Tag Archive for 'OCD'

Page 3 of 3

Humiliating and Emotionally Draining Disorder

Published on November 21, 2005 in Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD and Therapy. 0 Comments Tags: .

I’m nervous about therapy tomorrow. I sent her an email about feeling suicidal and everything. I told her I wanted to talk about it, that means I have to know what happened this week end and right now I don’t have a clue. I feel just fine right now. I have no clue what happened to make us slip to the edge so quickly and dangerously. I just have no clue.I find this disorder humiliating, frustrating and emotionally draining. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have it together. I just got another reply from a very angry reader. I’m confused yet irritated by the whole situation. She’s upset about an entry about what Mic sent me via email. There was a porn link on it. I guess the part that stabbed me right in the heart was when she said she would warn others about my site so they would know the content on here. My first thought was, oh, would you like for me to beg you not to go. My second thought was, oh hey, great, someone I a support group suggested my journal. That was quite flattering. I shoved that aside and thought about if I should reply to this angry reader. I decided to process it out instead.

I think what upset me the most was the part about how she was taking me off her favorites list and then telling others about how my site has porn links on it. My mind translates that as: I’m erasing you from existence and not only do you not exist to me but I’ll make sure others ignore you too. That to me is my issue. I have a problem with the secretary crossing my name off the sign in sheet at the doctor’s office. This girl may not have meant it this way but that is what I heard.

Then I started thinking that maybe others would see this journal as unsafe and unfriendly. A case of Bad Girl Syndrome kicked in. I started beating myself up for upsetting someone. I thought to myself, “Here I go again. Why can’t I get along with people?” Yet I couldn’t even remember where the conversation went wrong on my end. Where did I go wrong? I could only imagine that maybe Morton spoke too harshly. Then of course that turns into, should we temper our words the way we did with our mother. Should I have switched into care taker mode and given a less than genuine apology that would eat at my gut later? Again, this is my issue and I own it.

I had to remember the purpose of Sundrip Journals. The purpose is not to tickle the ears of the readers or make it safe for them when they chose to read an entry. The purpose is to process my everyday life with DID. The purpose of the journal is aide in my healing process, not to bicker with readers about the content. While I have no intension of purposely offending those who may read, I also have no intension of putting spoilers or triggers on posts. When a reader visits this site I hope they will be able to decide for themselves whether to continue reading a post or abandon it for another post. It is also my hope that my focus will not be turned from the real purpose of this journal: self healing, self expression, every day rants and raves, humor, tears, the blues, love and love songs.

I have to say that I’m proud of myself for checking with a friend to see if it was her I was offending. I wanted to make sure I didn’t put a kink in an e-friendship. I couldn’t be online and see her name on my buddy list and pretend nothing was wrong. My mother did stuff like that, look you in the eye while inside she was shooting flames at you. It allows under current to fester and that is the most dangerous current of all. I said in reply to the anonymous person that I wanted her to remember that in general Austin is an understanding and companionate person. I said that I would like for her to write to me via private email so that we could discuss it. I had no intension of apologizing, I just wanted to make sure she and I could talk it out and see each others points of view. We didn’t have to agree but I at least wanted some sort of conversation other than short notes that could be taken several different ways. I think that my willingness to be understanding is not just a strength but a weakness. I give people way too much room to screw up and be forgiven. I tend to do that a lot. I tend to care take and smooth over the sore spots of others even when the situation doesn’t warrant it. I can’t say if this situation did or not but in general I give too much leeway to people. I hate that about myself. I don’t try to make excuses for them but I try to understand why they do what they do. My roommate is the messiest man on the face of this earth. Of course that is an exaggeration but still, anyone that comes in and throws their coat in the middle of the floor and leaves it is messy. Anyone that can leave the counters with half eaten food on it for hours at a time is messy. I can see in him the reasons for why he does what he does. He needs the clutter the way I need cleanliness. He’s at the opposite end of my OCD. When he starts being a pack rat my head starts turning in circles and I start getting all pissed off but then I remember that he needs it the way I need cleanliness. If I toss a bottle that he saved it might feel to him that how it felt when my mother tossed things that I was emotionally attached to. Knowing why he does what he does makes it easier for me to clean up onion peel that’s been on the counter since the day before yesterday. I try to understand where people are coming from. It takes a lot of energy to do that.

In an online journal I read where a girl said something about how she tries so hard to please people but they never really appreciate it. She asked herself why she even bothers. This is my thing, if I don’t bother then its me that loses. I can’t ask for understanding and patients if I don’t give it. I’ll end up giving it more than I have it returned but at the end of the day I’ll be able to say, “Austin is a reasonable person.” I need that the way I need cleanliness.

Austin’s August

DID Issues: My Poll Answers

Published on October 20, 2005 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy. 0 Comments Tags: .

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.