The cat is a little anxious about the fireworks but not nearly as much as one might think. In the photo he’s too busy cleaning his paws to care that his tail is in my eyes.
I’m happy Joe is here with me. It’s very healing to have such a gentle soul around during times of uncertainty and mental distress.
I don’t feel well. It’s embarrassing to explain what’s going on. Yes, I’m having DID symptoms but the biggest issue is paranoia and mistrust.
As I write this in the dark apartment with my cat at my side, it sounds like a war is going on outside. It sounds like fireworks are right by the window. While this would not normally bother me, I’m not quite myself right now.
The truth is, something is wrong. I worry my CNA, if I turn my back to her, will cut my throat. It’s unrealistic and yet I can’t turn my back to the CNA. There’s no one else that I think wants to hurt me. I have to reason with myself. Why would she cut my throat? Why would she clean my home, cook, converse and then hurt me? That would be my mother’s trick, not their’s. My mother could go the whole day, the whole dang on day being “normal” then surprise me with cruelty. She may even tell me early on what she was going to do to me then wait the whole day to do it. Sadism. Anyway, perhaps the more I look like my mother the more paranoid I become because of her presence in the mirror.
I wonder if some of my paranoia is learned. How do you grow up with someone paranoid and not learn some of the behaviors? For instance, my mother constantly accused me and my sister of stealing even though we were innocent. We had the palms of our hands beaten because she swore we stole from her. She constantly accused of stealing. Then she worried I would put something nasty in her food or drink. She made comments about it all the time. Now I have to throw those ideas out of my head. My CNA is not going to put anything nasty in my food! And if I lose something it doesn’t mean it was stolen. I never accuse the CNAs of stealing. It’s a thought that I reason away.
Though these thoughts plague me, I don’t mention them to anyone. At least now I don’t believe I’ll be put away somewhere in a facility. My mother said if I ever told certain things she was doing I wouldn’t be believed and I’d be put in an institution where she wasn’t able to get to me, and I’d be lost and alone forever. According to her all my life, she was the only one who could save me from myself. Abuser and Savior? I don’t think so!
The purpose of this post is to write about learned paranoia and real paranoia. To write that it hurts in my head and it’s embarrassing to be me right now.