Monthly Archive for September, 2005

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Today Is Mine and Mine Only

Published on September 16, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health and Therapy. 0 Comments

September 16th, 2005

 

I”m doing nothing today but relaxing and cooking. I’m not doing laundry or grooming the dog. I’m not answering emails. I’m not socializing with anyone for fear they need support. I’m not answering the phone or doing much of anything other than smoking, eating and screwing around on the pc. That means I wont be running the sweeper, cleaning the cat liter box, doing online surveys for cash, going to dinner with anyone or being anything for anyone other than civil. Today is Joan’s day. Those who refuse to obsurve Joan’s day and leave me alone will be added to the body count, which could rise to an immoral rate. I’m not evil today, I just need a brake so that I don’t lose it. There is a lot to get done but with no downtime, those things will push me right over the edge and land me in a crisis situation. I dont even want to get to that point because it’s frightening for me and frightening for my friends to see.

I planned to fix the front door. It needs to have some of the screws tightened. I have the drill to do it but it’s not priority for me. I could pick from the garden but I’m not. I could file some documents or call Mrs.R* but I’m not. I’m blowing off the day and doing nothing. I’m overwhelmed big time and if I dont get some sort of down time I’m going to come undone and be no good to me or anyone else. Self-preservation is not selfishness. If they were the same, I’d still be consider this day to be mine and mine only.

Joan of Arc

Dream: Family Apologizes to Child Molester

Published on September 16, 2005 in Art, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy. 0 Comments

This anger, I’m telling you, it’s high and it’s spilling. I’ve been yelling at Cap and Wee all day. I’ve got a c luster headache too.

I had a dream that there was an older cousin of mine that was hated by the family because he raped me as a child. The family hated him and he felt it was unjust. As the dream went on it came out that this little 3-year-old child initiated the sex and the hatred towards the teenage cousin was therefore unjustified. In the dream the grown up child stood with her arm around the cousin and said that she wanted it and that the cousin didn’t take anything from her at all. She wanted to have sex with this teenage cousin and felt horrible that she let him be branded as a child molester when she knew she was a willing participant. The family was remorseful for hating him so many years; after all, he didn’t make the toddler do anything she didn’t want to do.
Walled
The setting of this dream was in a locked mental ward that finds itself in my dreams often. It switched to a building with a bunch of rooms on different levels but most of the hidden rooms were below ground. The rooms were empty, some had a few people and others were packed but they all had impossible passageways, which the occupants crossed with ease. Some were waiting. Some were sitting in the room waiting for someone to come and meet them or come and get them out of the room. The doors weren’t barricaded with anything visible but the average person couldn’t just walk in and take up space as if they were welcome there. They were waiting for someone with anticipation and with a heavy heart. They didn’t expect them to come but they wanted them to. Others didn’t want or expect, they just stayed in the room as if they didn’t know what else to do. Like there was nothing for them outside the walls of their cell. They just stayed with a kind of ‘throw in the towel’ defeated posture that marks the current spirit of this system called Morton’s Pride. Continue reading ‘Dream: Family Apologizes to Child Molester’

Trauma From The Old Place

Published on September 15, 2005 in For the Record, Mental Health, Soapbox and Therapy. 0 Comments

Having moved away from the old place only removed me from what I called a war zone. It almost feels like I’ve got extra trauma to work through now. I need to talk about that in therapy. I need to tell her about having to put a deadbolt lock on my bedroom door and about barricading the front door for fear of someone coming in again. I need to mention the rape in my own apartment and the way the office handled it. There is so much that happened and we need to talk about it. It isn’t just a matter of moving and now it’s over, lets move on. I’ve brought up the old place a few times in our two sessions but she moves on. Monday I’m going to tell her she needs to listen.My financial problems here are significant, but not enough to make me go back there. I really don’t know how I lasted 5 years. I brought in the man next door when he stood in his underwear out in the rain. It broke my heart when I had to convince him to come in and only after an hour or so of talking to him would he finally come in from the rain. People died all the time. It seemed like someone was dead every week. Sometimes they died of old age but they were dead in the apartment for six or 7 days before being discovered. One man killed himself after telling everyone he was going to. The constant fire alarms, the flooding, the mold on the walls, the smell of crack cocaine in the hallways, the stumbling drunks that gave up trying to get dry, the hopelessness that you could smell above the moldy walls, the blank look in the eye of the mentally dead, it was too much to bear yet I did for 5 years. After moving, those images are still here and my heart hurts tremendously.

She says we look “pretty good”. I told her it’s a façade. I’m hoping she will understand that very soon. It is very hard to drop the façade and show what is behind our eyes. I need her to help me do that.

Maureen

Rage: Food Pantry Nazi’s – I should have been a whore

Published on September 14, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, For the Record, Mental Health and Soapbox. 1 Comment

Wednesday, September 14, 2005
5:30 PMI got some sleep. Actually, I got tons of sleep. I went to bed at 3am and woke at 1:30pm. That’s great for me cause I don’t get that kind of sleep. Of course with sleep comes nightmares and come did they…all friggin night I have to say. I dreamed I was stranded at a movie theater for several days. It was an odd dream. I don’t want to go into it but it was one that left me with a nasty sick feeling inside.

Broke as Hell
I’m stressing over money. It seems that after everything is paid I’ve got $58 in cash left. That is obviously not enough to live off of. I counted in dog food and cat food, medication, all the bills and transportation, medication and things like that. What was not included were toiletries and food for me. I got a letter yesterday saying my stamps were raised from $67 to $70. I dissociated and stuffed so that I didn’t go off. I put the letter aside and went about my day because there was too much to get done that wouldn’t have gotten done had I let myself feel the rage.

This morning I got up and Barney was outside cutting some weeds. I told him the yard would be easy to do if we had the right tools. After working with him out there for about 20 min I chucked it and came back inside. I figured that I wouldn’t break my back for something he doesn’t care about.

He was saying that he wanted to go to the food pantry with me but then he had to figure out what day to do it on because he has a hiking club that he belongs to. He hikes 3 days a week but two times for all 3 days. I told him if he wanted free food he might have to prioritize. He just smirked. I wanted to slap him because his priorities are so fucking backwards that it makes me want to pull him by the fucking collar and slam his head into the floor repeatedly. God!!! The man doesn’t have a bunch of money but I swear, if he wants to go to the pantry then fucking decide to not go to a volunteer hike one day a fucking month don’t give me shit about I need to go hiking so I can’t go to the food pantry. What ever! Just whatever! So, I will be trying to find my own way and not worry about him. The guy can afford food so why the fuck would he go to the pantry??? He’s not loaded but he’s not dead broke either. God! He regularly leaves his checkbook open and sitting on the kitchen table. While I didn’t go through it I did happen to notice his balance.

Nazi Food Pantry – I Should Have Been A Whore

The lady at the food pantry told me that they could only deliver to me if I was “tied to a bed.” Wtf? Really, what the fuck is that? Then she added if one of her people saw me out somewhere I would lose my home delivery service. Well! I knew the Catholics didn’t fight Hitler hard but I didn’t realize they carried that Nazi watch to America in 2005. What the fuck is that about? “If my people see you anywhere you’ll lose home delivery.” Then she said she saw some notes saying that a president of the food pantry had discontinued my home delivery and she wouldn’t be able to over ride that person’s authority. She said she’d call me back in a few days to let me know if that person was willing to let me get back on delivery but if I was seen out anywhere I’d be removed permanently. Okay, the Nazi Food Pantry! I suppose that the rules are, if I want to eat I have to hide out at home. If I want basic freedom I can’t eat from their pantry. Then she gave me this fucking spiel about how she knows what it’s like to be hungry. That’s when I was pissed cause she said that for 2 weeks… yeah, right… for 2 weeks her husband was out of work and she didn’t know what she was going to feed her kids from one meal to the next. Oh fucking boo hoo hoo. Try living on the fucking street in the fucking snow at the age of fucking 6 then get back to me about how you know about hunger. God! She talks about how much of a burden the home delivery is becoming. Well, you know what happened to Miriam when she murmured against Moses! This lady is already ugly; leprosy won’t help her case any! The Catholic Church runs the food pantry, which is a downfall of its own. If you’re going to put God’s name on your sign out front then for goodness sake, don’t make it so dang on hard for those you say you want to help. It seems like I’m fighting with the food stamp office to get the amount that I’m supposed to get then I’m fighting with the pantry and listening to fucking boo hoo hoo stories AND still not getting anywhere with food assistance. You know, when you try to do right you get nothing. When you are so damn crooked you get shit handed to you. One time I tried to get pregnant because I knew for sure that it would mean I would have a permanent house, not apartment but a house to live in, plenty of food and in some cases they give you a fucking car. I’m not an irresponsible child factory and I am reasonably cooperative with the laws. That means I get dick! Man, why didn’t I become a whore instead of trying to survive with dignity and basic respect for others? Well, according to my sheriff friend, I could become a cyber prostitute and make $150 a week talking to horny guys. But like I said, I have dignity and it’s not for sale for any amount. I’ll find a way to eat. I always do.World View
In my opinion, daily stressors like this are the very reason people stop turning on the TV to watch coverage of natural disasters, mass crime and global desperation. The problems in our own home are too overwhelming. There is so little left for others. Not watching the coverage of the world falling apart is not apathy, it’s self preservation. If I cannot contain my home I certainly can not assist you in containing yours. That is neither selfish or distructive to our communities. It’s sad. It’s survival and too often it’s neccessary.

Joan of Arc
for Morton’s Pride

Losing My Mind – Squirming In My Own Skin (w/ Update)

Published on September 14, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health and Soapbox. 0 Comments

September 14th, 2005

I keep rocking back and forth. It feels like I’m going to lose my mind. It started around 11Pm. I’m so nervous and it feels like I’m going crazy. something is wrong with me. right now i want to ball up in tears.

i think the sheriff scared me a bit today. yesterday he said something about fisting. i dont know exactly what that is but i have an idea. he told me today that if i was looking for extra work that i could be a cyberspace prostitute. then his other cop friend got on the line and was talking to me like he was some crank caller. i think the sheriff and i have to have a talk.

i slept last night from like 3am to 11:30 am. I didnt get a nap or anything. it’s almost 3am and i know i need to go to bed before i lose what little of my head i have left. i’ve gotta go to sleep.

cap and wee kitten hobbes are doing well. they’re good boys. i like having them here.

Me

UPDATE Sept 14th, 2005

When I talk to him on the phone or in person he only talks about sex, his ex wife, his ex girlfriends and stuff like that. He uses such language that I think to myself, “who the hell does he think he’s talking to?” Most guys dont talk to girls that way. Most guys know it’s not okay to talk to women about fisting. It makes me uncomfortable to hear him talk this way. Yeah, he’s a cop, but he can have a little respect. From time to time I cuss in my journals like a sailor. Its my journal. It’s my spot, an area reserved for things I need to let out. If people dont want to read that kind of language then they don’t have to read the journal. But with my friends an in public I try to use a little restraint. My goodness! I think if a person wants to cuss enough to make a seasoned sailor blush then there’s a time and place for it. Most of the time that place is not with friends at casual diners. Damn. I need to hook him up with Hammer Head who happens to enjoy a little nastiness now and then. And to suggest cyber prostitution was just over the line! Who does this guy think he is? When I objected he said, “It’s legal.”

J of A

General questions from the Therapist

Published on September 12, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, For the Record, Mental Health and Therapy. 0 Comments

General questions- oh the anxiety
I saw myself responding the way I do to my mother when she asked general questions. I wanted to answer just right. I didn’t want to stray from the conversation and take the chance of being thought of as combative. Of course she’s not going to think that but my issues say that’s what she was thinking.With the mother, I did exactly what was asked of me. I listened carefully and sifted through the insults and name calling to figure out what she wanted from me. After that I tried to do exactly what she wanted, no more, no less. It seemed the safest way to go about doing things. If she asked me to take out the trash (which she never did) I would take out the bag of trash she asked me to take out. I wouldn’t go through the house and empty the cans in the restrooms or other rooms. I’d do exactly what she said exactly how she said to do it. It saved me a lot of trouble that way.

In the work place or even in college, I’d be told that when I’m done with my task I should just find something to do. I’d freak out inside because I didn’t want to do too much or too little and make the person mad.

When the therapist asked general questions that didn’t give specific instructions on how to answer them my mind shut down and didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to ask reasonable questions; it was just that I was thinking in the old way and needed the boundaries to be a bit tighter so I’d know what was expected of me. Basically, I was afraid to answer wrong. It made my heart sink when I wrote that last sentence. I was scared to answer wrong.

I should probebly tell her that most of the time I wont tell her when she’s done something right or wrong and that most of the time I’ll be unsatisfied with her performance. That is how I feel about most of my therapists. I think I do that because we’re talking about personal stuff and not just chatting about everyday things. It seems that they can’t do anything right for me. There is always something I don’t like. I even went as far as to tell one therapist that there would be nothing she could do that was right for me. I understand that that’s my issue. I let her know that too. I let her know that it wasn’t her at all, I just have a problem with connecting. When I connect I pull back with some lame excuse about what the therapist has done that pissed me off. Most of the time I just can’t handle that the other person knows details about the abuse. I even have a hard time looking them in the eye. I can keep eye contact for a few minutes then I have to look away. I suppose that makes it look like my eyes are darting or that i’m looking at things that aren’t there. I just can’t look them in the eye for long. Joan has good eye contact. She looks all confident and what not. She’s our front. That’s what she’s supposed to do. But inside we just dont feel that way. We just dont want to look at the therapist and we certainly dont want to connect or come to depend on them.


New Question from Green Therapist

Published on September 12, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder and Therapy. 0 Comments

The therapist asked me a question that I do not recall ever being asked in my 15 years of therapy. I suppose I didn’t really hear her when she said it but when I got home I started thinking about it and was really impressed with her fresh, non-seasoned approach to my sessions. Most of the time when I get a seasoned therapist the basic things go to the side and huge issues are put the front. I think this is important some times but I also believe that it takes the personal element out of it. The therapist asked me what it’s like to have DID. Of course that is a simple question but like I said, I don’t believe it has ever come up before. This type of approach is something I appreciate about green therapists. It’s why I don’t feel that I require a therapist with years of experience dealing with DID. I know that a seasoned DID specialist would know what to do and what not to do, how to treat and what to avoid in treatment. I think this type of therapist has heard it all and may have become numbed by the horror stories. They would have to in order to keep going and keep trying to help us, but their leather padding often holds in the personal element. They already know and so they don’t ask questions like that. They jump into therapy techniques with the goal of making life better for us. Of course that is something we want, but we want the personal side to it too. I’m not explaining myself very well. I’m just trying to say that the older therapists know their stuff and just jump right into it but they don’t really personalize it cause they think they already know you. They already know DID and how it works in general. But I’m not the average survivor. I’m not the average person or the average anything. So when therapist talks to me I want the head knowledge but I want them to apply it to me and not ……..
I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I should sleep.