The People Behind My Eyes

I decided to do a poll on DID issues that keep us struggling as a survivor of abuse. I initially wanted the voters to check all that applied but the poll code wouldn’t allow for that and I didn’t take the time to re-write the code. I decided to address the issues one by one as they relate to us in Morton’s Pride. I’ve read over my answers just once and I can see that several have contributed to the writing but Destiny and Joan dominate the poll.Sleep problems: I put off sleep because I know I’m going to have nightmares.
I put it off just about every night. I dread going to sleep. I dread laying down because it’s like surrendering to sleep is opening the door for flashbacks and fear. I don’t need an open pipeline to those things. To me, sleep is like going the wrong way down a one way street with your brights on. You can see every single car as it slams into your windshield. You can see it in techno colour, in bright vibrant detail so that you there is nothing that can ever erase it. Crash test dummies wouldn’t do that kind of work even to save the lives of others so why would I want to volunteer for it?

I don’t like to use the restroom.
I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I put it off just like I put off sleep only the aftermath of it would be much worse if I didn’t surrender to it. I don’t like removing my clothing. I don’t like the idea of being in that room with its formal look and its homeliness. When I had my restroom made up like a toy store I was able to use it easier. It didn’t remind me of home. It was a fun house kind of thing and not a family atmosphere. My mother watched me use the restroom and she watched me shower. I’m holding it right now. I’ll go soon or I’ll be doing laundry.

I have difficulty showering, brushing my teeth or other hygiene issues.
Taking off my clothing is difficult so taking them off and touching myself is even harder. Putting a toothbrush in my mouth is a difficult task. When I eat I have to eat off of silverware that doesn’t look filic in nature. I’ve never given a blow job in my life but it’s the images my mother planted that haunt me. I have to eat off of clear plates so I can see what’s on the plate. I guess that has nothing to do with using the restroom though, focus Duckie, focus.

Accepting the diagnosis itself.
This didn’t take very long. The diagnosis wasn’t hard to accept, it was hard to accept that my mother chose to hurt me and that she thought about it. She thought about what would hurt worse, a belt or a dowel rod. She wanted to hurt me and that is what is hard to accept. I asked why she used dowel rods, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to give her excuses for why she hurt me, maybe put the blame somewhere else so I could say that maybe she would have done things differently. Her answer was, “because they hurt.” Again, the dx is not what is hard to accept, what’s hard is knowing it could have been avoided had she simply chose to use self-control. I knew I had DID. I didn’t know the name back then but I’ve known for a long time that I’m not alone in my head so the label didn’t shock me at all when it finally got put in black and white. Coming to grips with my mother’s cruel nature is something I will probably never fully do. Part of me has to still have some hope that there was a bit of love for me and that there is some other reason that contributed to the breaking of my childhood mind. I have to believe that to keep believing that I’m not totally bad. Some would call this lying to oneself. I call it allowing yourself the God-given right to believe you are loveable.

The talking in my head is incessant.
Good Lord it’s awful, it’s non-stop, it’s annoying, it’s part of my every day, every second life. So I simply say, please, shut the fuck up just for one damn second so I can have a bit of quiet time. Actually, I do have quiet time. We have a place designated in our home where we have down time. We call it downloading because no one occupies the physical body, no one does any processing, any talking or visiting with one another. We just simply power down and let ourselves cool off so we don’t lose the fragments of sanity we have left. This helps a lot because sometimes the talking can get out of control. It’s not always arguing, it’s just conversation, thinking, observing and commenting but when you have a bunch of people participating in this activity list then peace of mind is as improbable as Paris Hilton qualifying to be a nun. Not gonna happen.

It feels like there is a barrier between me and the rest of the world. The barrier is about 5 feet in front of me.

The world just stops five feet in front of me. It’s like a friggin’ force field or something out of a Star Trek episode. But then sometimes I feel rather invisible so I guess in that way I have something in common with a bird of prey with a cloaking device. I don’t feel unseen in that people ignore me or I don’t count. Since I don’t recognize my body much of the time then it feels like I’m just a head or something, no face, no body, just something kind of floating around with no barriers, nothing to start or stop me or anyone else. So when I say I feel invisible I mean that if I don’t recognize myself then in my head others don’t either. That must sound strange. Getting back to the Star Trek images, sometimes it feels like what people say stops in front of me. It doesn’t seem to go past a certain point, it just stops almost like it can’t get past an invisible but very present brick wall.

Sometimes I don’t recognize people that I’m supposed to know.
I hate this. I even forget where I am when I’m at home. I get confused and think I’m at my mother’s house or that I’ll wake up and she’ll be out in the kitchen making pancakes for breakfast. The woman never did that when I was a kid so why I would think she would be in my house, in my kitchen making pancakes is beyond me but I continue to lose myself in that image. I saw a doctor for over a year but I could never tell you what he looked like 5 min after I saw him. I often pretend to know people because I feel bad asking them where I know them from. I woke up in a marriage to a man I couldn’t stand. When I go to therapy I struggle to remember the person I’m seeing. I try to remember her face and it’s just not there. I try to remember her name and it’s just not there. There are times when I don’t recognize my dog. A huge black dog comes walking around the corner and scares the shit out of me. He seems to know me so I don’t hide in the closet until the furry one finds his way back to where he came from. I ride it out until I recognize him again. He gives me space during those times. I appreciate that.

I have an alter that I’m afraid of.

I don’t have an alter I’m afraid of but I do know a lady that was so scared of an alter of hers that she would freeze in fear at the mention of his name. This was true fear, like she saw the devil himself or something. For those who have an alter like this, my sympathies and best wishes for the resolution of those issues.

Hopelessness

It use to be that I felt totally hopeless but most of the time when I tried to kill myself it was more loneliness than hopelessness. I don’t feel nearly as lonely as I did years ago. I feel a little more complete now so loneliness isn’t a problem the way it use to be.

Sometimes I jump at the slightest thing. I hear every noise and see every movement around me.

I hate this. I see every single thing that moves. I know every single nook and cranny in a given room that I’m in. I see everything that moves, and there are times when I seem to hear every single solitary sound around me. Then of course there is the jumping at the slightest thing, which gets on my damn nerves! I feel so stupid when that happens.

I need to stop.