Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Letter from beyond the grave

Thought I would "write" a letter to the uncle, one of my perps. I've no intention of sending it. I just wanted to organise my thoughts. Forgive the foul language. One of my members who is helping loves to curse, and I think it's fucking appropriate in this case.


I thought I had already written my "fuck off" to you a decade but here I am no closer to recovery than the day I avowed not to be your silent accomplice any longer. I hate you; I say that for my benefit because you have no remorse and wouldn't appreciate how damaging it is to hurt someone. And I hurt.

You always wanted to blame it on the fact that I had been in the looney bin and they must have whispered memories into me while I was sleeping or flavored the gelatin with a drug that confabulates ideas and thoughts. How paranoid can YOU be?

I'm tired of writing you letters. I'm tired of thinking about you. I'm tired of trying to undo all the damage you have caused. I bit my tongue when granddaddy was passing away and I had to see your shit face. I pretended to be civil but inside my bones were liquidating. I could hardly walk. My heart wanted to implode in my chest.

You had your "out." You had your way of making things right. We when were put on grandaddy's "death watch" duty together (why the hell did they pair me with you, fucking family fuck fuck fuck) I put on a bravado and asked if you wanted to discuss the letter I sent you; you refused. You wouldn't admit the abuse; you wouldn't refute the abuse. You just fucking ignored it, and I hate you almost more for that than the abuse. I deserve closure. I deserve to hear you say SOMETHING!!!!!!!!!! But we sat in a punishing silence as I took my unconscius grandfather and placed morphine drops under his tongue, while you cowardly sat in the closet with the sliding door, watching ME take care of YOUR father.

Time restrains all the words I have for you. I don't mind it at all. Your a waste and one day you'll get yours. I pray I'm there to see it.

Fuck off.

Monday, May 18, 2009

An alternative to, I'm told.

I think we are recovered from yesterday's post. Forgiveness is just a rough topic for us.

We've managed to slide out of our depressive spell and shower and wash our hair. Trust me; washing our hair is a chore. It is long and naturally curly and as thick as it comes. We are a natural highlighted blonde (if you didn't get the joke it's b/c it wasn't a good one). We have strategically placed streaks of pink in our hair. The pink has faded a bit but that's okay. We are going back soon and will supplement it with purple. Best to get the experimental side over with BEFORE we become a teacher next year. Hopefully we'll graduate next year and pass the boards and get a job.

So today we were thinking how it would be best to handle alters when they come and go. Usually, we just take a tranquilizer and eventually it helps calm the chaos, but I feel that is inhibitive. There is obviously a reason the alter is coming out, so why stop them.

I'm trying really hard to get on the same page with my alters, to make decisions with them instead of an either/or situation.

Yesterday is a perfect example. We made the MOST delicious cinnamon rolls, recipe courtesy of The Pioneer Woman. This info is not new to those with D.I.D., but for the sake of those without the experience, let me just say that some alters have behaviors that need "modification," so to speak. For instance, I have one alter that burns me, other alters that starve me or are responsible for me binging and purging. Those jobs served a useful purpose when they were first created, but now we are learning new coping skills, and we don't want to use those maladaptive behaviors.

So the job was created for one of our members to bake instead of hurting us. So we made the group decision that yesterday she would make the cinnamon rolls. Everything felt okay. I didn't feel dizzy, as often happens when members are out. I didn't feel the chaos. I felt okay. No worries.

Then as we started on the cinnamon rolls, I felt her presence beside me. She didn't take over; we were co-conscious. I tried to last it out. I could hear her thoughts in my head and they aren't pleasant thoughts. She is an angry alter, with a proclivity to foul language and hand gestures. I heard it all in my head and observed her shooting birds at the television and going on a rampage.

Keep in mind she has the job of baker to detract from the negative behavior. So I'm wondering what went wrong. She did an excellent job of baking. The cinnamon rolls turned out great. It was her decision to bake as an alternative to her current function. It feels like it didn't "take." Maybe it will take practice for everyone to "switch" over to their new jobs. I guess old habits die hard.

The thing about her swearing at the t.v. and using hand gestures was that nobody was in danger; she just didn't like what she saw and I felt an overwhelming need for her to express herself, albeit it in an "ugly" manner.

I give her props for baking. Maybe that means she's trying.

But I'm getting distracted. I don't know how to handle them when they come out to do an agreed upon job. Their presence "hurts" my head. It's not a real headache, but I can feel them and it's extremely uncomfortable. The tranq. calms me down and feels like it makes them go away. But I don't want them to feel unwelcome.

I don't know what to do or how to feel. I need to review distress tolerance in my DBT workbook. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Forgiveness or regret

I'm not sure how to begin this post. I've debated on whether to write this, sweep it under the rug, or dive full force into the topic of forgiveness/regret. For us, forgiveness is a four letter word and we rage against people that think you have to forgive to heal.

So yesterday we came face to face with the topic of forgiveness. In our daily meditation book, the topic was forgiveness. Ron Palmer is quoted as saying, "Forgiveness or regret are the only choices we have." It closes with the affirmation, "Forgiveness unties the knot that binds me to resentment and regret."


First of all, forgiveness is not an either/or choice that people have to make. How the hell can you forgive someone who ruined your life, who abused you as a little girl, who left you with a legacy of hurt, pain, tears, dissociation, ect...? Forgiveness is not a choice and that doesn't mean the only other choice I have is regret, although I sure as hell regret my childhood. I regret the bitch of a mother that didn't protect me from the perps. I regret being different my whole childhood into my adolescence. I regret being different now, not always knowing conversations that have taken place, or whether I paid a bill or not, or what I did five minutes ago. Those are regrets I have, but there is no way on earth that forgiving the people that stole my innocence is going to to make that go away. If I chose to forgive, I would still dissociate, I would still have an eating disorder, I would still be f*ck*ng crazy.

Regret doesn't have to be a by-product of not forgiving. Working hard at therapy, sharing my story, opening myself up to friendships, treating myself well, not perpetuating the abuse by hurting myself, these are things that will heal me and regret is not in there anywhere. I can be whole without forgiveness and regret doesn't occupy any place in my journey of healing.

I'm not destined to a life of regret, or ruined self-esteem, or anger, or sadness.

I am not prolonging my injuries and wounds by not forgiving my perpetrators.

They don't deserve the time of day. I'm not going to spend my precious life and time forgiving the sins of others who ruined me for good.

Hell yes, I'm angry. But forgiveness won't change that. It won't usher in a peacefulness and soak up all the atrocities committed against us.

As far at the affirmation goes, forgiveness doesn't untie anything. I will always resent being abused; I will always resent being dissociative; Mostly, I willl always resent the insuation that if we don't forgive we will have a life of misery and regrets.

B*ll Sh*t.