Monthly Archive for August, 2006

Therapy Day

Published
by
Austin
on August 31, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health and Therapy
. 1 Comment

Therapy Day-Thursday, August 31, 2006-6:13PM

I was frustrated when I went, frustrated while there, frustrated in the cab on the way home and frustrated now. First, my so called regular cab driver Blaze didn’t show. He wasn’t even in Indy at the time he was far west. What the heck!!! So some other driver shows up at 1:40PM for a 2PM appointment. Somehow I got there on time. I didn’t get there in a better mood though. At one point in the conversation I wanted to get up and leave.

We talked about my birthday. I said the 28th means nothing to me. The 2nd of February means much more. I told him why. He kept saying something about celebrating my birthday and I kept saying that it means nothing to me. Somehow we went round and around about it. He finally said something to the effect of “you have the right to celebrate.” I followed that with, “or the right not to celebrate.” That’s where I shocked myself. It just came out of my mouth. it was like, okay guy, I’ve said I don’t care about the whole birthday thing and that it means nothing to me. But he kept on pushing the celebration thing. I told him my answer was because I felt he was pushing me. He said, “I’m happy you could tell me that.” Things got a little lighter from there. I wasn’t sure if we were doing a tug of war thing or if I was still just irritated with the world and being somewhat combative. At any rate things got better in the session.

In the beginning of the session we told him we were not upset about turning 35 it’s more like being upset that the mother didn’t go through will so many threats to kill us. We told him we’re tired of dealing with this stuff. He was taken aback by that. He said, “Where did that come from?” he asked me if want to be dead. I said yes. I said I don’t want to kill myself but I’d rather not be alive. He said so you want to not hurt. I said yes.

He didn’t talk to Joan so he didn’t get any comic relief. He didn’t talk to Destiny so he didn’t get much cursing at all. What he got was a very quiet No One who kept her eyes low and whispered that she simply doesn’t want to be here. He said something about how we are working on not hurting at this level. I know he heard me when I said I was tired. He didn’t minimize that at all. I think he wanted to kind of give me a different way to look at this. Right in the middle of a rather intense moment Captain hiccuped. Dr. B asked if he was okay but Cap seemed to be fine. He’s been laying around kind of sluggish and what not. I think its the humidity.

I don’t have an appointment next week because all they had was a 9am for 30 min. I don’t think so! I am not going to get myself and Cap ready by 8:15AM to catch a cab then only stay there for 30 min but wait 2 hours for a cab to come take me back home. I do not think so! Had the 30 min. been around 2pm I would have been okay with it but not 9am. That’s just ungodly. 9am!! When she said it I said, you mean in the morning? She was like, yes. I said, “rrriiighhhtt.” I haven’t been there that long but they already know 9am is just wrong for me. It’s not going to happen. I told a doc one time that he could schedule me for a 9am or even worse an 8am but not to be surprised when I don’t show up. I said and don’t still charge me because you already know about the likelihood of me showing up. Schedule at will but don’t expect me to be there. Soooo, next week I don’t go to therapy but every week after that I have an hour long appointment. I’m happy about that. At first I could get in only twice a month but now I have a set appointment until the end of October. Oh I love it! It’s about time I got a good therapist who has time to see me but I’m still waiting for this to end because it’s too good to be true. I’ve to to crash for the night. I’m exhausted. I have a feeling we’re going to lose power again tonight. The storms have been knocking it out from time to time. Good thing the PC is on a battery with a good surge protector or I’d be in trouble.

 

 

Stuff for the therapist

Published
by
Austin
on August 31, 2006
in Therapy
. 2 Comments

image copyright 2006 @ Sundrip Journals
Image Copyright 2006 @ Sundrip Journals Image Copyright 2006 @ Sundrip Journals

Artwork for this week.

Didn’t cut but did some scratching. Anger and anxiety level have been sky high.
Lots of issues with Blossom still.

I wanted to look at the entry called a Multiples Mirror. I didn’t have enough ink to print it off. I’ll be there in a bit.
Austin

DID And The Survivor’s Cynic

Published
by
Austin
on August 31, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder and Soapbox
. 7 Comments

DID And The Survivor’s Cynic-Thursday, August 31, 2006-6:22AM EST

The terms defined below are so that readers will understand what context I’m using them in for this entry.

  • System- what a group of alters is called
  • Alter- a personality
  • Outsiders- any person that is not a member of Morton’s Pride. Any person not part of a specific group of alter personalities is an outsider. I’m an outsider to another DID’s group of personalities. Those not in our system are outsiders those inside our system are insiders.
  • Survivor- in this entry a survivor is referring to someone who lived through abuse as a child. We all know that the word survivor encompasses a larger group of people but in this entry I’m specifically talking about survivors of child abuse.
  • Trigger warnings- a warning bloggers put up at the top of an entry so that readers will know that what they have to say may be upsetting to some.

While I was going to write a whole soapbox entry about why I object to trigger warnings on blog entries and how I think survivors can be some of the cruelest people around I’ve decided to simply let that aspect go and address something different. Hey, ya know, educate the ignorant don’t slap them repeatedly because you may do more brain damage and they’ll remain stupid forever. You can quote me on that if you’d like. Anyway, I decided to write about the age groups that write on my journal and the common misconceptions surrounding how certain age groups should sound when writing.

Many outsiders believe that if an alter is age 3 they wouldn’t write on a journal because 3 year olds don’t write. Many outsiders believe that if a teenager writes they will write in such a way that identifies them as a teenager. When it comes to members of Morton’s Pride we do not fall into some preconceived idea of how we should write. As I understand it, most DID’s do not fall into a preconceived idea though they are often expected to. Although we have many similarities we have a lot more differences because our abuse was different. Our environment, our culture, economic standing, the education of our family and other factors played a part in our up bringing, not just the abuse. There are few times when a blanket idea fits every situation. There are more times though when doubt is cast because someone doesn’t fit under your version of the blanket. That is just wrong.

When survivors don’t fit into a particular mold other survivors say that person is lying about having DID. They’re a fake. I’ve seen it too many times. As a matter of fact I was reading a blog where that blogger discredited a survivor based on her own preconceived ideas of how that person’s alters should have acted because of how old that alter is. It’s wrong to say this or that person doesn’t have DID when you do not know that person and have never sat fact to face with them. Not even the most skilled professional can tell from one blog entry that a person does or does not have DID. That one particular doubting blogger did more harm than good for survivors with DID because instead of support she cast doubt and may have even given other survivors more reason to not speak up about what happened to them. That kind of undermining is what keeps survivors at war with each other. One would think we’d flock together but often we work against each other, sometimes in subtle ways but other times by out right flagrant means.

When it comes to blogging we in Morton’s Pride are given the freedom to say what we want, how we want. The main goal for Morton’s Pride is to work together and not undermine each other. When “I” write an entry signed with a different name than Austin I worry that people will think I’m faking. If the reader knows the alter writing is young but the entry has an advanced tone then I worry that people will think that I’m faking. My concern is substantiated when I read blogs like one that has recently brought controversial attention to itself.

Keeping with my goal of teaching and not just continuing conflict I’d like to explain how it is that my littles write on this blog. When a very little person has something to say they’ll have a big person type it out for them like dictation. It is very much like how an adult helps a small child write a letter to their grandparents or to some dear person like that. The same kind of assistance applies with inside littles. We help them write and we sign their name. Does it make what is said any less authentic because a bigger person typed their words out for them? Nope. It means our system works well enough together and sees the worth in each of us and is willing to support that worth by making sure even the smallest voice is heard. When it comes to our blog it’s all about the healing of Morton’s Pride but often our words bring us stress because we know that there will be someone who is ready to question and tear down for no other reason than that they have a lot of inner anger they haven’t dealt with. For this reason, when a younger person has written we close off the comments. If a younger alter wants to write we will not subject them to the possibility of rejection or name calling. When a more fragile alter has written we turn off the comment option so that they can write without worrying that someone will try and tear them down. The thing is, we blog on the net for certain reasons but when there is a greater chance for criticism and cruelty we do our best to block it. We will keep writing and we will allow every single member to write but we’ll also do our best to make sure that the writer doesn’t have bricks thrown their way.

As a whole we do not see ourselves as fragile but there are certain areas that we struggle with, like the need to be believed. As a whole we do not see ourselves as a target for criticism but we know there are certain people surfing the net just trying to find something to argue about or to shoot down. I’ve seen it happen too many times. We know that such a person will come to this blog from time to time and we know we will get comments about how ungrateful we are or how we are making this all up. We’ll get combative comments when the comment option is open. It’s happened in the past and it’ll happen again. It is my hope that I’ll always remember their issues fuel their doubt and their need to tear down. I hope I will remember that our goal has not changed simply because a reader can’t find their personal path to recovery. And I hope that we can always encourage and support our young ones to speak when they feel the need to speak and to use the words they feel they need to use. Silence is the best way to keep abuse thriving. Morton’s Pride intends to live out loud.

Me

Confused

Published
by
Austin
on August 30, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder and Mental Health
. 3 Comments

One might think I have this whole DID thing down pat by now but I get surprises quite often. I’m use to most things with this disorder and I often claim that I lose very little time and that I am co-conscious more than not. The other day I began doubting myself when Blossom insisted that one of my 5 year old’s told her how to correctly spell her name because I spell it wrong. I doubted it because hey, she’s “my” 5 year old I think I know how to spell her name. I never got any objection from the little one but I didn’t get confirmation either so I just figured I was right until NOW. The way Blossom said she spelled it seemed to be a misspelling. I was kind of embarrassed because I know I don’t spell well so I figure a 5 year old me doesn’t spell any better. Maybe some of the doubt was to save face. I often feel so bad about not being able to spell very well. I have no idea why my spelling is crap but it is. Anyway, a bit ago I realized that the spelling of this little one’s name isn’t how I’ve been spelling it at all. The way Blossom said it is spelled is correct. It blows me away when others know more about me than I know about my selves.

I’m a bit on edge about the pictures too, the one of me and my sister. Of all the pics I have of me I do not remember any of them. I recognize the house and the things in the pictures but I can’t tell you how old I was or what what year it was. Blossom kept asking typical questions, ordinary things like, “how old were you here?” My answer was the same humiliating thing, “I don’t know.” “I don’t know.” How do you explain to someone that you’ve only lived a portion of your life as yourself and if and when you come up with the info about dates and times they’ll be among the first to know…. I get so tired of saying, “I have no idea how old I was.” And it hurts that I do not recognize any of the events in my family pictures. I do not know the girl in them other than that she is supposed to be me. She asked me about my high school graduation but I dont remember it. She asked about my wedding but I dont remember it. She asked about graduating from Culinary school but I dont remember it. I have paper saying it was this date or it was that date but that is the only real evidence I have saying I was there and breathing. How does that even make sense to someone who can only say, “time gets away from me” and not “I’ve lost years.” It just makes me sad and it makes me want to hide under a rock OR come up with some huge lie to answer questions so that I don’t look so stupid when someone says, how old were you or what year was it when you….. it seems like it would be so much easier to come up with a fabricated story to match ordinary questions. The first story will have to go along with the question, “What is your name.” I stop and think every single time someone asks that question. I stop and think every single time I fill out a form that asks that question. My mind almost buckles under simple stuff like my birth date, my home address…I have to look at my ID to remember it. I don’t know why.

It helps to look at those pics from time to time because it reminds me of how small I was. Being that small I can’t actually think that I could have done something to stop the family from hurting me and my older sister and eventually my younger brother. Seeing myself so small in pictures is almost odd because in my head I know I may have been small but to me I’ve always been an adult. So I look at the past with adult eyes and adult reasonings. Seeing pics of me so small helps to dispell the idea that I could have done something, anything to make life better for me back then.

Dinner is on. I’m going to bed early because I have therapy tomorrow. I hope I remember what I was supposed to tell him.

 

Me

The Domestic Handicap

Published
by
Austin
on August 30, 2006
in General Chatter
. 1 Comment

The Domestic Handicap- Wednesday, August 30, 2006- 11:02AM

In addition to my mother being the worst cook in the world she also tried her ill-suited hand at sewing. Is it me just me or does my sister look like the black version of Heidi? Blossom and I laughed so hard last night when looking at this picture.

 

A therapist of mine giggled when she saw this picture and said, “Oh is this Halloween?” Now you know my pain. No, no it was not Halloween but it certainly was frightening.

 

 

Bella Is Sick- UPDATE

Published
by
Austin
on August 28, 2006
in Pets
. 2 Comments

Bella Is Sick-August 28, 2006

We put Adam’s Flea and Tick Mist on Bella the way the bottle said to. She is having the same reaction Gracie had to the toxin she got into awhile back. Bell is eating and even playing a bit but I don’t think we’re through this yet. I hope she is going to be okay.

Austin

UPDATE: 11:45 PM EST

Mrs. Invincible is doing just fine. She was rolling in catnip and playing earlier. We all decided to crash because Bell seemed to be fine. When I was on the love seat Bell got on top of my blanket and crashed. She was clearly uncomfortable and her hearing was really sensitive. Every car that went by she acted like it was right beside her. She was quite scared by that but she went to her teddy bear rug and did some paw-pawing/kneading and then tried to sleep a bit. She paced, did some scratching on the carpet, turned around a few times like a dog does then got up and paced some more. I could see she was really uncomfortable. She then went in a little corner and kind of played for a bit. I was half way asleep when I heard this horrible cat cry sound. I sat straight up only to find Cap on his feet and Gracie looking in horror at the corner Bell was in. I looked over there and Bell was throwing up…it’s her first vomit ever so it scared her. After she tossed her “cookies” she went to sleep and has been just fine. The whole time she was sick she wanted to be really close to Captain. Usually Cap will get up and move like, “hey, go get your own pillow” but this time he let her get close and sleep next to him. She kept following him like, “hey, where ya goin?” He caught on and gave her a bit of comfort. So right now Mrs. Invincible is tearing hair out of his tail and is back to the terror she has come to be known for. Blossom and I figure she has only 2 of her 9 lives left. She needs to be careful, eh?

I used Adam’s Flea & Tick Mist on her not Hartz or something like that. The people from Adam’s were really helpful but since I’d already gone through the same thing with Gracie awhile back I pretty much knew what to expect and what to look for. The good thing is this product is “safer” than Hartz so the reaction wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The compound is different so she wasn’t nearly as in trouble as Gracie was.

So now it’s midnight and I’m totally exhausted but I have company. I’m not going to be too much of a host because I’m about to crash again. I’m tired and hungry but I’m also not sure I can keep anything down. I’m emotionally exhausted too. I knew how things went for Gracie but this time I wasn’t nearly as panicked as before. I knew what I was doing and knew what to look for. As usual it is after the emergency that I fall apart. I did what I needed to do but now I’m kind of teetering on the edge. I need to sleep again. Blossom showed up after 9pm even though I called her around 1pm. So now she’s here and she shows up crying saying how sorry she is that she’s late. WTF ever! Nobody takes 100mg of Trazadone backed by an antihistamine, a muscle relaxer and 1mg of clonapin “just” to sleep. You can’t tell me that having that after her usual night meds of 250mg of Trazadone that she later needed another 100mg plus all that other stuff. Yeah, she was knocked out and sleeping harder than the dead so yeah, she was unavailable to me. And yeah she should have felt like shit when she showed up after 9pm. People usually don’t take that kind of medication “just” to sleep. She is so dependant upon that stuff and overmedicates to such an extreme that she is often knocked out for hours upon hours. So, she comes to the door in tears apologizing and asking if I was going to send her home. I was like, “Whatever! I could use some brownies.” So around 2 hours ago she was supposed to make brownies but that hasn’t happened yet. She was like, oh and happy birthday. Well fuck that too!! I’m tired. I’m sick, my cat was sick, I remember when the other cat almost didn’t make it and I’m going to bed now, talk to you later. The emotion that comes up with I think about almost loosing Gracie that one time is almost as overwhelming as the actual event. Even though Bella didn’t get nearly that sick the memory of watching Gracie’s body quake like that is still as fresh as it was that very day. I have to leave that alone for right now though.

So she’s in the living room smoking square after square as I sit in here complaining and complaining. I’m about to go to sleep though. I have a little pallet on the floor in here (I switch sleeping places from time to time) and I’m about to turn around and crash for the night. All in all Bella is doing well, Gracie is fine and Cap is still Hero of the House. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Austin

A Suburbanite’s Saga

Published
by
Austin
on August 28, 2006
in Relationships and Soapbox
. 4 Comments

Aussie MIA - 12:45midnight???

I’ve been sick so I’ve been off line. I’ve got 30 emails in the Sunflower email inbox alone. The Duck inbox is close to that too so I’ll be slow in replying. I haven’t been to that many journals since the 24th either. It’s just been one heck of a ride for a few days.

Austin

.

A Suburbanite’s Saga - Monday, August 28, 2006 - 4:45AM EST

As if things could not get anymore complicated a new neighbor that moved in about 3 weeks ago has decided to turn a relatively private street into a partying, cat scratch arena. The sculptor directly next door, we’ll call him Hypocrite.. Crittie for short, well he keeps his marijuana use low key. I wouldn’t know if it weren’t for big mouth UK who decided to bring it up because he kept asking her for some. Crittie keeps his drug use low key while he custom sculpts life size marble or clay statues of Biblical people for some of the largest churches in this area. He does not have people running in and out of his home and the police have never been there since I’ve lived here which is now one year and one month.

The neighbor right next door to UK, we’ll call her Mrs. Trump because she seems to enjoy her status as “catch me if you can aka The Jones’” She has to trump everything that is done so that keeping up with her would land the most affluent household in chapter thirteen. As her husband works his butt off as a railroad engineer she is out spending that mullah or sitting in front of her panel watching the six cameras that record every single step towards her ever so special home that holds bright shiny new things. “Mrs. Trump” is a pot-head. If anyone ever thought pot was not addictive they have NOT met Mrs. Trump. This woman is so addicted to this stuff that if she doesn’t have it she is completely unruly and becomes a galactic bitch. The thing is, the police have never been to her home the entire time I’ve been here and she does not have people in and out. She does her drugs alone in her home with her four year old daughter. That little one is 4 going on 30 but if you knew her mother Mrs. Trump you’d think 30 was kind of young. So, while the drug and alcohol use in general was kept quiet it still existed, just not out in your face bold-style.

We do have the crackhead ….Heady….down the street who robs anyone and everyone. She happens to be responsible for snatching my lawn mower awhile back. Heady use to be the only person with a real reputation on this street until the new neighbor Itty Bitty Tity moved in. Itty Bitty Tity is a pill popping, booze guzzling, pot-smoking 22 year old stripper. She moved in about 3 weeks ago just 2 houses down. In that time we have had 2 parties with police presence. I hardly ever saw them come down this street but man do they pass down the street now. She has people run in and out of the house while her front door stands wide open, radio going and beer flowing. The last party she threw was for her son who turned three on Friday. She left her son’s birthday party without notice to go off and have a party with her girlfriends. She left him with neighbors she’s known for three weeks so that they had to put up all the presents and lock up the house then take her three year old son home until she re-surfaced. She’s such a classy, responsible gal with tremendous parental skills. She is truly an example for us all.

If you toss in the vivacious Itty between Mrs. Trump and UK you’ve got yourself one addicted wrestling match every WWW or Smackdown fan would pay big to see. The catty behaviors that are going on right now would stun the bitchiest felines this side of the equator. Watching these three women back stab and undermine each other makes Desperate House Wives or better yet it makes the women on the old show Dallas look like sweet little school girls.

Well, I suppose that the Dynamic Trio (UK, Itty and Heady) ran out of pills to pop so they started looking for stuff. Itty came to my house around 7pm and spilled a sad story that ended with the request for some of my controlled substance medication. As my freshly baked rosemary chicken and herbed potato wedges chilled on my plate I listened to her tell me that the grandmother who raised her died on her birthday, (last Friday) and she was so upset that she needed to borrow some clonapin. I guess she forgot that I know it was her son’s birthday on Friday, not hers. I mean that is unless the Spiderman cake spiked with three candles was for her and the small drum set with the brand new puppy and kitten to match were actually all for her inner child/hostage. If so please, please let that inner baby go. Let her go! Do we have a negotiator in the house?!!!! Right in the middle of her sob story lie her three year old son piped up and said, “Do you have any pop cycles?” He is the cutest thing. Here’s this little shirtless red head sporting kool aid stained lips trying to make a score. His mother needed a fix and so did he only his was in the form of sugary ice on a stick. He did not quite grasp that now was not the time to bring up pop cycles as his mother lied through her teeth, which were coated thick with Vaseline so her smile shines ever so brightly.

After I turned down the opportunity to become a drug dealer I went back to my cold dinner shocked that this woman would actually come here with a half baked story to ask me for a controlled substance. This is the first meal I’ve been able to keep down since Wednesday and she had to interrupt it with some horribly made up lie. Okay so, I finished my chilled meal then went to the store with Blossom to pick up some popsicles to bring to the little red headed beggar. I found a cheap bit of sicles and I went to drop them off but Itty was at UK’s house having a big dinner bash. When I went in UK said to me, “We’re having a family dinner. This is family night only.” I said I was there to drop off pop cycles for Red and that I wasn’t staying. I felt so on the outside at that moment and quite frankly I felt used. I was good enough to try and score from earlier why is my presence so unwelcome now? I suppose it was cute to basically escort me out of the door so as to leave her eating with Itty and Heady. Mrs. Trump walked home with Ms. Thang (her 4 year old daughter) just as I walked up. They didn’t appear to be irritated by being asked to leave so I’m assuming they were part of family night too. It makes me angry that I was good enough to bring over coffee or cigs or sugar or margarine but that was only if no one else was there. Oh, okay, I get it now. Oops, I thought she was the more reasonable of the bunch. That’s what I get for thinking.

UK makes a point of telling people that I’m a goodie two shoes. She says, Yeah, Austin doesn’t drink or smoke (pot) or anything, she’s a goodie two shoes. I follow that with yup, size 8 and one half in women’s or 7 ½ in men’s. I don’t have a problem with doing the right thing for the right reasons. I don’t have a problem with going against the grain or standing for something or holding onto my personal morals and belief system. I have a problem with those who mock people that refuse to follow the crowd and who refuse to be a sometime friend, to backstab, quibble over who chose this colour for their house first and who decided to be like them. I have a problem with when I see someone who doesn’t let the better side show because they don’t realize they have worth. I have a problem with people who throw away their life and the life of their children for a short high and I have a problem with people who can’t stand the thought of anyone standing equal to them. If you look down upon the rest of the world there will never ever be anyone to watch your back or watch over you. If people, like Mrs. Trump, tower above everyone else in superiority the alienation of supremacy leaves you emotionally, socially and physically vulnerable. I think I prefer to keep my feet on the ground with the rest of humanity. I kind of prefer a humble crowd anyway.

Joan of Arc

Armor or Big, Beautiful and Proud (Part 1 of 2)

Published
by
Austin
on August 27, 2006
in Segments and Therapy
. 1 Comment

Armor or Big, Beautiful and Proud-Saturday, August 26, 2006-7:37AM EST

Part 1 of 2

 

I’ve been saying that my weight is not armor; the kind of armor that therapists say survivors may carry to protect themselves from future harm. I’m going to have to eat my words, pun intended. I wear really baggy clothes to hide my body. I wear long sleeve shirts to hide my hands & tennis shoes to be ready to run at any moment. I knew that was why I wore the baggy clothing and the tennis shoes but Thursday evening I had a light turned on for me. Blossom said she had a pair of faded jeans that she thought I could wear. Well, being faded I thought I’d take a look at them. She showed me the size and I held it up to myself and said, “no way, these wont fit. I have too much hip for these things.” She said okay but added that she knew I’d get into them soon. I replied with my typical, I only want to be a certain size and after that I’m just going to try and maintain that weight. I said that I never wanted to get to the smaller size like those jeans. As I heard myself say it I knew I was just trying to make a statement about “being satisfied” with who I am. Blossom is guilty of saying things people want to hear and I’m guilty of saying things I think people need to hear based on my personal agenda. This whole time I’ve been thinking the body image issues were all hers. Thursday I realized I’ve got some of my own going on.

Still in denial mode, I looked at my rounded hips and thought, I kinda want these. And who would even recognize me without my giant knockers? I want to be able to recognize myself in the mirror. I said that as if I do that now, recognize myself in the mirror. So I stood in the hallway really looking at myself in the mirror which was ironically round. I actually looked myself in the eye this time. I usually look past myself, do what I need to do and get away from the reflection that I see. As I looked myself in the eye I thought about how getting down “too low” would feel like I was loosing a certain familiarity.

Absolutely everything changes. I have no control over time. I either keep it or lose it. Days may go by without “me” having any real say so. I can’t control other people’s actions. In general I have the same lack of control as most adults and in general I have the same strength and protection as most adults. Those things aren’t tangible though. I can’t look at it and say, yes this is mine and I decide this or that. I do however, look at my body and know I have the control to decide what goes in it or stays out of it.

I’ve worried a lot about getting “too small” because I thought I’d lose myself. I had a hard time thinking that my body was getting smaller because I didn’t know where it was going. I thought, if I’m dropping weight then where is it going? I had a hard time thinking of it as anything other than losing part of my identity. All of this went through my head while I looked at myself in the mirror. While Blossom messed around in the restroom primping I decided to try on these jeans that I just knew where way too small for me. They went on easily. I just kind of stood in shock then walked into the hallway to let Blossom see. I was not only in shock but I was afraid. “I’m small enough to no longer be a threat to people.”

I thought a very long time ago that I never wanted to be so small that anyone could pick me up and walk away with me or hold me down easily. When I was in high school a friend (a huge male friend) was messing around and grabbed me, lifted my feet off the floor and hugged me tightly. I couldn’t move and even though I told him to put me down he squeezed harder. When I finally made it clear that I wanted him to let me go I brushed off my clothes and tried to keep myself from picking up some sharp object with which to end his life. I was so angry that one bear hug could incapacitate me like that. When I think about it today I realize that back then my physical body wasn’t big but it also wasn’t my biggest source of strength. My voice was my strength. Fortunately he was the kind of person that is half way reasonable. He could tell by my tone that this wasn’t as fun for me as it was for him. This bear hug was the same teasing, leg swinging hug that people do to kids. My feet and legs were swinging back and forth and my arms were pinned to my side. He was even making that squeaky sound that people make when squeezing kids like that. I guess I’m trying to make it clear that he really was playing. I still appreciate the fact that when he realized that I wasn’t playing he let me go. Later, many days later I could see that situation was different than others I’d been in but it still left the impression that small means easily controllable.

 

Austin

Armor or Big, Beautiful and Proud (Part 2 of 2)

Published
by
Austin
on August 27, 2006
in Segments and Therapy
. 1 Comment

Armor or Big, Beautiful and Proud-Saturday, August 26, 2006- 9:02AM EST

Part 2 of 2

 

The other day I was watching the show 24 and the lead character said something that stopped me in my tracks. A character named Kate was upset that her sister was involved in some terror plot that might start World War III. She blamed herself for whatever, I don’t know. But then Kiefer Sutherland said that people blame themselves for things so that they can make sense of it. Like I said, Blossom and I stopped and looked at each other. I grabbed a pen and wrote it down but I can’t find the paper so I had to paraphrase it as best I could. I took from his comment that as a survivor I blamed myself for a lot of things because then the abuse made sense. Well, this happened because “I’m bad.” That is easier to accept than the explanation “it’s because Mama is bad.” That leaves too many questions like, “well, why is she bad?” on and on and on. But if I say, it’s because of my evil nature then there are few if any questions. It’s much easier to accept or understand that I’m bad than it is for me to accept or understand the behaviors of others.

When I thought about my fear of being small I thought the problem wasn’t the behavior of others but me, my small stature must have been the problem. When that schoolmate picked me up I attributed that to my size not to the real situation. And now that I think about it, being short and small wasn’t that pleasant at home because the mother constantly made fun of my short stature. She use to sing that stupid song that said something like, “short people have no reason to live.” She put the cups on the highest shelf so that I had to jump to get them. She thought it was funny. I inherited my grandfather’s genes when it came to height but the rest of the family stands 5’9 and higher with my mother at 5’11 and my grandmother at 6 feet even. I didn’t reach 5’5 until after high school and man did I constantly hear about it. So I guess I thought that my size was causing a huge problem when in fact it was the behavior of others that caused conflict and confusion but I had to internalize it to make sense of it.

Right now it makes sense on a purely intellectual level. I suppose that is a place to start. I have to admit that I still fear getting small. But when I compare the jeans I have on now to what I wore last week to therapy they are laughably large, clownishly large. Clownishly, is that a word? Somehow I didn’t notice the difference between pants that are 4 sizes smaller than what I normally wear to your office. I didn’t notice that my “safe pants” or my “therapy pants” were 6 sizes larger than the pants I have on right now. How on earth did my body image get so confused that I thought those clothes fit? When I put on these jeans yesterday I could also see how HUGE my shirt was. The shirt I have on now is 3 sizes smaller than the one I wore last week to see you. So I’m sitting here in clothes that fit, clothes that do not hide ME and that is a frightening feeling.

I understand on an intellectual level that being “smaller” isn’t what got me hurt and it’s not what will make me a target. I understand it on an intellectual level but in my heart I am afraid. That fear drove me to some old behaviors but fortunately the intellectual side kicked in again and I stopped. Of course that cessation was AFTER twenty minutes when I put down 2 chimichangas, 4 meatball hot pockets, two buns the size of a sub sandwich and one egg roll. I did not toss it up though. I didn’t toss it up but you know what? I can’t say that I’ll wear the right size clothing because I’m still scared. I still need to look bigger and make people think twice before messing with me.

I worry thought that I’ll go back to old behaviors and sabotage my physical health because of the need to have some tangible evidence that I’m not so small that I can’t protect myself. Even though a person is heavy or has a lot of extra weight they are still invisible, you know that? They still get looked over and maybe even passed up for sexual crimes. I have the advantage of ignorance on my side when it comes to my chances of someone choosing me to rob or attack. Even when I was a kid people said they didn’t want to fight me because black girls fight better than white girls. Then when I got heavy no one really messed with me much because I was big AND black. So their ignorance kind of protected me. My 32 year old neighbor said she never wanted to mess with me because I looked big enough to hurt her. I was secure with that though. I’d never just go off on someone physically but I was still secure with the knowledge that she would never lose her mind and start hitting me. What will happen when I’m smaller and no longer play into that ignorance? It just scares me.

I have to reason on that thought. (I hate it when I do that, all this thinking is exhausting.) When I was in high school what helped get my point across was not my size but my voice. I do realize that there is always someone bigger than me or stronger than me (or at least make themselves look that way.) I realize that crimes happen to larger people as well and that sometimes no matter how hard you fight you end up getting hurt anyway. But it is my belief that the best way for me to take power back would be to use my voice and report a crime and not find some way to understand why that particular low life chose me. So again, it’ll be my voice that makes the difference and not my height and weight.

 

Austin

Gratitude Monday - Blessings

Published
by
Austin
on August 27, 2006
in Gratitude Journal
. 0 Comments

Gratitude Monday: Blessings-Sunday, August 27, 2006-11:00PM EST

I appreciate and recognize the blessings in:

  1. My favorite dog in the world Cappy Crunch
  2. Having a good therapist
  3. Having a strong support system
  4. Good friends, net friends and blogger buddies
  5. Having an imagination, creativity, wonder and passion
  6. Laughter
  7. Insight, hindsight and being able to learn from my mistakes and the mistakes of others.
  8. The ability to reason and really listen
  9. Being able to relax and feel
  10. Sleep

Austin’s August