I realize I’m trembling. My teeth start to chatter. I cover my mouth with my sleeve. I just got snot on it. I hope that’s not too gross I think. I keep looking around the room at the mismatched art. He has Asian, Hispanic and Indian but nothing good. He has something so drab and stark it reminds me of myself. He says a name and I jump. I think to myself, “Why does he keep calling me that?” I can see him, almost but not clearly. I know where I am but I’m still afraid. He wants to know why I’m afraid but all I can do is cover my mouth and rock. I’m scared. I have to get grounded but I forgot my drawing pad. I can’t draw. I’ve got my little duck and I’ve got some candy. I need a cigarette. We have to turn the lights up higher, it’s too dark. I keep going away. I have to get myself under control, get grounded, at least enough to walk out of here and not let on that I crumbled at the mere mention of going to the doctor. It’s just that the sight of her is so close. I can feel her on my hands. I run but not far enough. Someone inside is calling, “Help me.” Someone else is whining “No” someone else is coming up so quickly that I can’t tell who it is. I’m watching myself rock. I can hear him call a name. I snap back. I forgot he was sitting there. I keep forgetting that he’s sitting there.
How strange to experience the past and present simultaneously. It’s like a movie, watching myself, watching him, looking at everything in the room and seeing and feeling my mother. It’s like a movie. I’m watching. Adam comes so fast I don’t even know he’s there until he’s gone. I must have looked so strange to be in that kind of condition then sitting up right breathing normally, not in a total panic. It doesn’t last long because that view is back. I can hear the crying. I can see everything and hear everything just like it was yesterday. I have to walk out of here like I’m okay. I hope he doesn’t touch me. God if he touches me I’ll lose my mind. He stands back really far and lets me past. I say “um” like it’s a complete sentence then “Yeah…um..um..yeah.” I walk away. We walk away. If we keep freaking out like this he’s going to quit. We can’t keep freaking out like this.
Tremble: Therapy Review -Tuesday, July 22, 2008-11:48PM EST
I have before sought out pain, gone looking for it like a drug, gone searching for it. It’s not that hard to find. A long time ago when I was majorly triggered and felt unsafe looking like a girl I decided to best way to defeminize myself was to shave my head and look like a boy. I always thought as a child it was safer to be a boy than a girl. Girls get hurt I thought, boys do too but for me being a girl seemed worse. So that day I shaved it, walked out of the apartment into a hallway full of people with the hope that someone would tell me how crazy I am. I was disappointed when a neighbor told me I was the only person she knew who could get away with “that look.” I was disappointed, left empty because I didn’t need confirmation or a compliment, I needed cruelty and hurtful words. I needed scars to accent the ones I already have. What was I looking for? I needed to remember my place, to remember that I should not try to act like I deserve anything but a slap in the face. I was looking for someone to remind me that I’m alive. I don’t feel alive sometimes. I don’t trust that when I have a piece of happiness that it belongs to me or that I deserve to have it. I believe it’ll be taken. I believe it’s a trick. I know I’m alive if I’m hurt. I may wish I were dead but I know I’m alive.
Continue reading ‘What Was I Looking For?’
Last night when I was in bed I rolled over and thought to myself, you know what? I’m done. It scared me. It scares me how easily I break anymore. When I thought it I realized I needed to try and put a safety plan in place, make sure I don’t get to the point where I screw up all I’ve worked for. After that thought went through my head it occurred to me that what I’m doing day in and day out is not enough to sustain me emotionally, physically or spiritually. I can’t feed this depression and expect to feel better. I am trying hard to get better and not simply give in.
I know a lot of the issue is Blossom but it’s also my dreams, flashbacks and other stuff I don’t even bother to blog about. I also don’t seem to handle physical pain well anymore. I stay at a 9 out of 10. It’s not as if I haven’t stayed this high before it’s that it’s getting old. I don’t handle the pain that well anymore. This stupid writs of mine can’t just be spraned. I think there’s something more wrong with it than that but going to the doctor to hold my hand out just isn’t something I can do without feeling a dowel rod come down on them. I can’t do it. The one thing I could never dissociate far enough from was dowel rods on the palms of my hands. I can not hold my hand out, palm up and not panic and come home safely. The wrist is a small drop in this bucket. I feel tapped and tired. Hopefully, more than likely it will pass. It seems harder each time though. I feel like I have less to fight with each time. I’m sorry to say that……sorry about that…
Joan of Arc (w/ Robert close by)
For some reason I’ve felt a lot of shame lately. Shame for the amount of anxiety I feel, shame for concentrating on only a certain object in my artwork, shame for being a multiple, for my writing for all sort of things. I’m not one to say “I’m not good enough” but that has crossed my mind quite a bit lately.
With this whole faces in artwork thing…. I realized I was trying to put a face to that child I use to be. I didn’t want her to be faceless to be unimportant anymore. I wasn’t sure why I kept drawing faces but after that painting the other day when I saw little me it hit me, that’s what I’m doing, that’s what’s trying to come out. I think I was just trying to put a face to the person that got wiped out by horrible things. I want to count. I want her to count and matter and not be forgotten. I’m not going to post the painting that looks like us a kid. For a bit I was drawing my sister. I just kept drawing her until I figured I’d gotten out what I needed to get out.
I’ve noticed something else, the people I draw have one eye larger than the other. I have a lazy eye (which shows more on Robert than any of us)….The lazy eye thing is another shame point. I’m not usually ashamed of the body I have been lately I have been.
Continue reading ‘Shame’
No matter where I was in the dream there was a paintbrush and canvas near by. I started out at my grandmother’s house where I use to live as a child. I lived there on and off. The last time I lived there was not permitted to live in the house. I had to live in the RV parked outside in their driveway. The RV had no heat, no running water, no electricity and in the end no lock on the door. In the dream despite these conditions all I wanted to do was paint. I set up a table outside by a tree, took one canvas and began painting a everyone in Morton’s Pride. Beside the table I had three Dixie cups filled with dog feces. I was using it as paint thinner. A bird then plopped two inches from my canvas. The small table I had then switched from being under a tree by the grandparents house to the entrance of a building I lived in before I moved here. The building has 21 stories, I lived on the 19th floor. I still painted despite being in a different place.
Continue reading ‘Dreams: Layers’
That’s that smirk I’m talking about that I see on your face from time to time. Then we realize it’s a nervous habit not a way to be mean or cruel. Maybe when we give details about the abuse, especially the physical torture maybe he’s getting off on it. The doctor enjoys stories of abuse. This is our mother talking, this is something the mother said happens with therapists, that they listen to details and get off on it. What a way to destroy trust, even those who we go to for help we can’t trust because they’re secretly there for their own sick gain.
Can I have my mind back? Can I have some quiet?
We didn’t trust his reasons for calling us back. There’s strong paranoia with him that he just wants to keep us as a client so he can hear us tell him these things. Why else would he call us back? He doesn’t care. We’re just his source for torture details. He’s probably at home jacking off to this shit.
There is a video that we ran into over at the blog by Battle Weary. The video is a very good depiction of the chaos that can go on inside the mind of someone with multiple personality disorder. While it does not portray all people with DID it does give a good picture of my system. It gives a good picture of the activity level, the noise level and the preparation taken to deal with the outside world.
Continue reading ‘The Doc and Robert (INSiDE)’
I left a message for him to call me today and he did. He said he didn’t realize that he made the chomping motion but that he does remember doing the hitting motion. He said it was unconscious and a mistake. I asked him if he remembered when we talked about my mother and S&M and how she wasn’t able to finish without there being some sort of pain. She had to give some sort of pain to be able to have any satisfaction at all. His response was, “I guess one just didn’t do it for her?” He says he doesn’t remember saying that and that it doesn’t sound like something he’d say. So now I’m questioning that part of it….I didn’t give one inch on the phone for it though. I told him I heard what I heard but now I wonder. FUCK!
Monday when we went in we only threw up before but not after. I thought we did pretty good. I really don’t want to go tomorrow. I’d like to just stay home but we have to go in. We can’t call him, talk about this then not show up the next day. That wouldn’t be right. I suppose the good thing is that tomorrow is it for the week then we have until Monday to not have therapy.
I feel very unsatisfied by artwork right now. I can’t seem to do enough and I don’t feel carried or sustained by it right now. I just do more and more and feel less and less happy. I painted and felt no real comfort by it at all. Lots of noise in my head as well as empty space like someone is missing, like someone walked away. I don’t know why I said that though.
I’m suppose to look back on the blog to see when we had the original conversation about the mother cause I couldn’t remember when we talked about it. I know it’s on the blog cause everything is here. I told him I’d try to find the date. He can then find his notes when I come up with the date.
Got it!
Female Sadists- Therapy Discussion
1 of 2- Thursday, April 17, 2008-1:55AM EST, 2 of 2- 2:27AM EST
I’m so happy we write stuff down.
I should sleep
Ariel
Wed/July09/08-1:52AM/EST
We were talking about how I hurt my wrist and the nightmare that had me hitting the wall. He asked about the nightmare and I showed him the pen and ink drawing of it. I showed him the two people tied up in the dream. He asked about the teeth. I said they aren’t real. They’re the type you put in and take out. He asked what they’re for. I said to wear. He said, “You mean for biting for pain?” then he made a chomping motion. I’m not sure why he did that. One time when talking about dowel rods he made the hitting motion like he was hitting himself on the back. It wasn’t good. We have to talk to him about this cause he can’t do stuff like that. Morton is pissed. This isn’t good. We’re supposed to talk about this stuff but not if he’s going to chomp and make hitting motions. We have to call him tomorrow. He better not change or get mean. I hope he doesn’t change or get mean to us. I hope not. Why would he do that. I hope he doesn’t get mean cause that wouldn’t be good.
This is my list which is in no particular order.
Going to sleep is like letting down my guard. I call it the broken boxer syndrome. I fight and fight it until I absolutely have to go lay down. It’s like throwing in the towel. There is huge fear that once I lay down the end of my fight or flight response takes place. My attacker is in my dreams and I’ve simply given in and accepted my fate. This makes me angry.
I seem to be aware of people around me and remember where they are or where they moved from. At the carnival a few months back this symptom was driving me crazy. I realized I was keeping track of everyone around me. I mentally recorded their physical appearance automatically. I felt ashamed of it. I’d be the perfect eye witness because I can record so much detailed information and have it right on.
I hear my dog breathing in stereo and it angers me. I’m triggered by it and sometimes I actually accuse him of panting as loudly as possible which is just stupid but my mind is racing and running from the past. I see danger in the way he’s breathing because it usually leads to a flashback of having someone on top of me panting like that.My eyes catch the slightest movement.
I’m sensitive to noise and light.
Sometimes I’m very jumpy.
I can sometimes hear the tiniest sound.
Continue reading ‘What Are Your Hypervigilance and Hyperarousal PTSD Symptoms?’
I wish I could say I’m unaffected and untainted by my past but I’m not unaffected, and I am tainted.
Wednesday’s session may have been one of the most productive sessions I’ve had in a very long time because we didn’t have a lot of rapid switching.
I still want very badly to quit smoking. It’s a habit I don’t even enjoy anymore.
I hate the loud explosions of July 4th. If you’ve ever looked down the barrel of a gun you know why. I have ear plugs. I have to just keep telling myself I’m okay.
I wish that I could sleep without dreaming but with this recent discovery I can actually say that on a certain level I’m happy I remember my dreams. At least knowing the content allows me to work through or better understand what goes on in my head.
Adam shushes us when we start yelling inside too loudly.
Today I accidentally bumped two cast iron pans off the side of the table right onto my bare feet. I didn’t flinch. I wish I had at least flinched. It made me sad that I had no response at all. I’m happy there was no one here to see my lack of response.
Continue reading ‘Thoughts, Observations, Feelings’
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