Monthly Archive for September, 2005

Speaking With the Therapist On Monday - What’s What

Published
by
Austin
on September 30, 2005
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Soapbox, Therapy and Therapy Assignments
. 0 Comments

Desperation isn’t something I do well. I feel like I’m holding on by a thread. Part of me just wants to lie down and go to sleep while another part fears it terribly.Cappy is doing fine. He’s moping around and sluggish but he’s doing fine.

I’m worn out big time.

I didn’t want to take meds anymore but it seems that I can feel the difference and I’m not liking the difference. I think the therapist needs to back off. She’s holding too tightly. I suppose we’ll talk to her about it on Monday. I think the term; “Medication Nazi” has gotten under our skin. Morton is seething over it actually, while the rest of us grit our teeth in hopes that he doesn’t start to show his aggressive side. We likened the behavior of the people at the food pantry to nazi’s but the post itself was about Catholicism being attached to the pantry. We were not using the term nazi lightly. Our mother took torture techniques from the Nazi’s so we have very little if any tolerance for humor in that area. Some of the people we come from, long ago but I still think about them daily, but some of our people were in the camps and that also leaves very little room for Nazi humor. Of course she didn’t know that but trust me, on Monday she will. On the phone she spoke with Morton briefly. He had little to say. The phone conversation was short, which for her sake was good cause Morton is pissed big time. Waiting for him to blow is like sitting on the titanic waiting for it to sink, it’s slow but the inevitability is that the water is going to come above your head and take your breath away. He has bitten his tongue for our sake but I think on Monday I’ll have to mention to her that the Nazi stuff isn’t funny to us. Morton is a patient man until he feels provoked or someone inside feels unsafe. Then too he doesn’t always act aggressively, his language can be aggressive but unless the body is in physical danger he doesn’t get violent. This new therapist is a lightweight and therefore not a physical threat to us. She won’t have to worry about Morton feeling that there is a physical threat to the body. Oh, we should mention to her not to fuck over Sammy cause that will make him violent. I don’t know, she’s new, very new. But for her and for us, we should let her know what is what. I’ve said enough for now.
Destiny,
Second in Command

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Childhood Worries - Adulthood Memories

Published
by
Austin
on September 29, 2005
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams, General Chatter, Mental Health and PTSD
. 1 Comment

When I was a kid I worried about getting beheaded. I’ve been dreaming about that recently. I remember how graphic history class was and how they talked about the worst thing you could do to someone in ancient Rome was desecrate the body and send a final blow of insult by removing the head violently. I don’t know why I dream these things. I wish I didn’t. I dreamed about the old high school and a little boy was beaten and had his head cut off. His head fell at my feet. His eyes were open. His forehead was cut. His mouth was closed. His head was lying beside his body, sitting up on the neck. In the same dream was the dollar store that I frequent. It was sitting in a strip mall that also makes a regular appearance in my dreams. I want to go to bed now. I also want to go outside and take a walk to ease the anxiety but it’s raining out there. It’s also too late to be walking anywhere. the cat and dog are in the bedroom. Cap doesn’t like being separated from me too long. He’s whining to let him out. I need to sleep but I am so scared to do it.

Aussie Girl

x

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The Heart Is In Pain Even While Rejoicing

Published
by
Austin
on September 29, 2005
in Borderline Personality Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy
. 1 Comment

Thursday, September 29, 2005
12:52 AM

On the group BlackGirlDID we talked about trust in relationships and about joy. It kind of goes along with what I was saying about not wanting to need anyone. I took a big chance when I wrote yesterday’s journal entry on that subject because I said something that my mother warned against: I said something that could be potentially used against me. I’ll tell ya too, damn her for still being in my head!

TRUST
I will never marry for the reason you speak of here; I can’t let myself depend on anyone. I have to know that things are taken care of. I have to know where all the money goes, where the food is coming from, what the bills are and when they are coming. I can’t let myself depend on anyone at all for fear of ending up homeless but that’s only the second reason. I don’t want to feel like a huge fool when they let me down. I don’t want to come to get comfortable with them and then suddenly they become just as unpredictable and as unbalanced as.. dare I say it… as the mother! She’s my main abuser; she’s the one that taught me to never trust anyone. She’s the one that gave me reason after reason to never depend on anyone but myself. So when I think of marriage or even a partnership of some kind, of sharing my home with anyone, of depending on anyone with any measure of dependency I become afraid and then angry! I’m angry that I’ve let myself get weak and start to trust another enough to lie beside them at night. I’m angry that I’ve allowed myself to depend on another to the point that I’d let them take responsibility for this or that in the household. I can’t let go even a small bit. The moment I let go I lose the one thing I’ve depended on my entire life and that’s me. so yeah, I get it when you say: “(quote removed)”. It takes a lot to trust another person with our life, even when we love them dearly it takes a lot. So I understand where you are coming from.

JOY
You are right on target here. I don’t trust joy either. It seems like when I get comfortable that’s when all hell breaks lose and then I’m all pissed that I’ve let myself get comfortable and enjoy myself. Girl, you are right on target… joy seems to precede the storm instead of follow it.

For me, joy isn’t waiting for an opportunity to come forth, it’s waiting for the opportunity for me to let my guard down and trust it so it can slap me in the face for being stupid enough to trust it.

If you haven’t guessed, I’m not in a very positive mood tonight.

Austin

I can’t remember what scripture this is.
Even in laughter the heart may be in pain and grief is what rejoicing ends up in.

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This Is My Dream

Published
by
Austin
on September 28, 2005
in Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD and Poetry
. 0 Comments

It’s my dream to make my life what it was intended to be.
It’s my dream to close my eyes and never see the reflection of sorrowful times
To never be forced to endure the sight of hope dripping down a windowsill
Dripping to the ground that nourishes the very weeds that choke out my ability to breath.
Painful and burdensome, bleeding and bereaved
It’s my dream to never use these words in reference to me.
It is my dream to see colours in their vibrant, flowing form
It’s my dream to never mourn
To never regret missed wishes on falling stars or
Never pass up the chance to dance when everyone fears the ridiculing eye of another.
It is my dream to wake and not remember who I had to be to survive my mother.
This is my dream.
This is my dream: awake or sleeping.

I Don’t Want To Want You

Published
by
Austin
on September 28, 2005
in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Poetry
. 0 Comments

 

This is the thing; I can’t lie beside anyone at night. I can’t live with anyone. I need to be in my home by myself for much of the day. I fear being touched. I fear hearing another voice and being forced to shuffle and come up with a name to match it. I want to go to movies I want to hang out. I want to go to lunch and to maybe talk on the phone from time to time but I don’t want a partner. I could never come to rely on anyone for anything other than friendship. Right now the dog and cat are outside the door waiting for me to be up to walking out there and having them climb all over me.I’m scared. I’m scared of my selves. I’m afraid that one of us will lead him on while the vast majority of us want nothing to do with him other than to hang out. I’m afraid to tell him what our disorder is. I don’t want to do this. I just need something to drink and to call it a night. I still have some tea left. Shesh, and I’ve not filled out my form tonight for the therapist. Shesh….

For a second I thought I heard my mother’s footsteps at the door. She doesn’t live here and she never, ever will. I expected her to open the door and tell me to go to bed. I’m 34 years old and I don’t live with her. I haven’t lived with her since I was 20 years old.
Me

 

 

Sometimes I Hate Mama

Sometimes I hate Mama
I hear her voice and a death cold chill rakes my spine
I wonder just how strong her hold is on my mind.
I have Mama’s hands and her face I see staring back from the mirror
When I laugh sometimes I think I hear her.
The reflection and tone wouldn’t be such a burden if memories of Mama were soft and sweet.
But what comes flooding back are details of blood, fear and sleeping in the streets.Sometimes I hate Mama
When I sit for a meal and look upon my platter
I am taunted by her proclamation, “You’ll only get fatter.”
If I did, it wouldn’t change a thing.
She wouldn’t approve of me either way.
Now I struggle with that truth on my heart
That Mama is not accepting whole or in part.

Sometimes I think I hate her.
Sometimes I scream it when I awaken suddenly and
When my face is flushed blood red
And I’m crying with a force stronger than a storm.
The wind will die and the rain will patter to its end
Slowly it trickles down my face, over my lips and to the floor,
Washing away all memory of her face.
Sometimes I hate Mama

Freeman/Austin

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Time, Where Did It Go?

Published
by
Austin
on September 27, 2005
in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Relationships
. 0 Comments

Managing my time will prove to be difficult. I think I may even have to set up office hours at home. After launching the new business and trying to get it going I see that my time is short and fleeting. I’m hoping this works out. I could use the money for Cap and everything. Today’s vet bill wasn’t as high as I was expecting it to be but it’s still more than I have. I’ve also got a few mailboxes full of email that I’ve not replied to. I have to say that I enjoy being busy. I miss the work place. Ah, I did figure out that the Austin Gang cannot come in here while I’m trying to get things done. Cappy does just fine laying beside the desk but Hobbes is a terror when she decides it’s time for Mama to quit typing and pay attention to her. I also just realized that I don’t have a logo yet. Damn! There is just so much to do. I need a database as and a few other things. Thank goodness for all the programs I have here. Thank goodness for the know how to use them. I’d be in trouble big time if I were computer illiterate. Oh, and spell check is my newest buddy. Lord knows I can’t spell worth a darn. If spell check hadn’t been invented I’d be sending out forms with English words looking like French words. I always got C’s and D’s in spelling. My mother wasn’t too happy about that. I Aced English though. That might have something to do with my mother being a stickler on grammar. She use to pay me to conjugate verbs. I also got paid for good grades. I had to pay her for bad grades. We got $10 for every A, $5 for every B but nothing for C’s. We paid $10 per F and paid $5 per D. My grades were good enough that I raked in the money each session but my sister failed miserably. I feared my sister would be bankrupt by graduation but by then my mother stopped pressing the issue so much. Each time the mother got paid she would have us give the definition of a word. Whoever came up with the definition first got $5 to $10 per word. I cleaned up. My sister got nothing. That poor girl! The sister was known as the good one I was the bad one. She was the stupid one I was the smart one. I was fat she was skinny. It’s shameful how they kept us at odds. It worked. She hates me to this day. Well, I suppose I shall retire for the night.

Aussie
(Smart enough to leave home)

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The Pitfalls of Culinary Skills

Published
by
Austin
on September 23, 2005
in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, Relationships and Soapbox
. 0 Comments

Yup, she’s still here and talking about staying until Sunday. I told her I didn’t have enough food for her and me so she’s going home shortly. Right now she’s using the Jacuzzi. The girl showed up with instant oatmeal and instant potatoes. Yeah, that’s great…lets eat Aussie’s food! You know, I had to fire an Allstate agent because the woman called me at home several times to ask for cooking tips. The time when she was fired she called to ask about how to grill eggplant. I told her I didn’t know and she called me a dumb ass. I told her she was the dumb ass cause she’s the one calling a client for recipes. She hung up. I fired her. There are pit falls to being able to cook. Pitfall #1 is you never get invited to parties because people worry you’ll judge their food. Pitfall #2 is, when you invite them over they want you to cook then they judge your food. Pitfall #3, if you burn it you lose credibility as if being a trained chef means you never make human mistakes. I don’t know how to cook everything. I don’t recognize every fruit or ever cut of meat. I don’t know all the French words for this and that. I tell you, cooking is an art and a joy, what throws off the dish is when you add “people” to the mix.

I have to say, the people behind my eyes sometimes want something simple like hot dogs and French fries. I sometimes over cook for us, I make things too “fancy” or too “gourmet.” I made orange duck when a hamburger will do. I add garnish or set the table when they’d rather eat pizza from the box or off of a paper plate. I ruin the meal for them when I make it so formal all the time.

Growing up, we ate out 3 times a day. We ate at the steak houses, at the big seafood restaurants and places that required reservations. Rarely did we eat fast food and rarely did we go anywhere that you could wear slacks and a sweater. I hated not eating at home but knowing my mother couldn’t cook worth a darn made eating out necessary. The woman could not cook! She put things together that should be outlawed…they probably are. You don’t put an egg in mac and cheese. That’s just nasty. I was happy she realized her culinary failings and let us eat out, but now, as an adult, I tend to overcompensate for the loss of kitchen table time. I guess I overcompensate for many things that I missed as a child.

Aussie

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I’m Not Ever Enough: My Unbalanced View

Published
by
Austin
on September 23, 2005
in Art, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD, Relationships, Soapbox and Therapy
. 0 Comments

I can’t even get my thoughts together. My mind is blank I mean to tell you. I want to ball up on the bed and just go to sleep or maybe fall into myself, away from everything. There is too much to do and I’ve got very little to do it with. I feel stretched too thin.I guess the first thing is that I don’t recognize my therapist. I keep expecting to see K.H. when I show up. There’s a brown haired lady and I struggle to remember her. I struggle to …….I struggle.

I feel like I’m not doing enough anywhere. I’m not doing enough at home. I’m not doing enough with friends or with Captain. I’m not enough. Then I think of the friends that will read this and know for sure they’ve felt the same way. But if I was reading this and a friend of mine was saying this I would pull back and not want to be a burden. But that’s not the point of this entry. The point is, we all feel like we’ve not done enough and that too much of us is given to others. The thing is, we go into our adult life with baggage. We come in with the issues of abuse and of abandonment, of fear and desperation. There was a girl I met a long time ago that said of her ex-husband, “I gave him everything and still he left me.” That’s the kind of baggage I mean when I say we as survivors come into adulthood with baggage. When she said, “I gave him everything and still…” she basically said, “I was a good girl but he still didn’t love me.” So when I see myself feeling that I’ve not given enough or when I see that I want to pull away from this or that situation, I know it’s because of the “good girl” syndrome that I suffer with. Continue reading ‘I’m Not Ever Enough: My Unbalanced View’

What It’s Like To Be A Multiple

Published
by
Austin
on September 20, 2005
in Art, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD, Poetry and Therapy
. 1 Comment

She wanted to know what it’s like to be a multiple:

It’s humiliating to not recognize people. It feels like I go around faking everything. It feels like I’m lying to people when I talk to them but know in my heart I dont recognize them or know them from Adam. I know the lady at the front desk at the hospital but the ladies at the clinic are just a blur to me. I’ve known them longer but for some reason I distance myself from them…. it’s like most people I guess…I dont connect because I dont remember them. I have to try and respond to my name when most of the time I dont recognize it. I use to not recognize my own home. I couldnt tell if i was at my mothers house or if I was in my own apartment. I kept thinking I’d wake up and my mother would be in the kitchen making pancakes for breakfast. She never did that when…the thought that went through my mind was, she never did that when i was alive… but, anyway, she didnt cook. she never cooked. it is confusing walking around not recognizing anything because you’ve switched personalities and now you’re lost. i’ve gotten lost 2 blocks from home… i lived there for 5 years and couldnt find my way home. when i use to drive there were times when i switched and crossed over into another state. I had Cappy with me, thank goodness. but i had to stay in a hotel and find my way home the next day. or, i woke up in a hotel with cappy next to me and we went home that day.

Continue reading ‘What It’s Like To Be A Multiple’

Another Dead Friend - Exchanging Worries

Published
by
Austin
on September 20, 2005
in General Chatter and Mental Health
. 2 Comments

20 September 2005
4:21 AMIt would have been nice had I gotten some sleep. This day went from bad to worse. Vm* died yesterday and I found out today. I only found out as I was bad mouthing her for wanting to charge me $15 to take me to the store the other day. I’m in shock. She was the more irritating, prejudice; self-proclaimed witch I’ve ever known but I still liked her. Maybe I needed her more than I liked her. I needed the fact that she was cool with my dx and that she didn’t rush me at the store. She didn’t mind bringing Cap along. She smoked like a chimney the same as me. How on earth can she be here one day and gone the next? She had a brain tumor and dropped dead. I found out about 2 hours ago. I was a mess and ended up calling Mrs.R* who insists that Vm* is burning in hell for being a spirit medium. I do not believe in hell fire as she does. I believe Vm* was wrong for practicing the occult. I believe she is simply no longer living. She’s not in heaven or burning in hell fire. She wasn’t that old. She was like less than 50 I think. She was 52, I remember now. She had been complaining of horrible headaches. She went to the doctor who told her she was having seizures. That was six months ago.

In addition to me being down to $6 for the rest of the month, I’m not dealing with the death of a friend. But right now, I’m not dealing with anything. I’m going to bed with my dog and Wee Kitten Hobbes. She’s been like glue to me for the last few hours. She’s such a sweetheart. She and Cappy make a good mix.

I may be canceling my last appointment with the T for this month because I may not have the two bucks to get there in the cab. I may just talk to her over the phone so that I can still have support and not have to worry about coming up with the extra money. I have restroom tissue, laundry soap, plenty of food, medication, dog and cat supplies are in abundance, I’ve got everything I need for the next 10 days so it’s not like I’m going to be missing anything or going to need money for anything. When I moved in I knew it was going to be difficult. I moved because I couldn’t stand the death toll at the other place. I couldn’t stand knowing that every week someone was going to drop dead from this or that. it is things like this that made me leave. The sickness, the depression, the loneliness and the outright criminal behavior were too much to bear. When someone dies almost every week it begins to get to you. If I was at that old place right now trying to deal with all my issues and Vm*’s death I would not be typing this entry. I’d be over the edge of my 19-story window. I couldn’t take the death toll there. I couldn’t take the hopelessness and the terminal mental illness that was ramped there. There was so much to do and too few people who care enough to do it. I was overwhelmed with phone calls from neighbors that needed to talk. Had I lived there right now I’d be on the phone with several people helping them through the night. With Vm* dying so suddenly there are surely people on the 19th floor that would find their way to my house to talk or call several times over a long period of time. Try adding the other deaths that follow hers and it’s a regular emotional and mental vacuum. My God! It’s almost not real. I have a hutch of hers. I wonder if the drunks are fighting over who gets her car.

Ttw* is supposed to come over tomorrow or Wednesday. She’ll be staying for a few nights. She’s going through some stuff right now. She’ll sleep on the love seat. She wont be sleeping in my bed. I made that clear. She’s staying as a guest, not as my partner. It seems that being stretched thin is a regular occurrence. I’ve even neglected my group. I haven’t said much at all. It’s been pretty quiet on there. I have one member that seems to have a level head. I smiled when I read her reply today. It was grounded and very non-judgmental. I appreciated the reply. I struggled with replying because my answer may not have been so neutral. I smiled when I read the reply because I could see where I let my personal feeling overshadow the opinion of the other person. I thought the member brought out that point very well and with tact. It was written well. I meant to tell her that but I never got around to it.

Continue reading ‘Another Dead Friend - Exchanging Worries’