hating being crazy

today is one of those days where i am really HATING being crazy. really hating it.

instead of watching the inauguration, i had therapy. things kind of went downhill from there. i mean, just spending my day having therapy is bad enough in the usual run of things. other people have jobs, do useful things in the world, do things for other people, and so much of my time is taken up by coping with the fact that i am crazy.

and today, it was the inauguration of the first african-american president. this is amazing. i am thrilled. and yet... the tears i had today were not tears of joy, and it was the stupid, all-about-me feelings that i hate having, but don't have the force of will to keep from coming.

why was i crying?

i was reading an email, and someone was writing about how wonderful this is for little biracial children, how they can look to the white house, and see that anything is possible. and the tears came, because here i am... i had so much potential. when i was a kid, teachers would say that i could become the first black, and the first female president. they really believed i had that much potential.

as i got older, i realized i didn't want to go into politics, but i definitely still had that potential. i really believed that i could do anything i set out to do. and for 20 years, for maybe even 30 years, i was able to make that be true. hard work, intelligence, luck. whatever combination of things, it was working. i was demonstrating how much i could do, in spite of handicaps.

it was about overcoming. that's kind of how i made peace with the things i couldn't control: i focused on overcoming them. sure, we were poor when i was growing up, but that was something that didn't have to be permanent, that didn't have to say anything about who i was as a person. same with me being biracial, or female, or anything else.

i guess i thought that by getting past it, by achieving what i wanted in spite of the things that made it hard, that kind of erased the negatives.

and then... it feels like it all got thrown off by me going crazy. everything else, i managed to handle. i even dodged the bullet several times with going crazy. i can think of times where it came so close, and i managed to get past it, and keep going on.

so this last time... damn, it sucks. it's like i lost all of the things i was trying to do, which means, deep down, that it feels like i lost my chance not to be the person that the bad stuff happened to. because that's what the accomplishment was about. it was about proving to the world, or maybe more, proving to myself that just because i was black, or poor... just because i was abused during my childhood, it didn't mean i couldn't have a good life as an adult.

it's not about being black, or poor, really. certainly, those are things i can talk about with people, so i can tell they aren't the things i have trouble with. but i guess that i believed that if i just did enough, achieved enough, overcame enough, i could erase the abuse. make it like it didn't matter, didn't count, didn't really happen.

and then being crazy came along, and proved I really couldn't just ignore it. I couldn't really just act like it hadn't happen or didn't matter. And I'm furious about that.

But maybe mostly, I'm furious with myself over that. It was my job to make it as though it had never happened. It feels like that was the only way my life could work, the life I wanted to have. If I could act like it didn't matter that I was abused, that it was all in the past.

It's not even, not exactly, that I wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. I just wanted to have a life where it didn't matter that it had happened to me. Where I could deal with it, once a week, in a tidy therapy session. Where I could be a good advocate for children, make sure I did everything I could so it wouldn't happen to other children, and leave it at that.

I didn't want to walk around covered with scars. I didn't want to have to have it be this crippling thing that's making it hard for me to even make it through the day, with shockingly little expected of me.

I certainly didn't want it to take away from sharing joy with so many other people in this country, this historic moment that I feel is getting tainted by things that happened half a lifetime ago.

And that's part of what really makes me angry. That here I am, sixteen and a half years after leaving home, and I'm still reeling from the things that happened. It's not fair. I'm furious at my mind, for not being able to find a better way out, for interfering with my ability to cope. I'm furious with myself, for not being able to maintain the discipline that would have let me keep going on.

I want to be able to feel happy, and all I'm getting is sadness and anger. It sucks, and it isn't fair.

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flashback

trying to process through a particularly intense flashback i had this afternoon. not really sure why it was as intense as it was, but then, who knows about these things?

so i was standing there, washing dishes. this is an activity that is often pretty triggering, and i know perfectly well why (lots of abuse around doing jobs perfectly; also abuse that happened simply because i was there in the kitchen, where someone might notice me.)

as i was washing, almost done with the task, i found myself flinching, braced as someone hit me. i turned slightly, so i'd be able to predict where the next blow was going to fall, and so i wouldn't instinctively try to lift my arm to protect myself. and somehow, i managed to notice that i was in my kitchen now, that this wasn't really happening.

i think part of what made it more intense than usual was the combination of circumstances. i was stressed when i started washing the dishes (although less so than i've been for a lot of this week). there were my hands in the water, washing dishes, checking to make sure the various plastic ones were getting fully cleaned. and i was listening to a song i listened to a *lot* when i was a teenager (Go On, by Russ Taff). so there were a lot of signals that brought up memories.

trying to remember what i was thinking about right before the flashback, and i really can't think what it was. nothing that is out of the ordinary for when i am washing dishes, and not feeling especially trigger-y (because i have learned that if i'm feeling trigger-y, washing dishes is not one of my better options). i hadn't even dropped something, which often brings up a flashback.

my sense of it is that much of what made this flashback as intense as it was, is that several parts experienced it simultaneously.

often, with a flashback, i only get part of the experience. for me, it's often mostly emotional. i know that the little kids, especially, get ones that are mostly physical (a more intense version of body memories, from what i can tell). some parts get ones that are mostly memories, as though they are watching something happen.

i also suspect that part of what made it feel different was the fact that at least one of the adults was nearby as it came. or so i suspect.

afterwards, after i had grounded back into the present, and decided to go ahead and wash the last couple of dishes, even though i was feeling kind of overwhelmed by the flashback... one of the parts who has been out recently commented on something. she was feeling kind of... dismissive of some things. i don't know. but she said something about how one reason the adults haven't been around lately is that for them, they would rather be dead than admit they can't handle things, or that they are not doing a perfect job with everything in their lives. (perfect in their world, which means... not necessarily perfect, but doing all the right things, and trying hard, and overcoming adversity. admirable is maybe a better word?)

i'd like to deny this, that the reason the adults haven't been around is because they can't handle imperfection, that they really would choose suicide over this, and that it's not just their insistence on continuing to function that has made other parts block them out, but *also* the fact that the adults would be more inclined towards suicide, if they were unable to enforce that perfect-ness.

and yet, i do remember a conversation i had with cleo last winter. she was incredibly distressed over me being dropped from my phd program. she was really feeling suicidal, as though this failure was... life-threatening. and i can remember someone (me, another part? i don't remember) pointing out how, we wound up where we are because the choice seemed like we could risk suicide, or we could continue being functional (in the sense of doing a lot of work, and managing without more than minimal help, and doing everything well), but at the time, the two were incompatible. and we asked, "so would you rather be dead than fail to be perfect?" and her response was an unequivocal "YES!"

so i can't deny that it's true, at least about cleo.

it's been hard for me to start to see that, for all they seemed so functional, the adults in this system really aren't perfect. they aren't actually more functional, even. they just appear to be so.

not sure what the point of this post was.

i have been meaning to write a totally different post about the song i linked to above. it's a good song, even if you don't normally like christian rock. the message is pretty simple, and for those who aren't into all the "god stuff," there isn't an overwhelming amount in it.

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some thinking

i was thinking a little bit last night about the grown ups. cleo was out for a little bit, for some complicated reasons (there is something stressing her, specifically, out, which is why she showed up; but then she went and talked with w, so they spent some time together).

anyhow, afterwards, i was thinking about the ways having the adults around benefits me, and not just people outside. and i could think of advantages to having some of the adults. like xan is good, because she makes friends and she's brave and fun and outgoing. kind of like an aunt who's not that much older, but enough older that they're a grown up. i like xan. and even the mama, i can theoretically see the advantage to having her around. she does those mama-type things, like nurturing and sewing and baking bread. also, she has been taking care of the really little kids for a while now, and we can see she's not so bad to have around.

or the writer part, or the smart one, or the analyst... they don't come out very often, but they are definitely useful. they take care of situations and then go back inside. they don't block the rest of us out, for one thing.

but cleo... maybe part of it is that i (jamie) don't get along with cleo very well. or maybe it's that she has trouble believing she's really multiple. she's a lot more like ellis, i guess. the two of them are similar, so i have some trouble figuring out why we need both of them. except cleo really is a grown up, and ellis isn't. but from what i can see the main difference in what they do is, cleo has a different relationship with w. and she's less resentful about doing grown up stuff. well, ok, and she's more attracted to w.

but then ellis finally had a really good point last night, when i was thinking about it and trying to figure out what benefit i get from having cleo.

she pointed out that i don't get any real benefit from grace or elysia or the nonnys, not that i can see, but i don't complain about having *them* around. so maybe i should think of cleo in the same way. she IS here, so i guess she has the same right to be around as anyone else.

i guess for me, part of it is that i think of the adults as the parts we made on purpose. i mean, i can remember kind of intentionally creating parts when i was a teenager, not that we knew we were doing that, but it's pretty much what happened. like, the smart one, that was TOTALLY someone the rest of us came up with to cope with school. we *thought* we were just improving our confidence or something. so i guess i think of the adults as more... not really real parts, just pretend. but i guess they are real just like the rest of us, so they should be allowed to be around.

the other weird thing is realizing that they have things they struggle with, just like the rest of us do.

i guess part of what i don't like about the adults is, i'm ANGRY at them, because they didn't have to experience the bad stuff. it seems really unfair. i mean, i can understand why it happened. they were made so there were parts who didn't experience the bad stuff. and since they weren't present for it, ok, sure, they have known for a long time (maybe always?) that it happened, but they really didn't *experience* it.

and even though in my brain, i know the same thing i told w last night, that the older a part is, the less time they've been around (mostly--the mama has been around probably since i was ten or so, but the other adults didn't show up until i was way older than that).

anyhow... the younger parts are the ones who had to go through the worst stuff. that's probably why there are more nonnys who are little than who are teenagers, even though i can think of at least 2 teenaged nonnys.

but when i see the adults, i have a hard time accepting that they would just sit around and let the rest of us get hurt. and i guess a lot of the anger i feel towards them is the anger i have for adults OUTSIDE my body, who didn't do something to make the bad stuff stop. and i guess it's not the fault of the adults inside my body, any more than it's the fault of the grown ups i've met since my body grew up. none of these people had the ability to intervene.

the other thing i don't like about the adults in the system is, they get very sure they are right to be super responsible and take on too much. but i guess i have to trust w and my therapist, that they really will make sure that doesn't happen.

i guess that's all. mostly because my carpal tunnel is acting up, and my fingers are numb from typing!

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I am my mother's daughter

I see so much of her in me. Whether it was just the genetic luck of the draw, or whether I learned my behaviors from her, I don't know. I do know that none of my seven siblings has these particular traits, and she raised them as well.

What are the traits? I dismiss my pain; my first level of defense is to ignore it; second is to take an aspirin (or Aleve, usually). And then to ignore it. I take on more than I can handle, and then proceed to get it done (this ability has disintegrated over time, much to my dismay). I set high standards for myself, and don't really grasp the notion that doing less than my best is sometimes acceptable. I also don't grasp the notion that sometimes my best is less than perfection. I attribute my failures to not having worked hard enough, or long enough.

By themselves, I don't know that these traits would necessarily even be that bad. The problem is, there are more, less pleasant traits.

I get frustrated with other people's "laziness," and since I am a workaholic, anything less seems like sloth. I am more inclined to intellectualize than to empathize. I tend to think critique is better than praise (as in, taking the time to analyze how something was done, and figure out how it could be done better, rather than just saying, "Oh, good job."). And, given my high expectations for myself, I suppose it makes sense that it's incredibly difficult for me to ask for, or to accept help (but, because I'm only human, when I get overwhelmed, I need help. So then I feel angry and resentful that people aren't helping me.)

Worse, I notice more and more often how not just I, but quite a few of the other parts as well, am really classist. How I could have picked up that level of classism while growing up as poor as we were, I don't know. Well, okay, logic says that internalized oppressions tend to be more intense anyhow. But for all my knowledge of how class works, and all my beliefs, overall, that classism is bad, I still have a visceral dislike of people who display the behaviors associated with a particular class bracket (it cuts across race and gender).

Some people can look at an abusive parent and say, "I would NEVER do that. I COULD never do that." I look at my mother, and think, "I can see how she did that. I can see the factors that would put me into the position where I might do the same things."

I'm not saying she did the right things. Heck, even when I was a teenager, I didn't say that. One time, she asked me whether I thought she was a good mother. I responded that I thought she was a good person but not necessarily a good mother. Obviously, this was not the right answer.

And, honestly, I can see almost as many good things in her parenting as bad.

I sometimes wonder whether my ability to see where her behavior came from means I wasn't "really" abused. But you know what? Just because I can explain what happened, and because I can see she was not evil or malicious, doesn't mean I didn't get hurt.

Why was she physically abusive? First, there was the fact that she believed physical discipline was an appropriate tool. Ironically, for all her vociferous support of it, when she was parenting with enough resources, she didn't tend to use physical discipline. But she could justify its use, because she did believe it was okay.

She was abusive because she got overwhelmed. She had taken on too much, and didn't have appropriate sources of support. She lashed out because she had no other outlets. And what's even worse was, I know she looked for support. When I was a kid, her apparent choices for a partner were either my abusive, alcoholic stepfather, or no one at all. When she went to her church for advice, or her family, they told her she should find a way to support him so he didn't "have to" drink. When she went to a therapist, after leaving him, the therapist's response to hearing her lay out her situation was, "I have no idea how you can handle all of that." And left it at that.

So she had no support. She was overwhelmed. And so she would reach her boiling point and, inevitably, one of us kids would push her over the edge. She didn't know how to take care of her own emotional needs. She didn't know how to step back, or insist on receiving support. But she knew how to erupt.

I can even see how my mother could be emotionally incestuous with each oldest child in turn. She was lonely, overwhelmed, had no one to turn to. And then, here is this person who can listen, offer support, stand in for a partner.

I'm not saying it was right. I'm saying I can empathize.

But, I am my mother's daughter, and not my mother. I did not have my first child when I was eighteen. I did not have eight children by the time I was thirty-eight (given that I'm almost 33, with no children as yet, I think I can say this with confidence).

Instead of having babies, I went to college. Instead of being married three times, I spent years in therapy working through my childhood. Instead of behaving as though what I experienced wasn't abuse, I have accepted that people I love, and who love me, could do horrible things at the same time. I have worked on healing, and I have taken time to learn new ways to live. I may not be perfect, but I am a work in progress.

So I'll close with this quotation from an old Nike ad:

You do not have to be
your mother unless she is
who you want to be. You do not have
to be your mother's mother, or your
mother's mother's mother, or even
your grandmother's mother on your
father's side. You may inherit their
chins or their hips or their eyes, but
you are not destined to become the
women who came before you, you are
not destined to live their lives. So if
you inherit something, inherit their
strength. If you inherit something,
inherit their resilience. Because the only
person you are destined to become is
the person you decide to be.

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trying to cope

It's one of the annoying things I've had to deal with in the past year and more. I try to do basic things, and find myself overwhelmed with panic. I'm not talking about trying to do things that are that difficult, like say, sorting out my finances or writing the dissertation. I'm talking about things like basic, ordinary household chores. I put away half a dozen dishes, and find my vision going dim and my heart pounding.

So I'm admitting I have a problem, and I actually forced myself to put up some ads looking for some help getting the apartment organized. It's frustrating for me, because none of these things is actually that difficult. I used to be able to do them with ease. I used to be able to do so many things with ease; or, at least, I could just work through the panic attacks, rather than getting wiped out by them.

But between the fibro, which makes me so easily fatigued, and the issues so many of my parts have with me being a "grown up" or working too hard or whatever reasons they have for wanting me to be doing less.... Between all of that, I am finding myself falling further and further behind.

Some of it doesn't really matter, at least in the short term. I'm keeping up with the absolutely necessary bills; we generally have basic groceries in the house; I'm eating and sleeping and bathing (at least occasionally).

But W. and I are leaving for the summer, and paying the bills will be far easier if we can get someone to sublet our share of the apartment. This requires that the apartment be clean, and that we actually look seriously for someone to take the space. The summer trip requires deciding where we're going, and making reservations at least for the first week of it. It also requires getting the car set up for a long trip (getting everything checked, getting a full-size spare, getting a tire gauge). And it requires getting ourselves organized in terms of setting up how the car is packed so it's not constantly descending into chaos.

Oh, yeah, and I need to get my system to a point of enough stability that I can cope with travelling for eight weeks without seeing my therapist or checking in with online sources of support that often.

One of the problems is that when I start to try to cope with any one part of what I need to cope with, I get flooded with all of the other things that need to be dealt with as well; it's like those tasks have their own voices, and if I walk into the space in my head where "tasks" live, then they all wake up and start shouting. Another part of the problem is that if I start a task, it feels like I have to do it "properly," or I get even more stressed out about it.

I miss how things used to be. Sometimes, I'm not entirely convinced that it wasn't worth those occasional descents into really suicidal behavior, just to have the other times when I was able to cope with far more than most people try to do. I miss being really good at lots of things. I miss being able to ignore my discomfort and get lots of work done. I miss getting things done so much it sometimes makes me want to scream.

I know that it was the right choice to stop putting up the "walls" around my parts, and to give myself the room to heal. I do know that. But I didn't expect it to take so long to get stable, and I didn't realize I was going to lose so much more of my capacity to cope.

I guess it's just kind of whining, but what they hey, this is my blog, I'll whine if I want to.

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Camping and general update

I haven't been writing for a few days, it seems. In part, it's because we were away for the weekend. We went camping with friends, and it was good. In part, that is because camping is fun (at least for some of us parts!). Jamie and Ellis both got to make fires, which they enjoy. Mandy and Teller got to play with a dog and get attention from a bunch of different people. And since W. was doing a lot of the driving (she needs to practice for her driver's exam), it meant the adults got a good break.

But the thing that made this weekend really special was that the friends we were camping with all knew about me having DID, and were very happy to meet and interact with my different parts. It was pretty casual--not so much formal introductions as different parts coming in and out, and all of them being welcome to be there. So that was quite nice. It really makes me appreciate my friends even more.

Then, after coming back, I spent several days wiped out, either by allergies or by a cold (it can be difficult to tell the difference). So Tuesday and yesterday were both spent pretty much napping and wiped out in bed. Today is a little better, but only because I've been able to breathe through my nose 90% of the time.


I (Cleo) had today's therapy session almost entirely to myself. I think Rynn was there in the beginning, but that's just a guess. We were talking mostly about the difficulties the adult parts (perhaps me in particular, but I think I'm not the only one of the adult parts who has trouble with this) have in identifying ourselves, and being self-aware.

There are a lot of things that go into it. For one, it's just that we're not really in the habit of thinking, "Hm. Who am I?" So we operate within the general framework, as though we are interchangeable. This would be fine if we were interchangeable, but it doesn't quite work that way. It's become more of a problem lately (as in, over the past three years or so) because the things that used to trigger a switch to the "right" part for a job aren't there so much any more. So without deadlines or other pressures, things are a little more chaotic. But I guess that without deadlines or other pressures, we might never have noticed the DID in the first place, so I can't exactly say I regret that.

Another problem is that we don't like to have to acknowledge we're different parts. At least, I don't. And since the other parts are less inclined to be self-aware, and don't even really have names they can be called as though they were people, I think it's a pretty general issue.

Tied into that is the fact that we (I) feel guilty for not being able to do things that the other parts can do. The Mama can cook, clean, sew, do all the things that make a house into a really pleasant place. She lives in my body and shares my brain, so it seems like I should be able to do these things as easily as she can. The Smart One is, well, smart. She can answer questions and has a lot of factual information; she is good at being academic; she is pretty social (within academic settings, anyhow). So I should be able to do all of that, too. And so on, through the parts.

Add to that the fact that the teenagers don't have the fatigue, or even a lot of the pain of fibromyalgia, and that they have a great deal of stamina. So I should be able to do that, and not spend all of this time sitting around feeling exhausted and aching.

It's frustrating enough for me when other people (outside) don't put as much importance on being efficient and orderly as I do. It's incredibly aggravating for me that there are people inside of me who also don't place as much importance on this as I do. I like to be efficient, organized, responsible. I like to take care of things, to get things done. And I have parts who are not allowing it to happen.

Okay, so my therapist thinks it's okay to not be efficient and responsible. So W. thinks this, too. So do most of my friends. It still drives me crazy. I feel guilty about all of the things I'm not doing. I feel guilty about not being responsible, not having a job, not getting my dissertation written.

And yet, I also am realizing that I, the part, am not the one who is really able to do most of these things. I guess I'm mostly the one who keeps on top of other parts to get the things done. Or something like that. I can kind of accept that this is a long process, and I'm only at the beginning of it. But it's annoying that, given that I know what should be happening, that I can't just decide it's going to happen, when I want it to, as quickly as I would like it to happen.

One example is co-consciousness and all of the parts working together. Using a little bit of insight, I can see that some of the resistance is coming because, deep down, I don't want to really listen to what the other parts have to say. I want them to do things my way, because I feel like I know what's best. Certainly, my way would get more things done, and make me happier. But I guess that isn't what the other parts want.

And if it's hard to accept that other people won't do that, just imagine how difficult it is to cope with the fact that other parts can take over my body and keep things from happening on my terms.

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miscellany

I've been realizing lately how often parts switch in and out, without announcing who they are. Most specifically, this would be an issue in therapy. On Tuesday, after therapy, I realized that the person who had been "out" at the beginning was Rynn, who is 17. I don't really remember the session too clearly, so I can't really say what she talked about, or whether it was a problem for her to be the one in front, but it's something to keep track of.

Mandy also went, for the last bit. Don't much remember what she talked about, either, but I know she took the monster puppet, so I assume there was some talking about that.

I've been frustrated lately by the fact that I do have to behave as though there are other people inside the head with me. I mean, sure, it's all well and good if they're showing up in therapy, but to have to compromise with such a group of people over things like what we're going to do over the course of the day, or what we're going to do with our life. That's hard, because most of them just aren't as focused and driven as I am.

I was in therapy yesterday. We talked about that, among other things. S. (the therapist) asked what feelings I have. I had said mostly frustration or calm. I guess the frustration gets tied in with guilt, and the guilt is tied in with fear. I'm afraid of being exposed as not worthy of any of the positive things I've got in my life. I'm afraid of losing out on the good things I want to get. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of being insulted. Lots of fear.

I can remember feeling very overwhelmed when I was still a teenager. I would walk to and from school, just feeling overwhelmed with all the things I was trying to cope with at the same time. I would be frustrated with myself for not managing my time better, for not getting things done far enough in advance. Now I realize that a big problem there was that the parts who did things like schoolwork really only showed up at the last minute, when the deadline was right on top of me. At the time, it just seemed like I was being bizarrely irresponsible.

The clearest visual I had from that time was of trying to build a really large building, but without a foundation, and without knowing what the plans were. I could only hold it together by maintaining absolute focus, and not letting any part of what I was trying to do slip. It was exhausting.

Seems like I'm not one of the better typists in here, and my head is very achey, so I'll end this for now. I'm getting really tired of using the delete key.

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Still crazy

Things seemed fine, more or less, at therapy today. We had a good discussion about me (generic adult parts, really) making the effort to spend time just doing active listening with the other parts. Made sense. Also talked about helping the teens approach their anger by watching themselves feel anger, as though on a TV.... my therapist and I had a brief chuckle about the concept of encouraging a dissociated part to use further dissociation, but I could see what she was getting at, so it's not necessarily a bad idea.

But even though, as of this morning, it seemed fine that there are parts somewhat close to the surface, although not in a position to communicate, just enough that the body is responding to their experience, who have been terrified for the past while... today, it's getting to me. Wanting to burst into tears, but I don't know why. Having my teeth chatter, but not knowing where the fear is coming from.

Some, I'm starting to realize, is that a lot of parts are scared about spending time with my family this summer. Not sure what to do--lots of arguing inside, between parts who think it will be okay and who want to see the family, and parts who are p*ssed off that I would go and "pretend everything was all right." And also parts who are just scared of getting more memories than we can handle.

So that's hard.

Also coping with just plain old day to day life is hard. But I'm too agitated to be able to focus on any one thing, or to relax and nap. And too tired physically to go to a walk (and way too agitated by there being other people anywhere on the sidewalk with me for that to be a particularly feasible solution).

Just gotta get through one more day. One of them at a time, take tiny steps. I hate this. There's so much I want to do, and instead of getting to do any of it, I'm just knocked out by being crazy.

And to make it all more fun, my allergies have kicked in, so I'm coughing and sneezing. And I've been getting cramps (for the past year or so, I get cramps around when I ovulate, and then off and on through the end of my period. Oh joy.)

Things I would rather be doing: read a book; work on a quilt; make something, anything, out of fabric; make doll clothes; clean the bedroom; clean my room; work on a website; draw pictures for a story book; write the story book; go for a walk; play with Playmobils; scream out loud, very loud, for a long time; go swing dancing; learn astronomy; build a bookshelf; build a house; build a rocket ship and go see another planet; write a novel; paint big splashy pictures; curl up in a closet shaking; go back to pioneer times; find a magic door and go into a fantasy world; go for a long drive; go camping; go to the beach; buy an MP3 player; take photographs; read about coping with DID or abuse stuff; figure out a worksheet for coping and do that; build with blocks; play computer games....

And instead, I'm just stuck. It's like too many things are trying to be done, and no part will allow the others to do anything. Just in case you hadn't caught on, sometimes DID really sucks.

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Lessons I need to unlearn.

First lesson: I could shield myself from the horrors of what went on, on a daily basis, by believing they were not actually that bad. I was constantly taught this simple thing: "You are not strong; if you can survive something, it isn't bad." I survived, so it wasn't bad.

Second lesson: We still hear, so often, that abuse is done by "Abusers," capital A. They are evil, or sick, or somehow different from you or me. So if there are good aspects to the people who treated me badly, if they did things for their own reasons, then it wasn't Abusive, it was just, I don't know, "hard." The things were done by people I loved, and who loved me. So it wasn't abuse.

Third lesson: If someone else survived with different, apparently more "functional" coping skills, and if other people survived things that were "worse," then I should be able to make myself be more functional, or not feel so badly about the things that happened to me. If someone else lived through something worse, I am exaggerating if I speak honestly about how my experience affected me.

Fourth lesson: If something is done with good intentions, then any negative effects I carry from that action are due to my own "over-sensitivity." The same thing goes for statements that are called "jokes," or any other form of emotional abuse. It is "over-sensitive" to object to racist, homophobic, or otherwise oppressive comments made to me, if the person making them is smiling as they speak.


I learned these lessons, among others, quite well. And I struggle constantly to acknowledge that, yes, what happened was more than just "a hard childhood." More than that, I really, really struggle to accept that I had a childhood that was "bad enough" to result in DID.

Nearly all of the things I have read about DID that make sense to me overall, also say that it's the result of "overwhelming" or "traumatic" childhood abuse. How could my childhood be "traumatic" if I lived through it? How could I forget something "traumatic"?

There is only so much trauma one mind can hold. Everything else has to go somewhere. People are lucky when they are able to process trauma as it occurs, able to speak of what happened to a listening ear. More often, and especially with children, no one is willing to hear. And so the trauma gets buried, until it can be dealt with. But the habit of burying emotions and experiences becomes ingrained, and continues long past the point where it is necessary.

I am no longer beaten for crying, but it is difficult to cry.

I am no longer beaten for asking for help, but the habit of self-sufficiency remains.

No one comes into my room at night any more, but I still sleep on guard.

These lessons were vital to my survival. If I had not learned them, I would not be here, writing. My family are not, and were not, evil, but they were not able to face their own demons. Should something extreme have happened to me, it would have been a tragedy, they would have been sorry, but it would have happened.

I have been in therapy pretty constantly since I reached adulthood. My adult parts are, on the whole, pretty healthy, normal people. They are the face I show to most of the world. But the lessons they learned, in adulthood, have a hard time passing through the barriers between parts.

I have been learning to accept that my younger parts really are whole people, separate from me. The fact that we live in the same body makes it very confusing, as much to me as to anyone else. And yet, it explains so much. It explains how the differences between parts are not just about mood states--each part feels the full range of emotion; each part has their own goals in life, which don't always correlate with my own (Mandy was saying just the other day that she wants to be a garbage man when she grows up, to ride on the back of the truck. Um, yeah. Sorry, kid. You're out of luck!)

It is difficult for me to accept that my "quirkiness" has an explanation that points to something more difficult than just being "moody." But the more I acknowledge it, the more I tell people who have known me for years what is happening, the more we all understand things that otherwise made no sense.

But it's a process, and while I started down this road more than ten years ago, I'm really only taking the first real steps now.

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"Somebody" was here

So. I spent several days pretty much on my back because of fibro. Then I made it to therapy. Somehow, in that process, my teenagers emerged (not, unfortunately, in therapy, but afterwards).

They are convinced that W. is not going to help with setting limits or other methods of taking care of them. Full disclosure: I'm not 100% able to trust that W. will be able to cope with this, or them, either. This doesn't help the teens to feel confident. But, unlike me, the teens' response is to feel angry, hopeless, and rejected. They powerfully resent their sense of responsibility for taking care of W. when they feel it's not reciprocated on her part. They are convinced she's "not capable of being a grown-up."

They get furious, and turn that fury almost immediately onto themselves. I think they want to hurt W. by hurting themselves, or at least, to cut themselves off from the anger and pain inherent in being teenagers who are expected to act like adults (they do seem to recognize that their sense of this is complicated by the fact that, technically, they are adults; I suspect they also resent the adult parts for not being capable of doing the things they want done, like laundry and housework).

Yesterday, the main one out is the one who calls/called herself "Somebody." Where did she get that name? It was a joke she made in high school, when someone at school asked about family nicknames. She said, "My nickname in my family is 'Somebody.' As in, 'Somebody needs to do the dishes,' or 'Somebody needs to clean up this mess.'" She resents it, and yet, she does the work. From what I've been able to figure out, it's not even that she minds the work, per se, just that she resents the feeling of having to take care of other people, getting nothing in return. But it's a name that reflects very little person-hood, and a whole load of resentment.

So she and Jamie were pushing one of W.'s bigger buttons. As far as they or I (or, for that matter, W.) can work out, they weren't doing it intentionally to be manipulative. They were operating on their honestly held belief that W. was eventually going to stop taking care of them, and so they wanted it over with as quickly as possible. So Jamie and Somebody argued that having the rules just upsets them, and causes conflict, so we should stop having rules.

This time around, they tried really hard to be moderately civil and not do things to make W. worry about them/us/me. But much as they wanted to get their disappointment over with, they really couldn't cope with the fact that they had been right. Since they felt pretty certain that they couldn't cope with living with W. without having the safety of limits being set, they figured their best option was to figure out how they, the parts, could just "go away." At the same time, they really didn't want to have to disappear, so they just felt more and more trapped, and more and more furious.

Fortunately, W. "came to," as she put it. We have a rule that only adult parts are allowed to negotiate whether there will be rules, and what those rules will be. The teens took advantage of W.'s preference for avoiding conflict, and of the fact that she really does want to keep each part and the whole system from feeling upset. They doubted her ability to keep up with limits, and so pushed at her weakest point (her lack of confidence in setting limits with them/us/me if someone pushes against them). W. realized last night that if she wanted the teens to feel safe, allowing them to get rid of limits was not the way to go. This calmed the teens down considerably, and they realized that they really did prefer to be wrong about W.'s ability to set limits. Once again, they were relieved to see that she would set limits, and not expect them to operate as adults.



Some good things did come out of this. For one thing, the teens (particularly "Somebody") don't experience the fatigue of fibromyalgia. They have the pain, but ignore it. And "Somebody" is very good at getting things done, so the laundry got washed yesterday, and they/we/I got to walk over to our favorite coffee shop to hang out. The thing to figure out is either how the teens can share that energy with the rest of us, or how they can be out and active without constantly testing limits and feeling miserable (although, come to think of it, that's a lot of what being a teenager is about, isn't it?).

Another good thing about "Somebody" being out, and actually talking more or less civilly to W. last night, was that she was able to see that perhaps having a real name would be a good idea. One important thing W. made sure to explain was that no part (especially "Somebody") is required to do all the work, nor does she love us only so far as we take care of her. And so "Somebody" has agreed to consider having an actual name. Right now, she's leaning towards "Ellis" (because it sounds like "else," which amuses her in combination with "Somebody," and because it also refers to Cinderella, without the baggage that name carries).

So. Some progress.

--Cleo

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Guilt or fear

I've been having a flare-up of fibromyalgia. It happens every year. For that matter, to a lesser degree, it happens every month. So combining spring and that time of month has knocked me out.

I feel guilty about it. W. was encouraging me to accept it, and to let go of the guilt, and to allow myself time to focus on meeting my body's needs.

Thinking about it, though, here's the thing. I think that the guilt helps me to stave off the fear of what this means. I mean, if I'm lazy, that means everything is under my control. If the problem is not trying hard enough, not committing myself to doing what I need to do, what I should do, what I want to do... then, conceivably, I can decide to do differently.

But if the problem is a physical disability, it's not under my control. If I'm not faking the fibromyalgia, if I'm not making up the DID, then I can't just decide to be better.

And it's even harder to accept that with the DID, I actually am doing everything I am "supposed" to be doing to get better. With the fibro, yes, I could be taking meds (none of them actually worked when I tried them, but I could keep trying different ones). I could be getting massage (which did reduce the pain and fatigue, but only when I had a massage therapist who was experienced with both fibro and survivor issues, and which didn't actually do away with the fatigue and pain to the extent that I could manage a full-time job year-round). And that's about it.

I am not good at accepting what I can't control. I am good at controlling myself, at forcing myself to do things that, on cooler reflection, I can't really handle. This is hard.

And there's the sheer boredom of being too exhausted to sit up for more than half an hour, or to hold up a book for more than an hour at a time. There's only so much a person can do, flat on her back (and despite having hundreds of TV channels to choose from, there's very little to watch).

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Meet the Robinsons

W and I went to see Meet the Robinsons yesterday. Here's what we (inside) have to say:

this is Teller. i will tell about the movie for the kids. lots of us watched it because it was a safe movie for kids to watch. one cool thing about it is that there were glasses and they were not paper they were plastic so they are cool and we can keep them.

there was a cartoon at the start. it was chip and dale about peanuts. it was funny. michelle didn't like it caues they were being bad but it was funny and the rest of us liked it.

then there was the movie. it was a littel bit sad at the start because the poor littel boy, he was left at an orphanage. but the orphanage lady was nice to the kids. then he grew up to be a big kid and he did science things like a peanut butter and jelly hat. but that made a mistake, and then the people, they dident want to adopt him, they wanted a different kid. and the boy was sad. but then he made a thing for a science fair that was going to help him see his memory of his mommy who left him, so he could go find her.

then the exciting parts happened, cause a boy from the future came, and told him a guy in a bowler hat was gonna steal his project. and that guy came. he was not scary because he was a funny bad guy. he was very funny. but he broke the science project and ruined the fair. and the boy was sad. but the boy from the future took him there. and then the rest happened.

the movie was happy and one funny part was when the two boys got into the future, and they had an argument, and one boy said, "you have to do what i say because i'm older" and the other boy said, "you have to do what I say, because i'm from the past, and that makes ME older!" there were lots of jokes in the movie that made us laugh about it.

This is Cleo, writing for the adults:

We liked the movie quite a bit. It was a little bit on the strange side, since some of the stuff that happened was really very random and a little bit hard to follow. I don't know if it would have really been worth paying extra to see it 3-D, but we had passes, and ended up not having to pay extra, so that was fine.

The movie had a really excellent message, basically that you can't let things that happened in your past ruin your future, that you have to take responsibility for how you choose to live your life, and that if you weren't born into or raised in the family you want, you should choose a family of your own, and take control of your life. The movie showed how people who hold on to anger at someone else, and don't take responsibility for the roles they play in their own lives, sabotage their own lives along with everyone else's.

The main villain wasn't especially scary at all, but there was a portion at the end that did get quite frightening. It was over quickly, but it was still a part you might want to have an adult around for (just to reassure children, inside or out, that everything would work out fine, and that the problems would be solved before too long).

This is a movie I might even consider buying, because I'd like to watch it again when I have a little more time (when will they come out with 3-D movies for the home? That would be really cool!).

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Trying

It is very hard for me to accept that, just because I want to do something, choose to do something, it doesn't mean that I can do something.

I would say that I have come to this level of acceptance with fibromyalgia. I would say that, but on reflection, it's not really true. I've managed to ingrain some habits--rest more often, be aware of what I eat, don't try to do some of the things that are far more difficult with fibro--but, on the whole, my main feeling is that I'm just being lazy, if I could just find the willpower, then the pain and fatigue wouldn't keep me from doing the things I know I should do. I suppose it's for the best that I'm not the only adult part, since I would probably manage to push well past the point of collapse.

Perhaps because it's "all in my head" or perhaps just because I've been trying to cope with it for less time, this whole struggle with DID is seeming even more difficult. There isn't something about it that can easily be seen by other people. From the outside, I am just one person. So why, then, do I find it so difficult to get these different parts to just do what I would prefer to be doing?

For a lot of reasons (self-respect, financial security) I really would like to be working. Even though I am dimly aware of the fact that my body won't do it, even if it weren't for the difficulty of coping with where I am in my mental health process, it still feels like I'm being self-indulgent, lazy, selfish. W. has enough on her plate without having to support me financially.

And yet, realistically, I know it's something I can't do. If I can't manage to do routine household tasks, there really isn't any way I could currently pull of working outside the house. But I still feel very guilty about it.

Maybe it's because I used to be able to push myself to do things that, on rational reflection, I shouldn't have been able to do. And if I could pull something off at, say, fourteen, then why can't I do something that's objectively easier at thirty-two?

More than that, there's the struggle of figuring out how to cope with the different parts inside of me. I mean, it's my brain (although, here, I get a chorus of voices insisting that, no, it's their brain too, and I'm not allowed to act like I'm the only one, and so on). But I did always think I was the only one, and felt really guilty or surprised or confused when one of the other parts would show up.

Perhaps because the adults in the system have a pretty good degree of co-consciousness, our experience is more, "This is odd. Why am I doing this when what I thought I wanted to do was that? Why do I enjoy doing this thing, as though it is something I always enjoy, when just yesterday, I couldn't stand to do it at all?"

We, in the system, have always been careful about stating strong opinions. And we've been even more cautious about doing things that indicate there are different people inside. A lot of that, probably, is me. If my job is to pretend everything is normal, then we have to present a united front to the rest of the world.

This makes some things easier. My closet doesn't look "different," because we simply came up with clothing compromises so that the majority of parts would be happy willing to wear the same clothes. I have practiced acting as though it's perfectly normal to have a bunch of different toys, or to have a range of books to read (although several parts have been short-changed in that category, because they like books the others are embarrassed to carry).

But this united front has made it more challenging to cope with the problems (I reluctantly admit) we have. Just because the Analyst can explain why something is happening, just because the adults in the system decide that the goal is to feel better, be responsible, take care of the things we need to take care of.... Just because I know something intellectually doesn't mean it's got a path to carry over to any of the other parts.

And I guess it's not reasonable of me to expect to do all of this "right" the first time I try. That said, it has been my experience in the past. I could decide I would keep working even though I was tired. I could decide I would get into a good college even though I had no idea what I was doing. I would decide I could get sufficient rest from three or four hours of sleep, and convince my body to go along with me.

And because I used to be able to do that, the guilt from not being able to do it now is kind of crushing. It's hard to convince myself that my failure to do the things I feel like I "should" do is not because I am lazy, or selfish, or not trying hard enough. It is because, in fact, I can't do these things right now. I can't stand that. And I can't understand that that's true. And then, I think: If I can't get that, then what must people think of me, when they're not inside and can see how hard I'm trying? Because it doesn't look like I'm trying from the outside, or else I would be succeeding.


I guess trying is not the same as succeeding. But I've had a long experience of, if I just try to do something with my full will behind it, then I will succeed, to one degree or another. And so this repeated failure feels not so much like failure, as failure to try. Because if I tried, I would succeed. I guess that's not really true. But it's still, deep down inside, what feels true.

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Teamwork

Last week, Jamie kept saying something (thinking it loudly, that is) over and over. "I'm 14. What's your excuse?"

At the time, when I overheard it, I figured she was having a mental conversation with W. But this weekend, I realized something. She was probably also talking to us older parts.

And she is right. We are adults, and as such, need to be working with W. to help take care of the younger ones. We are adults, and while our position is somewhat complicated, in that we're inside the same head as Jamie and the other kids, we still have to figure out how we can take on some of the task of setting and maintaining limits.

One hard part has been this: not all of the adults are really ready to completely accept that the DID exists. And so we often feel kind of powerless and overwhelmed when one of the younger parts is fully present. And we (I) have trouble accepting that things are much better when I/we behave as though we really are different people who just happen to share a body.

I mean, how on EARTH could that be something that will lead me to be mentally healthy? It really just seems like it's going to make things worse, acting as though I am separate from Jamie in ways that make it possible for me to do more than shout, over and over, "Don't do what you're doing. Do something ELSE."

And yet... yesterday, the adults in the system decided to behave as though we are separate from each other, and need to work together as a team. We found that it was possible to support W. in coping with Jamie without Jamie participating in that conversation. I think W. felt less alone in coping, and we all felt much better with the results.

When I accept that I have different parts, with their own needs and opinions, things get calmer. It's that simple. Things are better when I act as though there are different parts. But that doesn't make it any easier to accept. I still feel more comfortable with the methods I've used for the rest of my life: choosing how I ought to be, and forcing myself to act that way regardless of other impulses I might have. But that doesn't seem to have worked as a long-term plan.

And I'm thinking perhaps the risks of accepting that we really are separate parts are outweighed by the gains we'll get from doing that. Perhaps I really am better off accepting who I am than trying to force myself to become who I think I should be.

--Cleo

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Book group, and musings about adult parts

Book group was last night. The book was "Geek Love" by Katherine Dunn. My thought upon finishing reading it was, "I can't believe I read the whole thing." The "geek" in the title refers to carnival geeks, who bite the heads off of chickens. It goes downhill from there. I (Cleo) and other parts who slogged through reading it didn't enjoy the book at all. It's creepy and depressing, without much to say for it as something to spend one's time doing.

But I read it, because I know that the smart one likes to go to book group, and wouldn't be as happy there if I/we/she hadn't read the book. That's how the division of labor goes with intellectual or academic things: whoever is around gets through the reading, one way or another, and the smart one shows up to talk about things at the last minute. I never really know how it happens, but even with a book where I would swear that I had just run my eyes over the pages, not taking in a word, I turn out to have intelligent things to say, and can discuss it as though I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Plus, the smart one is pretty extroverted, in the limited sense that she really enjoys talking to people about academic things. So it's a bit of fun for her.

She realized, right at the start of group, that "Geek Love" was also a reference to "Greek Love," and if you view the book as a Greek tragedy, it's actually very interesting (that is, if you're interested in Greek tragedy, which I am not). The smart one really enjoyed the discussion, and had a lot of good things to say.

The other thing about book group, and this is a little scary, is that I've been invited (and agreed, heaven help me!) to lead book group in May. I have to choose the book and everything. On the one hand, I'm not worried about it, since I like to talk, and the people who come are very ready to discuss things, and they're engaged, and it's something I know I (as in, the smart one) is very good at doing. On the other hand, I'm really worried about choosing a book. What if people don't like it? What if I choose something really stupid for a book group? Do I choose a book that's a "usual" book group choice, or do I risk getting people irritated by choosing some genre fiction that I know I like and have wanted to discuss like this?

I mean, it's silly for me to worry. No joke, the smart one once taught a class where we had a deep intellectual discussion about Henry Huggins, a children's book by Beverly Cleary. Tied it into the cold war and everything. If I can do that, then any book with any intentional allusions will be fine!


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


I've been thinking about how my adult parts work lately. It seems a little odd to me that I'd need to have as many as I do. On the one hand, I can see where it makes sense, at least with some parts.

The mama was created so I could be good at taking care of my younger siblings and home-making type things, and like it, and not feel utterly overwhelmed. So she does pretty much all of that stuff, and it's actually soothing and calming for her, rather than the aggravation or overwhelmed-ness that other parts feel.

The analyst showed up, I think, when I was about 14, so that I could cope with the knowledge that I really needed therapy "when I grow up" and look at everything directly, but very unemotionally. So, for instance, she's the one who can calmly and un-upsetly give the basics when I'm first talking to a therapist. And she can explain things, and give me a sense that, so long as I understand why someone is doing something, I can cope with it (like my family persistently using the n-word in "joking" reference to me).

But then, why is the analyst separate from the smart one? I guess in part, because the smart one needed to have absolutely no awareness of what it was like at home. When I am in the middle of a class, I can behave as though the only thing in the world for me is the intellectual topics at hand, and they are utterly separate from the emotionally fraught things that might be connected with them. And, unlike me, the smart one is confident that admitting she doesn't understand something is a sign of intelligence. It works for her, but she only deals with academics anyhow. Plus, she's incredibly intelligent.

Or why am I, Cleo (formerly "Queen of Denial"), separate from the smart one? Maybe because the smart one really, truly, completely needed to be no more than vaguely aware of how things were at home? Or because I am kind of in the middle, and behaved at school as though nothing was wrong at home, but also behaved at home as though.... my job was to hide things from everyone to keep us safe. To not write in a journal, or talk to people, or anything. To act like everything was under control and I knew what I was doing, and I needed no more help than what I specifically asked for (and I only asked for things I knew I could get). So I guess that's why I'm separate from the smart one.

I don't exactly know why the hip chyck is separate from any of the other adult parts. I know how she's different, but not why. She's more active and activist. I guess the main difference between her and the analyst is that she's focused way more outward than inward. She's more confident. She has more fun. And she's way more social, which is a very useful thing to have access to. Plus a few other things she does better than the other adult parts.

Not sure where I was going with this, but it's part of what I've been thinking about.

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Silences

I've been paying attention to my silences lately--the things I don't say, the ways I don't speak.

Part of it has been realizing that some of the overwhelming panic I feel sometimes when asked my opinion, or what I want to do, is that I get altogether too much information from different parts. The information is not consistent--different parts believe or want very different things at any given moment. So the question "What do you want to do today?" brings up far more confusion than I think the asker intends.

And I don't yet know how to manage the negotiation required--figuring out how to let each part have their say and behave honestly, without feeling shut out and silenced. And, at the same time, I don't want to threaten the parts who feel intensely uncomfortable with perceptible inconsistencies, or looking like there's something different about me (as in me-the-group). We are/I am still working on letting go of the old "rules," and "don't answer to different names or in any way indicate that there are different parts working here" is one of the biggies.


Another part is simply the fear of behaving as though I think my problems merit consideration, care, concern, attention. I was raised to believe that because worse things had happened to someone else at some point in time or space, then I should not allow myself to be upset. And because other people had needs, mine could not be considered. And, besides, it is weak, lazy, inconsiderate, selfish, etc. to say that there is something wrong.

And then there's the covering up. I feel guilty and ashamed that I am not managing to overcome my "issues" with the apparent ease that allowed me to deal with things in my life for the first thirty or so years.


Beyond all of that, there is the fact that I just don't know where to start. When people I haven't spoken to in a while ask, "How have you been?" Well... even if they would be perfectly happy to listen, even if they are compassionate and caring, there's more to say than I can figure out how to get out.

So in a lot of ways, I just kind of avoid it. I don't speak, I don't reach out, I pretty much shut down. I've made a commitment to avoid denying things, but I'm not really skilled at it yet. Denial used to be my main job (as in me-the-part). And figuring out how to cope without it is kind of confusing, because I just don't know what to say.




Oh, and some internal thinking has gotten me to the point where I think maybe I should say right here that this blog is for all the parts, and we can each write whatever we want because no one has to read it if they don't want to, and maybe we'll try to get comfortable with signing our own names, too. Just fyi.

This post was mostly written by Cleo but the Teller reminded me to add that last paragraph.

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