a part that loves to cook. And a daredevil part that isn’t afraid to try a flip on the trampoline or to snowboard or sled backwards. She really wants to bungee jump. One of me was good at soccer. One of me is an excellent writer. One is a mathlete. One loves the biology of bugs and trees and birds. Today’s me likes to nap.

Give it a name.

Give it a name.

I am going to have to try new things. More talking to them. Being nicer to myself. Maybe writing with my left hand. Maybe that notebook idea where I leave a notebook or seven around the house, easily accessible to my peeps. I have to gather information. It’s possible if I ask questions, I will get answers. I will have to believe whatever pops into my head. Which is something I have learned to do through therapy, especially EMDR. It’s probably natural to question those things, but I think we all (you guys, too) should pay attention to what our brains are trying to tell us.

I feel like my day-to-day people are really similar, so that feels like it makes it harder to tell. 2051786468_091af1fdeb_o

I was disappointed this weekend that dirty sex me wasn’t around for Scott’s visit. But I think the right me was there. I felt largely relaxed and easy and go with the flowy. I wasn’t argumentative. Except for panicking while trying to leave to pick Scott up at the airport and the thing at Kroger with the expensive meat, I feel like I was pretty even. But not numb even. Pleasant even. Of course, I do not know how Scott perceived me.

I also would like some sort of sign or signal when there is switching.

This is maddening. I am not good with strangers. I am not good at being a stranger to myself. I like to know everything. If not everything, as much as possible.

I thought giving them names was dumb. Some kind of trick to make it all seem more normal. But that isn’t true. Well, it may be true. But that isn’t the only reason. It’s got to be easier. I don’t have to use human names. Maybe types or kinds of patterns of fabric. Like, damask or suzani or ikat. Or Greek goddesses. Or stripper names.

This article scared the crap out of me.

This article scared the crap out of me.

I read a fair bit of THIS ARTICLE this morning, and it is sort of frightening. To me. Us. I did scoot on by the God parts.

I feel like there are nuggets of truth in there, though. I know I have a need to know who the crap I am every day. And whose voice is talking to me. Or whatever. Like, seriously what the fuck is going in in here? I have no idea. Not really.

What the confusion feels like. After the switch, that is.

What the confusion feels like. After the switch, that is.

It’s like stepping in for someone at work when you are a waitress. They have all of these tables running, some have drinks, some need drinks, some are waiting to order, some need their food, some need to see the dessert tray, that one guy needs a coffee refill. But you get all of that information in about one minute of time. And you have to get out there and do those things and try harder to remember those things than you have ever tried hard to remember anything. It’s the Friday dinner crowd at a swanky, upscale restaurant at the mall RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS!

So, you just move, hoping the faces you see at the tables and the contents of the table will help you remember as you fly by. Oh, there’s the coffee cup guy. Oh, those people have the remnants of cleared dinner dishes on their table, a few used knives, a bread plate with a piece of crust and an empty butter pat souffle cup. They want dessert. And on and on like that. You race to catch up and make sense of things at the same time.
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For me, I just got back to being that regular me who is probably the best me at the day to day things. I wake up at 3:45pm, the day is already half over. I have to figure out what we need as far as foods from the grocery store, AA batteries, printer ink, my beta blockers. What needs to happen right now.

Oh, Rob is up. I can give him a bowl of Lucky Charms to hold him for a bit, as he picks out the marshmallows individually. Then I can assess if he will want a pancake or pizza, as it’s late afternoon. Look around the house. What can I get cleaned up before my mom gets home? I am already worried about seeing her because she came downstairs last night, before we went driving at 5am, all worried and kind of scrutinizing me. As she should have, as I was absolutely dissociated. So, I want her to think it just seemed that way because she was basically asleep when she came down to use the restroom and look at me.

I can get the house pretty well in order and then get the printer ink. I can get the beta blockers while I am out. Oh, the doctor rejected my refill request. Don’t cry, don’t cry. He doesn’t know you have DID and that you weren’t taking the beta blockers consistently until towards the end of the bottle. And that you just realized it was helping tremendously. It was keeping my heart rate down, thus cutting down the number of times I feel this sheer I am in the weeds feeling of near-panic. You guys might know that feeling– running late to a very important thing and you can’t find the papers you need or your keys and wait you need to bring that thing for that lady and grab a bottle of water, and fuck, you need to get gasoline. You know?

Also, it is on my shoulders to stay with this day as me and make it go better than yesterday did. I simply could not do anything about getting Rob to bed. He was far too busy, he was not listening. I checked out by dissociating, which I could feel for the first time. I have to do today right. We have to take our drive at 10pm. Or, fuck, even midnight, at this point. That would be six hours earlier than yesterday. Rob is pushing against going to bed because he knows how many more days of summer vacation are left.

I have to do better today, and do it in a way that inspires confidence in these two around me. Mostly my mom. If she had the ability to put pieces of things together, she could figure out what I have. One night she said I seemed like a completely different person. And she has been looking at me funny when I know I am a different me than usual. I don’t want to tell her because she will not believe me. She will say my therapist told me I have it and it is a scam. She will cling with her last breath to that common dead alcoholic who caused her years and years and years of grief. He damaged her. She remains damaged. But she will cling to whatever romanticized memory she has of him until she dies. Instead of, you know, believing in me. Her world would, I suppose, collapse inside itself and she would have to go to a mental health facility for a nice, long stay.

I am going to take a whole mg of Ativan now, since I don’t have the betas. I am going to make myself eat. I am going to shower. I am going to keep on Rob until we get to Flub’s, the beginning stop of our nocturnal life. After that is the park, then scootering. Then the hardest part. Getting him to get in the car for this fucking drive we do. He will not cooperate. But if I say, okay, now or never, or if I say no driving tonight, he completely goes cold and starts repeating over and over, “Driving tonight, driving tonight, driving tonight,” and he is all set to have a meltdown. It’s like he absolutely needs this drive to exist. But he won’t just go. It can take hours to get him to go. Hours. And that is why I dissociated from it last night. I had decided to try just letting it happen and not getting emotionally involved in the when part. I apparently achieved that by dissociating. And that would have worked great if I hadn’t figured out with the other parts of my brain that I *was* dissociated. And then all of the stuff that went along with that from the last post.

Please alert me of typos.

Realizing I was dissociated while it was happening and a switch.

Realizing I was dissociated while it was happening and a switch.

This is getting even more interesting. This DID thang I am working. Tonight, I totally realized while I was dissociated that I was dissociated. Not at first. At first I just felt sort of numb. I was not to able to produce an affect. Like, void of any sort of need or desire to do anything. I literally sat here, doing nothing at all, but it felt fine.. Comfortable, even. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I just was.

But after a while, maybe an hour or two, I have really no concrete idea of how long, it started to kind of hurt. I felt like I was reaching for an emotion of any sort and couldn’t locate one. It was like a longing almost. Or like the space between my throat and my heart was being pinched off. It didn’t feel pinchy per se, but maybe blocked. Or not even there at all.

When I finally did locate an emotion, it was sort of a terror kind of feeling, with hurried sobs and no breath coming in. It was similar to panic, but it was like being on the inside of panic, not having the panic inside of me.

That didn’t last very long. Maybe ten minutes. And then I got the switch headache. And now I feel like the most common me. The me that feels the most like me. What I would call the regular me. The one who talks to herself and is very kind and thoughtful of others. But in a pathological way. It’s endearing-ish. So, anyway. There that is.

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More on which me am I today.

More on which me am I today.

This me feels optimistic. Unfettered. Had to google unfettered to make sure it was the right word. Easy going. Not immediately fearful of anything. feels like today will go okay even though my son was awake until after 4am and is actually still asleep now, meaning getting him to bed at an earlier hour tonight won’t be easy. It’s just time. It ain’t no thing. This me just said ain’t, but refused to say thang.

This me doesn’t care that I have an overdraft because it will be covered tomorrow when I get paid. It isn’t anything I can fix, anyway. It will all be okay. Optimism. Time is just time. Money is just money. I can only do what I can do. Easy going. Bad with vocabulary. Not as blunt as some of the others.

This is not an unhappy or scared me.

Anyone have anything to add based on me today? I don’t think this is green or blue.

Abbreviations.

Abbreviations.

PTSD. PMDD. DID. I follow the FODMAP suggestions for eating. My son Has ASD. My ex-husband has ADD. I have been to AA. I like to watch OITNB, SYTYCD, and DWTS. Of course, not ALL of those are psychological disorders. But two of them are. Some may argue that watching DWTS may count, but I LIKE DANCING! Anyway, two of them are.

To me, that I have an abbreviation that means something that isn’t a great thing to have, at all, I am infinitely grateful that I know that I have them. I find comfort in knowing that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It explains why Loud sounds freak me the fuck out. Why I am beyond hyper-vigilant. Why I suffer with flashbacks. Why my fight or flight response has a hair-trigger. And why my life has triggers, both hair- and regular. I am not PTSD. But I have PTSD. And I cannot separate myself from that. I wouldn’t mind identifying myself to strangers with it, like when I tell people Rob has autism. I would do that. I am not ashamed. I would prefer I didn’t have it, but I do. So, I do everything I can to make my life with it easier. I have read all about it. I have talked with my therapist about it. I do EMDR to alleviate the symptoms. EMDR, another abbreviation!

I am now facing the DID. Most of mes are okay with this. It acknowledges the superiority of my brain, for one. I mean, really, do any of you have to remember what forty six of you may do over time? Or in a day, or however often however many of us do things? I go into rooms and forget why like the rest of you. But I have to cycle through dozens of people to even have a shot at remembering what one of us wanted. Ha. Top that. Honestly, though, I do respect my brain. I respect its ability to survive and attempt to thrive. Compartmentalization isn’t easy. And my system still works. Sure, it will be awesome when some of integrate and combine our brilliant forces. That will be a dandy day, indeed. But even if I am exactly right here forever (which I won’t be, just saying to make a point), my life is still pretty good. I can live with this. I can live with this because I am understanding it.

Reading about DID is painful. So controversial. It’s pretend. It’s suggested by therapists. It doesn’t exist. Whatever. I know it exists. I have it. I don’t know why it scares people, doctors, scientists, whomever, so much that they say it doesn’t exist. And I really don’t care. But, well, kind of I do. I do because that is what makes this seem like such a freaky fucking thing to have. A scary thing. Saying I have it might make people take two steps back and then turn and run away. Only freaks have this.

I actually feel fairly secure in my ability to not seem like a freak. I can totally pull that off.

Yesterday, when I was alone for the first time since discovering my DID, I did have a lot of fear about it. It was one of my parts that fears everything, though. And maybe a few other parts. Largely, most of us are completely fine. I think the scared parts are parts that formed through other people. Like a mirror image. I read that some parts are introjects of the abusers or other family members. So, those fearful of being discovered to not be normal parts probably come from my mother. The little mes who are scared are scared of real things. Not what other people think of us. Most of us don’t give a fuck what other people think of us. What they think isn’t real. And it could NEVER be more important than what we think.

I have always just wanted to be a person. I have never felt like a person. I am happy to have learned that that is because I am not a person. I am people. I love an explanation. An explanation makes me feel happy and satisfied and full of hope and promise. If there is a definable reason, then I am fine. Because I can change and grow. I can find what works. I can make it better. I can help others understand it. I can cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two. I swear, for me the knowing is everything. I do not fear knowing. I fear not knowing, perhaps. But never knowing. The world is open to me because I know. I will only improve and feel better and do better. Knowing is everything.

I feel like this was written by the one of me that isn’t good with words. I can feel it when I try to write. I had to google some simple things. I hope it isn’t too awkward to read. I am not at all saying I am a bad writer or thinker. I am saying this particular me isn’t great. This is in no way an insult to any of myselves. Just trying to figure out who is up today.

Alone Again Or

Alone Again Or

Been avoiding being alone the past couple of days, here. Well, just yesterday. I am alone right now.

Last night, after Rob left, I asked my mom to go a few places with me. I sensed being alone wouldn’t be a good idea. Not yesterday. I don’t have enough information and skills for coping, understanding, and proactively guiding my feelings and thoughts about this. I did get a small demonstration on self-hypnosis. But I didn’t have the wherewithal to do that.

So, my mom and I had a really good time last night. But I eventually had to come here to my apartment and face myselves. Panic. Instant. Oh, God, it is unacceptable to walk around like this. This crazy. How can I be this crazy and walk around the world? No one will like me now. They will think I am far too crazy to deal with considering. This is too much. Heh, obviously. It is so too much I have created an entire system of perspectivettes to deal with every aspect of my life.

But that’s what calms me down. Even when I am alone, I am not alone. I do have help. Inside of me. All highly skilled in their areas.

However, last night, and I think a few times lately, when I am alone, the littles feel safe enough to come out, bringing their deep, raw emotions. And to the me me that is currently running things, those emotions are not coming from present-day reality. They come from so far down, so far back. I think I could just comfort the little who is freaking the fuck out and maybe that would help. It has helped before. Not a lot. But some.

Do I let the feelings out and feel them? I don’t think that is the answer. Those sad-as-humanly-possible emotions have no end. Not without therapy. I worry diving into that abyss will cost me more. More of mes will be in peril.

Do I distract myself for now? Until I have a better idea what to do?

Sitting alone here on the verge of one hundred things isn’t the answer. It’s not so bad. No abysmal sadness, no outward freaking out. Just some anxiety. Just some immobility. Just more feeling like I am wasting my life.

I know the key is, for now and forever, is balance.

The fear is growing old. I am tired of the fear. I miss the fun and the laughing.

And stuff. I don’t know. I am going to go spray paint something and spackle something else. Things to do. The things to feel will have to wait. Not all of these pots are going to be winners.

Note to selves:

Note to selves:

Things you are thinking about tonight, typed up for when you forget:

1. Look for an AAC app for Rob. We could get one of those durable iPad cases with the strap and he could take iPad out into the world and type things to the kids he longs to talk to. We all assumed he can talk enough and he didn’t need AAC, and while that is largely true at home and at school, it is not true at a playground. And your heart will totally shatter watching him stand near the kids, watching them, and not being able to play with the.

Sure, it would be nice if just one fucking regular kid would try to play with him, but that just isn’t going to happen.

2. Try the Visu-clock again. Rob needs to have a grasp on this time thing. Tonight’s complete and total loss of control, going berserk meltdown cannot happen again. It’s a wonder you both weren’t hurt badly. The lad just doesn’t understand 2:30 in the morning. And if that clock turns out to be stupid again, find something else, some other way.

3. Like I told you in the kitchen, you were extraordinary tonight. You handled Rob’s situation so well. Don’t ever forget how, once you got him to stop biting himself and throwing his body through the air, he looked at you and said, I love you, mom. And then, thank you. You just couldn’t take him for the drive at 2:30. The resulting horror was what it was. I get why you usually just take him regardless of the hour.You knew what happened tonight would happen. But you just could not go driving at 2:30. You weren’t awake enough, it really was just too late. And that is okay. Among other things, you are human. And you were brilliant tonight. You helped him, you told him he was safe, that you were taking care of him, that he is precious, that you love him more than everything, and that you will always keep him safe and take care of him. And he thanked you. He actually thanked you. It was a miracle. You were a miracle. Extraordinary work. So much love. So difficult. But you got you both through it. You did.

4. Thanks to all for not cutting our hair. We are doing a great job with that. And thanks for not coloring it so dark any more. Good stuff.

5. You were really interested in the fact that your right leg muscles hurt from running last night but your left leg doesn’t hurt at all. Even though that makes complete sense because of the scootering’s unevenness in leg output, it was still really interesting to you.

6. Buy some spackle.

7. Tomorrow morning, try to feel like a person earlier in the day. Drink coffee faster. You have really been slacking on the caffeine consumption. Heh. Yes, I know that was a goal. But come on. Get moving, get the boy to Flub’s and on an elevator, maybe scooter if he will (we hope!), start the drive as early as you possibly can. I know how hard it is to keep him on track for an entire day. How very Groundhog Day it is. But try.

8. Maybe leave a clue for us when you hide the Ativan from your mom. You are such an awesome hider of things that we often cannot find it.

9. You did a really good job with the positive talking tonight. You comforted us, you praised whomever handled everything. It was beautiful. The self-soothing and praise will help us all. You are the only one we always believe.

10. In the meantime, and in case an AAC app is too expensive, try walking Rob through playing with kids again. I know he loudly insists you leave him alone, but do something. I mean, I know you do. You talk to the kids and tell them Rob’s name. You explain to any nearby parents in hopes one of them would somehow know they are supposed to talk to their kids about playing with special needs kids. They never do, or none have yet. But it could happen.

11. Figure out how to make sure Rob understand not to rub his penis on playground equipment. That doesn’t help matters.

12. Save money next pay period for Crest Whitestrips.

13. You are handling this recent possible diagnosis well. Allow it to simply guide you. You are the sum of your parts.