Going home via Blue Ridge Parkway

After spending six happy days with our family, it was time to head home.


Time to say goodbye to our family. Goodbye is so bitter-sweet. I'm ready to go home, but not ready to leave the family behind. I lov eyou, all!

Here's C. and O. goofing off on Blue Ridge Parkway. Good times.

C. is pointing out the monolith that you can barely see in the background. Mono what? She had to explain to me what a monolith was. And I'm in school to be a teacher? In my defense, I'm an English Ed major, not a Science Ed major.

All the hiking and walking on the trails have these two tired out. Sorry, girls. The best is yet to come. Hope you get a second wind.

Here we are on the watershed in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's rocky and wet. O. is a little wet from slipping. The water is fun to walk on, but really slippery. At least she had a good attitude about it and went on with exploring the rocks and waterfall.

This is the bottom of the watershed. The waterfall is beautiful. It was such a gorgeous day; people were swimming in the "pool", laying out on the rocks, and having picnics. It was so much fun it made the long drive worth it.

Here's another look at the waterfall. It's pretty steep. You can also see how dangerous it is to climb the rocks, and I had on flip flops!! Not exactly hiking shoes.

Here's O. taking a little rest, sitting in the sun trying to dry off. Poor child! I'm not good with uploading photos yet, so you'll have to crank your head to see her. Sorry!

C. is taking a little rest, too. Hi, C! I love you!

Here are my girls back on top of the watershed. We are all tired. It was quite a walk!

In the van to go home, I turned around and saw both girl, including Twizzler, our dog, passed out. O. was scared I would take pictures of her (she knows me well) so she's hiding under her blanket. I'll get her back later! :)

Twizzler woke up and decided to drive us home. Thanks, Twiz! Only one speeding ticket!

Anger times infinity

Friedrich Nietzsche said, "Nothing on earth consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment."

This was the quote for my daily mediation today. I have to admit I've fallen prey to resenting the majority of my life and those who've played a role in its demise.

It's natural to resent being hurt, but if I'm TRULY honest with myself, I've made a career out of resenting those that have dishonored me and abused me. But I don't know how to not be angry and resentful.

Those people hurt me deeply, seemingly irrevocably. How do you get over that? How do you get beyond the anger and resentment? More therapy, indeed.

I'm calling myself out about being eaten alive with hate, anger and resentment. I realize this only halts my progress into a world where I can fully live without being triggered by the anything and everything. People on the outside would never know how damaged I am inside because I put on a front. I have members who are responsible for interacting in the real world. But I'm not at peace and never will be until we can let go.

As I write this it sounds to familiar to the post we wrote about forgiveness. Bad topic. I won't forgive, so if forgiveness means I have to let go of the anger and resentment, then tough shit.

But maybe it's not mutually exclusive. Maybe we can still let go of anger and not forgive. Anger is just a warning sign that something has hurt us. I don't even know what I'm angry at, just that I'm angry. To be honest, and I know some of the blogging community thinks this is bull shit, but I have a member dedicated to anger. It is her job to hold the anger; it's her defense mechanism and the way she keeps people at arms length.

I know she can protect us through other means, but the anger is so much easier for her to revert to. Not everybody is out to get us.

But I'm off track and my thoughts are easily being tumbled and foggy. The issue on the table is letting go of anger and resentment. Anger is a message that something isn't right, and we've gotten the message. The abuse wasn't right, but we can't go back in time. And anger can't be fixed just by acknowleding that the abuse wasn't our fault. So we honestly don't know where to go with this post. We don't know how to get rid of the anger.

Maybe it's something time takes care of. Maybe acknowledging the abuse wasn't our fault will stop us from punishing ourselves, but that takes time. Feelings of guilt, anger, resentment are all tied together. How to untie them is a good question. Moving forward depends on handling the anger towards our abusers, ourselves, and the world.

I find this post flabbergasting. I started it out with one angle on anger, feeling I had answers, and now I've done a 180 degree turn. I don't know how I feel or what it will take to let the anger go. I've confused myself.

Anyone have any thoughts?

Cooking in the south!

Last night my god-daughter was learning how to make fried okra but felt the okra would suffer if she didn't have on an apron. Seriously, C., where did I go wrong?


She stops cooking for just a moment to pose for me. She's almost fourteen years old. They grow up so fast.

C. is getting a cooking lesson from Grandma. Grandma extols the virtue of cooking with lard; my arteries close just listening.

There are too many cooks in the kitchen, which is my out to leave. Yeah! I don't have to cook! I love you all!

BTW, the artery clogging okra was fantastic. Nothing says cooking in the south like a cupful of lard! :) This is why we only visit twice a year.

Trip to Tenneessee

Still writing from Tenneesee. We are a little crowded in the van, even with the two middle seats taken out. These are two faces only a mother could love, and I love them very, very much.

On the other side of Twizzler and O. is our other god-daughter, C. She's sleeping and drooling all over my pillows.


This black blob is Sam.

He is adequately tranq'd for both his and my benefit. He is never this mellow. He's lying on the floor where we took the two middle seats out. That's my Strawberry Shortcake blanket he's bogarting. How could I refuse him?

Somewhere under here is our god-daughter, O. , and our other dog, Twizzler, who is too prissy to get on the floor.

Twizzler is totally monopolizing the backseat like good dogs do. O.is a little camera shy. "Mom" she cries.

As a side note, they are African American and we are Caucasian. Info. just in case you read our profile.

Things are slightly better at the moment, but we spent the day in bed. I'm totally proud of our abiility to transfer pictures to our computer and put them on Flickr and on the blog, so you'll be seeing more pics in the future.

We are switching more. and I think that is due to the one member staying in bed all day. Once we started switching we got up and got on-line and showered. We never made it to Panera. Our streak is broken. Heaven help us.

More to write later.

Days like this I don't know what to do with myself

I don't know what to say. I hate feeling like this. I feel uninspired and rather ineffectual right now. The sad music plays and soothes my brain. I'm sorry, dear reader. I would rather post a positive blog, but I'm not so positive right now.

I'm at Panera, as usual, but this time I'm writing from Tenneessee, where my in-laws live. It's hard to have a good visit with them because I'm so far out of my f*cki*ng mind. I'm not okay and I don't know how to get okay. I can't wait to get back into town so I can see my shitty psychiatrist and get a change on my meds. I really think I need a med change. I hate my psychiatrist; before I left I called another psychiatrist that is supposed to be really good with D.I.D. and eating disorders but she's on vaca. this week, so I couldn't even schedule an appt. with her. So next week I'll see my usual psycho-iatrist and still schedule an appt. with the new one.

I feel so utterly sad. I'm starting to get daily affirmations and mediations on my cell phone. However, I came across this one on the Internet. http://www.deeshan.com/ It doesn't really apply to me today, but it is something to think about when we are dissecting our own self-worth.

Secret Shadows has had some blogs lately about parenting with D.I.D. that at the time didn't apply to me, but I read them anyway since I have god-children. I never thought I would be telling my story when reading hers, but I have to.

I never thought I would tell my god-children about my condition but the need arose lately and I was amazed at their maturity in accepting my condition.

My god-children , C. and O. are twin, thirteen years old, just shy of fourteen. They've had a very difficult life but it has taught them resilency. We had custody of them for five years, between the ages of six and eleven. I never wanted to have children but they needed a home and what was I supposed to do? Throw children I already loved into foster care? Nopie. So we took them in. It was difficult, to be sure. Now they "live" with their bio-parents but, even though we don't have custody of them, we are still their parents. They call us "mom" and "dad."

With that sad, I have some members that are starting to relish coming out and the freedom it entails. They are all about self-expression and even got a nose piercing. My family is ultra, ultra, ultra conservative so I had to explain to my children that we all have parts to ourselves. "Part" of us likes Disney World, part of us like Busch Gardens. Part of us likes "abc", and another part likes "def".

Then, one of my daughters who has some severe learning challenges from being a premie asks me," Mom, are you talking about identities?" I was floored. Apparently she heard me and D. talking about it and looked it up on the Internet. She had been sitting with partial knowledge for a year.

So of course they had a lot of questions, most of which I was unprepared for but we answered. I couldn't believe how grown up and understanding they were being. I was upset that one of my members got the piercing and C., my daughter, said, "Don't worry. It wasn't your fault. We know it wasn't you." What a blessing.

I could finally take a deep breath around them. Now, one of my members wants to get a tattoo. Our arms are so scared and we have most recent burn marks on our left wrist and it looks like a cuff. It is bright red and it gave the member the idea to have "Love" tattooed on her wrist. It is in part because of TWLOHA, the grassroots organization to demythitize self-harm. So by tattooing "Love" on her arms, she believes we will never self-harm again. Would that it were. If that would be the trick, I'd go get the tattoo myself.

We have an appt. with a dietician next week. I'm so relieved. We need to get on a program. We are feeling so desperate. We ordered diet pills on-line last night. I know that was a bad move but the feelings of desperation are so high. We haven't been this heavy in a long time. Just months ago, we were severly underweight. It is hard to mentally wrap our head around what is provoking this response from the eating disorder.

I'm really reaching out to the world today. I'm accepting hugs if you're offering. I feel so down in the dumps. Mostly because I can't stand the way I feel inside this body. But enough of that. So this is so random.

Stay strong and take care.

Deserve self-worth?

Self-worth is in short supply these days. Actually, all my life there's been no supply of self worth or self-esteem. At the Emotions Anonymous meeting on Wednesday the topic was how we treat our bodies. When it was my turn to speak I had no shortage of words; forever I've been abusing my body, following the tradition of what my perpetrators did to me.

I continue to cut, burn, starve, binge, purge, etc.

Indulge me here for a minute. I'm getting to a point:

I don't feel like I deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to take care of myself. There is something inherently wrong with myself that makes me undeserving. I often ask myself why I go to therapy. I don't deserve therapy; I don't deserve to get better.

But why don't I deserve to get better? What did I do that was so bad? Even people on death row get treated better than I treat myself. So what is wrong with me?

The answer is nothing...except somewhere inside I feel guilty and like I deserved to be traumatized and abused. Some sick part of me feels like I wanted the abuse. My T. would say that is categorically, unconditionally, irrefutably, untrue. I don't believe her myself, but I still try to trust in what she says.

The truth is:

I am capable of having of self-worth. My self-worth is based on my actions, and I am already doing things I can be proud of. I'm going to therapy, even though I hate it. I feel similiarly to Ivory that I go to therapy but never say the things I need to say. But I'm trying. I go to my eating disorder groups, I journal, I blog, and I read other people's blogs as a way of reaffirming that my frame of reference is not singular.

Esteem is based on our own opinion, our own judgement, and what we value. Thus, self-esteem is how we value ourselves and what our opinion is of ourselves. We can't rely on other's opinions of us. They won't hold water in the long run because we will constantly be having to go back to them for reassurance. We need self-esteem for ourselves.

And self-esteem and self-worth can't be based on the outer appearance. Self-worth is the product of action. Self-esteem isn't a feeling based on passing emotions. It is constructed, built, even designed. We can design negative self-worth or design positive self-worth. We don't have to go by the definitions handed to us in childhood or from a relationship that wasn't healthy. We can redefine ourselves anytime we want by doing things for ourselves regardless if we feel worthy or deserving.

So while I may not feel like I deserve to live or deserve to be happy, my goal is to do something nice for myself today, like paint my nails or buy a new song for my iPod. It is the little things we do for ourselves, even the smallest action, that translates into a victory; It is the small victories that turn into positive products, and that builds and DESIGNS how we will view ourselves and what our self worth is.

I'm including some web-sites I visited that gave me ideas on how to improve my self-worth.

http://personaldevelopment.suite101.com/article.cfm/self_esteem_help

http://www.wikihow.com/Develop-Self-Esteem (This has 10 steps and even more tips)****

http://www.wordofmouthexperiment.com/articles/self-esteem/improving-self-worth-3-keys (Has 3 tips but a lot of links to other sites)

http://www.ehow.com/how_5051091_improve-confidence-even-youre-down.html (has great analogy of "bank account" and self-esteem

Hope these help.

Time after time

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 18 years old, institutionalized on the mental health floor, and trying to justify my suicide attempt in group therapy. Another woman, about twenty years older than me, scolded me out because I wanted to kill myself and told me how lucky I should feel because I was getting psychiatric help at such a young age and that she had to live with her illness longer than I had been alive.

Well, here I am, woman almost fifteen year later, and still getting psychiatric help. I'm still in therapy and have been in the looney bin several times since I was 18. So what does that make me? A failure? Worthless? Wasteful? Shouldn't early intervention mean that my life would be a panacea and I would have no problems?

If that's the case then I have failed miserably. I've been in therapy for a long time and I've been to alot of groups with varying ages. I never tell someone younger than me that they are lucky to get help early in life. I never feel jealous because they are getting help as a teenager.

Just because you receive help doesn't mean you are helped, and that is the difference. And the help you get may not be what you really need, but it may just keep you alive for the moment.

I remember all my therapists. Some of them were great, some not so great. I've still got some of the same problems I had when I first started therapy fifteen years ago. I still dissociate; I still am depressed; I still have an eating disorder; I still self harm. If I wanted to I could throw a pity party and mope and mourn all the years wasted and sacrificed to ineffectual therapy. But even though I still have a long way to go to achieve mental health, I know that I've made progress.

Every stage of my life has given me opportunities to grow. I've done the best I can do at any given moment. The wear and tear I've experienced in my life has afforded me the opportunity to gain wisdom, so the therapy wasn't a waste. And I'm not a waste because I'm not the poster child for mental health.

So to the woman that told me 15 years ago how lucky I was to get help early, I say fuck off. By saying that you invalidate me and how I've been scraping and clawing and scratching my way up the mountain for help. I'm not going to let myself feel like a waste and a disaster just because I'm not "fixed."

To the rest of the world that might look at me and say "what the fuck is wrong with you that fifteen years of therapy won't fix?, I try to tell myself, "Big deal." So what that I've been in therapy for 15 years. That shows a sign of hope. At least I haven't given up. At least I still try.

I know that one day my smile will be genuine and my laughter authentic. Then will I celebrate all the years, whether it's 15 or 25, that I struggled and battled to be happy and free.

The dirty word called "trust"

It's taken a few days to write this post. I've been molling it over in my head. A week ago I attend a support group that I usually go to, Emotions Anonymous. The format consists of go around the room, saying our name, and giving a feeling word. Then a topic is introduced and we go around and make a statement about the topic, or we pass if we don't feel like talking.

Well, last Monday the topic was trust. Dirty word. Most people with truama histories have problems trusting. I find it hard to trust everyone and everything. It's hard to trust my T., D., my husband, and to trust even myself. I can be one of the worst perpetrators of abuse against myself with all the cutting, burning, starving, purging, etc..

I thought it was interesting to hear everyone's comments in the meeting. By far, the men asserted they were too trusting and the women complained they weren't trusting enough. It didn't surprise me. Women trust too much and get burned in the end when their hopes for friendship or courtship are dashed.

Well, yesterday's reading in my affirmation book put the punctuation mark on the topic. The topic started off with a quote from "The Desiderata" and it reads, "The world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is."

I have to make myself trust that there are good people out there, people that want to take the time to get to know me and be patient while we sift through the garbage and I can be a good friend. I have a lot to offer and I want to offer it. But right now, I can't afford trust. It won't always be that way because I see what I'm missing out on. It took the EA meeting and yesterday's affirmation to realize it.

If I look at everyone as someone out to get me, then truly everyone will be out to get me. My reality depends on what I choose to focus. To overly concentrate on the world's deceit has us constantly imputing false, shoddy motives to everyone we see or any activity we take notice of. If we regard the world this way, every gift becomes suspect, every kind deed a means for exploitation, and all innocence equals guilt or suspicion.

I've lived my whole life this way and all it's gotten me is alone. I don't want to be this way anymore. I have a lot that I could offer people.

I'm giving, concerened, empathetic, and agreeable. I would make a good friend.

The last quote of yesterday's reading reads, "The world is only as dark as the glasses I wear." I can choose to see only darkness and deceit in the world, or I can choose to see the potential that a trusting life can bring. Happiness determines my altitude, not just my attitude.

Now I just need hope. That will be a whole new post.

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.


________________________________________________
Asshole,

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.

An alternative to alters....no, 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.

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."

AAAAHHHH!!!!!!!

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.

Too fat to die

I need help stopping my downward spiral. I know of at least one alter that is suicidal; some are apathetic, and others don't want to die this fat.

The last statement is really silly, I know. But that is how this mind works. I cancelled my therapy appointment today because I didn't feel pretty enough to put on my nice dresses, which, incidentally, make me feel more attractive and like I want to wear my maxi dresses.

I've had a hysterectomy and I have no idea where I am on the cycle (they left my ovaries), but I think I'm PMSing because of the emotional fluctuations and the sensations in my chest. Tenderness in my boobies! There I said it.

I've been in bed all day, save for going to the kitchen to eat. My alters and I have to be on the same page because it feels like we are working for different things.

I keep a card inside my journal that reads this way (bear with me): I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heard and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked in rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answes, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them, and the point is, to live everything, live the questions now, perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually without noticing it, live your way into the answer. ~ rainer maria rilke

I read this card at moments like this because I am totally unaware of my outside surroundings or my internal landscape. I don't know why I act the way I do or think the things I though. And I feel like a little baby in a highchair, plastic utensils in both hands, and banging on the tray table (thank you Victoria!) demanding, "We want answers now! We want answers now!" I wouldn't hate the child, just the behavior, and I need to look at us that way; we may not collectively or individually have the answers as to why we can't get our of bed, but there is a valid reason and we will "live our way into the answer."

I sound all hopefull and optimistic. Bunch of bull shit. One of the alters was really thinking about death earlier. She has the patches she needs. A half-cocked plan is formed, but we would hate for our current weight to be listed on the death certificate. So if we lose fourty pounds we might be safe. I truly don't know what I weigh. I do know the dietitian, who was supposed to call me after I e-mailed her multiple times, never followed up with me and I've written her off. It's very professional and I would rather fuck it up cross country and back than have her as dietitian. I know I needed one.

My brain is so fucking tired I couldn't figure out what to eat if I had every restaurant and grocery store at my disposal.

Fatigue. When have I not been so damn depressed and lethargic? But no one can help me out. Sad, sad, sad part is I want out. These are the moment that paralyze my breath and choke off all meaning to life. The only time I'm every really happy is when I'm starving or burning myself.

Trigger Warning
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Burning is an addictive coping mechanism. Used to be cutting for me. It would only take a little trickle of blood and I would feel relief and satisfied. Then it moved on to severing veins and leaving huge, purple scars that would garner attention between disgust and disgust. I literally had a picture that I would hand out to people asking them to keep it because the view would last longer.

Burning seems a whole new level of self harm. Cuts, depending on how hollow, can heal up quicly and aren't messy in the healing process. I'm staring at my left wrist and it's pretty messed up. How sick am I for saying that I am ashamed for all the flicks of razor blade or knife, but the flame is a badge of honor, a symbol of courage. Almost like anorexia. Not everyone can do it; it takes a certain masochistic personality to refuse food, especially when you love food.

My stomach hurts as it is and I feel depressed. Sorry to be such a downer.

Crowd of people

My head hurts. I just don't feel right. My alters have been all over the board today; even now, I feel them hovering around. There's not a moments peace or a moment alone.

I am proud of myself for getting out of bed and taking the documents up to our university so we may begin classes again in the Fall. Sounds weird saying that. Just earlier one of our more depressed alters was out and she was talking of death. We have the means available to us and she was playing with the patches. She seems to have cried her tears and gone back into hiding.

They've been like helicopters all day; always hovering. It wasn't that there was one or two presenting or sitting beside me, but there was a whole crowd of them inside my head, making my head swimmy and dizzy. I was by myself and taking my items up to my university, so I couldn't stop and ask D. for help.

I made it through, which is if you are looking for the bright side of things, there it is.

I feel so alone. I haven't felt well all day and so I'm missing my god-daughters orchestra recital. I hate to miss it, but I don't have the mental energy for it.

I was talking to my therapist yesterday about mental energy and she thought the fatigue might be from the depression, but I am of a different opinion. It is exhausting when the alters are coming and going and sending their thoughts and feelings and you don't know what's real and what's warbly. That's were my mental fatigue comes from, I believe. Although I do think my medication needs to be changed, I think being so tired is all about the alters coming and going. I think that's why I'm out of commission tonight: I forged ahead all day with the alters buzzine about my head.

As for last night, did I go off with Leah and work on building a friendship? No. I copped out and ran some errands with D. We ended up fighting, or someone fought with him because he apologized today and I was like, "What fight?", so I might have been better suited going to get coffee. But we made a definite date for next Wednesday,

That's all for tonight.

Friendship for sale

Here I am at Panera Bread Co. I've just finished my therapy session and I'm waiting for my movie to start. I'm going to the dollar theater to see Gran Torino. I'm just trying to add structure to my day. Depression has a ravenous hold on me, chomping away at me. This is such an effort. Also a torture. All I want to do is find the safety of my living room couch. The bed in and of itself is unsafe.

Panera Bread Co. is packed. I peek out over the top of my screen and see tables filled with people, all laughing and sharing stories, smiling and giggling, nodding heads in agreement, consuming the meal that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole without being able to purge it. I want the life that they have. I want to be able to go out to eat and consume my meal with no worries. I want to sit at a table that's filled with people all caring about each other. I want friends.

I have my chance tonight. I am supposed to go out for coffee with Leah after our A.N.A.D. meeting. I'm scared to death. Leah and I were in treatment together last year. Due to my Dissociative Identity Disorder, she knows more about me than I do about her. A couple of meetings ago, she asked me about a project I had been working on. I asked her how she ever knew about that and she told me I told her. I feel she has one up on me. I don't remember anything about her life and its going to seem rude that she knows about mine but I'm asking her rudimentary questions that I should already know b/c we were in treatment and groups together.

I guess I could brave it for the sake of a new friendship. Friendships have always scared me. I don't have the energy for them. Having to remember details like does she like pop music or is she a hard core rock fan, does she like Diet Coke or Coke Zero. These little details drive me nuts. It's embarassing.

And having to come up with conversation and making sure there aren't any of those awkard lulls where we look around and finally peek at our watches and each sheepishly speak of an early morning so we need to leave. And I'm not ready to offer up my diagnosis to her. She doesn't know about my D.I.D. and I don't want her to. I do know she doesn't have many friends in her life and she finds it hard to make friends as I do. So it's the perfect scenario. I kind of just want to run from it. But as my favorite affirmation goes: I am willing to risk change for the sake of a new, safe life.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if I want things to change, I have to change.

From my Blackberry

I'm lying in bed, insomnia personified. I am constantly obssessing over food. Waiting for husband to go to work so I can act out. It's so much harder this time.

Fading into the woodwork

Find me please. I'm dissipating into oblivion. I need to be found.


I'm not dissociating. I'm just missing.

My words are not my own and are borrowed from someone deep inside. I'm too scared to leave the bed; even more afraid to leave the house.

Each day is a replica of days prior. Urgent business piles up on the dresser, waiting, hoping for a brighter day when the bed will relieve me of my paralysis.

I don't know who I am right now. I took some pills to make me go to sleep. I can't deal with this reality.

My most recent burn is now a relic and I need something fresher to remind me of my worthlessness and dirtiness.

A small voice gives birth to tears and tells me I'm worth more. I want to believe her. I ask her to save me but she says the tears are enough. I feel like a failure.

I'm in the vice to burn more. I'm worthless and burning makes me feel better about myself.

It's a bad day. This too shall pass.

8th world wonder

I'm the 8th world wonder. No one can figure me out. I defy explanation. I'm either immersed in anorexia or burning my arm off. I've gained weight. I can see it, I can feel it, I can sense it, and I detest myself for it. Burning is a way of cleansing myself from my badness. Eating is bad, and I must be punished. I truly detest myself and death has transferred my thought process more than once.

This past weekend was Mother's Day and I completely forgot until I was at the mall buying my thirteen year old god-daughter a swimsuit. I saw lots of "happy" families together, all dressed in their Sunday best, coming or going to church or a resteraunt. The day has no meaning for me. For one, our birth mother is in another country and we don't speak unless she comes into town, which is about twice a year. Second, if she were here, there would be no fanfare. In fact, as I write this, I am reminded that they have an anniversary next week: I think it's their 39th year of hell together. I used to pretend I loved them by throwing them parties on the special anniversaries. For their 25th anniversary, I threw them a huge party, catered food, a gorgeous cake, lots of presents, games, party favors. I'm good at throwing parties. I should have gone into the party planning business. For their 30th anniversary, I threw them a stellar backyard barb-e-cue that was cute, quaint, and loads of fun, courtesy of the alcohol. In between years I would get them a bottle of wine and a card or some such nonsense.

What did I ever get from them? Nothing. Zip. Nada. Not even a card. I never did anything for them because I expected something back, but let's be real. An acknowledgement of my anniversary would be nice. Did I ever get it? No. Not even a quickly picked out card.

So Mother's Day and thier ensuing anniversary mean and meant nothing to me.

I did go see Star Trek with my husband and god-daughters this weekend. I'm always dragging D. around to see a chik flick with me, so I thought I would see Star Trek with him, which before seeing I was incredibly unenthusiastic about it. But the movie was really good, and I suggest seeing it even if you've never watched one episode of Star Trek before.

I hurt. What a non-sequiter. I hurt, but I can't feel it. Does anyone relate to that? It's moments like these that the fire matches seem most inviting. If I can't feel emotionally, I can feel something physically. It's an itch that much be scratched. But I don't want it. However, I feel a drive, a compulsion, a mandate that it must be this way. There is no room for negotiation. Do it or suffer the consequences. If I thought I was in pain now, just try to defy the one that calls for suffering and aches.

And the battle leaves me feeling extremely defeated, hopeless, and dead inside. If the eating disorder can't be fixed, what hope do I have that my alternate addiction, self harm, can be fixed. My body is so disfigured from self inflicted cutting and burning. But I don't stop. I did for a while, but the eating disorder is juxtaposed with the self harm and I'm still in the trenches. I call out for help, but either I'm just not heard, I don't deserve to be heard, or I'm heard and no one is in a position to help me.

I know at this point I can't help myself. And the world feels like its given up on me. What a lonely place to be.

I left and did it. I can breath again. If G*d exists, may he please forgive me.

Guilty in the 2nd degree***Could be triggering for self harmers

WArning****Could be triggering for self harmers***Warning***Please take care of yourself and do not read if you are a self harmer



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I'm guilty of 2nd degree burns. My wrist is slathered is antibiotic cream and wrapped in sterile pads for protection. The elements aren't what my wrist is in need of protection; it's me that is the menace. It happened last Friday. I can't even tell you what happened. It was an out of body experience. I looked down and saw myself burning my wrist and I was so disconnected from my senses that I couldn't do anything about it.

I'm no stranger to burns. Last year, in residential treatment, one of my alters stole a pack of cigarettes (I don't smoke), lit them, and listlessly applied put the cigarette out on my skin, re-lit the cigarette, and continued the same pattern. I have 12 very deep scars that refuse to fade. But the doctor said this burn wouldn't scar. I guess we'll see. I won't go into details how this burn came about, but it was with something bigger and hotter than a cigarette butt, and it was applied to the soft, vulnerable tissue of the inside of my wrist. It bubbled up and turned red. It has finally stopped oozing and so I wait for the tissue to slough off. That's when it will start hurting.

I wish I would stop hurting myself. Do I not deserve better? (Switch) All the binging and the purging and the starving and the burning and the cutting. It's enough. But I sit here blind, feeling the shifts taking place inside me. Do you, the reader, know what the shifts are like?

I feel my expression change. I hear a different tone of thought in my head, sometimes a different style of expression. My mannerisms are different. My head feels chaotic, as if a million bees are buzzing around, or my mind could feel very dense and foggy-like, where no thought gets through or originates. It is very disconcerting and makes me feel like I just want to rip my head off.

It has been happening a lot and I don't know what to do about it. I can't believe I'm revealing this in this post. It seems so personal to me and that the heavens will collapse unto my world for having the audacity to reveal our private hell for others to exploit. The chance of exploitation is minimal, but the fear and threat is very real. My head starts to ache at just the thought. I wish somebody would tell me they understand, because I sure as hell don't.

I don't know what they want from me. A chance to share their story?

By all means, share away. I don't mean to be disrespectful to them but I can't take much more. I want to know them. (shift) They continue to shift as I write this. One after another, they slide into the space beside my mind and operate in tandem with me. Do they even know I am here?

So I meet with my therapist again today. We meet 3x a week. I hated going to see her yesterday, but today I'm more grateful for it. She just asks questions I don't have answers to yet.

Didn't workout yesterday, but today I'm keeping my schedule light so I can head to the gym right after my appt with said T. 60 minutes of cardio will put me in a better frame of thinking. I think I have a deal struck with my dietitian. Since I told her not being able to exercise would be a deal breaker she stipulated I try and exercise less. In all honesty I can try. Will it happen? Probably not. But she can always hope.

What is it about self harm that is so addictive? As I go to finish this post, that is what is in my head. Go burn.

I leave in an hour for my T. I can stave it off that long. I can stave it off that long. I can stave it off that long. Anybody have ruby slippers to rub together?

Happy graduation day

Yes, on Friday I graduated...the hospitalization program that is. I guess I'm cured, Forevermore I will never want to kill myself, burn myself, throw up my food, hide my food, restrict my food, dissociate, become a completely different woman, or deign the being of my existence.

So I've graduated. I was hoping for some words of wisdom or a little booklet telling me times of important meetings. All I got was a list of medications and told where to sign. It was so anti-climatic. I did cry, though. When it was time to say goodbye to my case manager the tears just started flowing. It felt good, but at that split second, I wanted to beg them to keep me.

I know the "apron" strings have to be cut sometime. No one ever feels ready to leave when they go. In fact, I was advocating, lets say rather strongly, to be discharged. I was no longer gleaning anything from the program. But I find myself on the other side of the locked hospital doors and I don't know what to do with myself.

It's almost a bit of shell shock.

I have appointments lined up. I'll see my therapist 3x this week; I have A.N.A.D. to go to on Wednesday. There's another group that meets on Tuesday. Hopefully I will see my dietician, although she's been flaking out on me and I'm not sure she really wants me as a client. I will see my psychiatrist in 2-3 weeks, if I choose to go back to him at all. I just feel the way he mismanagaed my prescriptions was improper and didn't always look out for my best interest. So, I might be shopping for a new psycho-iatrist.

I'm supposed to be gettting my hair slightly cut today. It's long, naturally curly, blond highlights, with some peek popped in there for fun. I don't plan on getting too much taken off, but I've had so many process treatments that the ends are really looking shabby. Nothing cheers me up more the getting my hair done or going to Sephora, the makeup store. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE that store. D. hates it because I drop more money than we have in that store, but WTF!

I've been so stressed out this weekend that I've been binging and not purging and I have the way I feel. I've already put a stop to it this weekend by have breakfast according to my meal plan. However, with the water park only a month from opening, it's a foregone conclusion that I will lose weight. I tell myself it won't be like before, but no one can be a functioning anorexic.

So now I'm trying to find something to fill my time up during the week other than working out. There's my therapy sessions. There's the Golden Girls. I've been to Hobby Lobby so many times just trying to find some inspiration but I don't know what project to take on. It is all so overwhelming.

I guess I could start with the science experiement growing in my kitchen sink, or the accumalating dog hair convening on my hardwood floors.

I guess I could apply for jobs but that terrifies me. They always ask questions I'm not available to answer: "Why did you leave your last job?", or "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I don't see myself in the next year, much less times five. I feel all that I'll be able to do is get a job that requires a paper hat and asking "May I take your order?"

So I have to go to plan B: B all that I can be, find my future in the army. Add music.

Happy graduation.

Look who's taking risks.

I took two risks today. I was sitting in A.N.A.D. (Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders.) After the meeting began and the silence was deafening, I broke the silence and offered up what I am struggling with. As I tweeted earlier today, I binged and purged this morning. So one of the risks I took was talking about it during the A.N.A.D. meeting. Normally I just sit in silence and listen. I DO NOT like speaking in front of others, and especially to strangers.

I guess I'm fortunate. The people that attend A.N.A.D. also attend the Saturday E.D.A. (Eating Disorders Anonymous) so we are all familiar with each other and know some of each other's stories. So I told everyone that I had "acted out" as we cryptically say. I didn't know why I had the urge to binge and purge. It grew out of feelings from last night.

After I had my dinner, I started having the urge to binge and purge. I didn't know why. I felt full and satiated from dinner. So I told my husband, D., that I was struggling with these urges and he sat with me until it was snack time. I was nervous about snack, that it would further spark urges to devour the kitchen sink, but I made it through snack okay. Then I took my meds that help me sleep and thirty minutes later I thought I had triumphantly handled my urges and fell asleep.

Wrong. I was not successful in reigning in my urges. BAM!!! As soon as I woke up this morning it was in my core, talking to me to binge and purge. I was dumbfounded that these urges followed me through sleep into the morning wake up. So I had breakfast, thinking that I would be full and not want to binge. Wrong again. I had a craving for more food, and I thought if I just handled my craving successfully I wouldn't want to binge and purge. Yeah. I was yet again wrong. My urge to binge mushroomed and before I knew it I was in the middle of a full scale binge and I had to purge it.

So these are the things I shared in group. I was scared as heck, but I did it anyway. What's the saying: feel the fear and do it anyway. And so I did. I get some really good feedback. Some one asked me how I expected the feeling to go away without dealing with it. I didn't address the feelings last night so, of course, they followed me into the morning.

The second risk I took was asking someone from the group if they would like to get coffee next week after the meeting. She agreed and said she was looking forward to it. I was scared to ask her and obligate myself to socializing with her. I don't have friends; I want friends but I find it exhausting. At least she knows a little bit about me. So I have the rest of this week and the beginning of next week to sweat it. But it's just coffee, right? So I'm committed to maybe thirty minutes to an hour. I can do it.

Nothing changes if nothing changes. I've got to do things differently if I want different results. And I want different results; I want life.

Where's Missing In Sight?

I don't know what to write. I've neglected my blog but not because I want to. I just don't know what is happening with me. To say my head is chaotic is an understatement.

Well, I guess I will start with the fact that insurance has me all but declared cure and has put me in what is called IOP, where I'm now going down to half days at the mental institution. So instead of going from 10:00am to 7:00pm, I'm going from 11-3. It is a big difference.

I'm not as connected to the program as I was nor the people. I don't like it and I've asked to be discharged, which I know is not a good idea. But being there for half days is like having my arm amputated and I can still feel the appendage. I'm still going there every day but I'm not connected with people. And especially today; when I walked in there were six new in-patients looking at wondering who the hell I was.

I don't get to meet with my dietician anymore. I have to see her on an outpatient basis. As if I want to. I avoid her like the plague. Everytime they come near you they are waving an increased meal plan in your face. Doesn't really matter anyway. I've ceased following my meal plan. I know I should follow it but I was feeling like I was getting too fat. Now I leave off snacks and dairies and some fruits. I've been working out too. Trust me, that's not good. I'm a compulsive exerciser.

I met with my case manager today and I cried. I NEVER cry. But I told her how estranged and disconnected I am with the program; I didn't even think anybody would meet with me this week, so when she asked me how I was I just broke down and cried. I feel neglected and think I would just do better as an outpatient.

Really the only reason they're holding on to me is they are waiting to hear back about residential treatment. I've told them the answer will be "no", residential will not be covered and for the treatment team not to get their hopes up. They know I'm a lost cause so they are banking on anything.

I feel lost. I don't know who I am anymore. I feel so disconnected and discombobulated. D. booked us a trip to Charleston, SC, a place I absolutely love more than anything. We figure we need to look forward to something; so, if the word about residential comes back "no", we still have something else to look forward to. I can take my broken, messed up, worthless self to Charleston and residential will not even enter my mind.

Maybe a little.

Friday was a crap day. I binged and purged so hard and so often I was close to going to the medical hospital. I binged on anything I could, even cake batter. How f-ed up is that?

I've been good since. D. has had to remove certain foods from the house that are more tempting, but really, lets be honest, if I will go to the trouble of mixing cake batter to binge on, then there is virtually no food off limits for my sick mind.

There's alot of self-loathing in me tonight. I don't know why. Someone does because I can feel the shifts; I can feel the others switching and sitting up front. I've one request of them and they won't honor it.

I've simply asked them to let me know who is upfront, who is taking over. Give me a freakin' name or feeling. But I get nothing. I disappear beside them, missing though in plain sight. Thus, my blog: Missing In Sight. It's a treasure hunt to find me. Where did I go this time? Who the f*&k is running the show.

These are questions I have (switch just now) and never get answers to. So, for the rest of the night I guess I'll keep switching and not know who I am or where I am. Where is Missing In Sight?

Who is writing while she's gone?

Welcome to the party

I had decided not to write, and the words just weren't in me. But I can not be silent for my own sake. My heart hurts. My soul aches and I can't do a damn thing about it. I'm stressed beyond tolerance; I'm broken down inside. I don't know how much more I can take.

I've been reduced from the full day program to the half day program and I am scared out of my mind. What will happen if I'm only half present? What will I do when the craving to binge and purge is beyond my ability to resist? I wasn't ready to go half day, but it is the reality. Now I just have to deal.

I'm so impatient with myself. I want to be recovered yesterday. I can't waste any more time. I look on the Internet at recipes for foods that I want to make, but I don't make them because I will eat them and I'm not ready for that. Recovery is a long and arduous process. In five minutes I am supposed to have my evening snack. I don't want it, but I know I don't have to want it in order to eat it. It will go down just the same.

I'm resigned to do what I need to do just for this moment. I can't worry about my next meal or my next snack. Only what's right here in front of me.

There is a tremendous sadness that is aligned with my thought processes tonight. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because I know I've lived with this disorder my whole life, and pile on a dissociative disorder that complicates the eating disorder just makes it worse. Life could be so much more than I know. Miley Cyrus may not think it's about what's "waiting on the other side" but for me it is. I'm climbing and it sucks every second of the way.

I know this sounds like a pity party, so welcome! I don't mean for it to. I guess I'm just trying to think outloud on the Internet.

Thanks for letting me share.

Better than a Klonipin

I did it. I'm not proud. I can't be left alone. I need a crazy-sitter.

Yes, I binged and purged tonight. I was afraid it would happen, and it did. I should feel more ashamed of what I did, but to be honest, purging made me feel better than taking a Klonipin.

Tonight is the first time I've been alone, and I knew when I kissed my husband goodbye that I might fall prey to ED. He had been circling above me all day, waiting to pounce on me, knowing he could tear in to me when I was alone.

It started with my dinner. I thought if I was full and satisfied from dinner that I wouldn't feel the need to binge and purge. I was wrong. The binging foods in the kitchen (there aren't many) were seducing me. And so I began.

I will spare you the graphic details. Suffice it to say, I was out of control. I purged the binge foods and my dinner. A week of sobriety erased away.

A coating of self hate resurrects, and I can barely find the words for this post. My head is already foggy. It's the perfect ending to a crappy day. I felt rebellious and defiant and obstinate all day. I didn't want to go to groups, I didn't want to eat snacks, and I damn sure didn't want my meal. I even asked to be discharged from the program. I'm tired of getting fat, and I know they are lying to me. Gaining this weight can't be good for me.

At the same time I know I'm wrong. I hate both sides of myself. I hate the healthy side and I hate the sick side. Tomorrow I need to march into the hospital and be honest but I'm scared. I feel five years old.

I need to reach out to people, but I am so scared of relationships. I'm scared to go get coffee with somebody because I feel my diagnosis of D.I.D. will interfere with relationships. The only support I have is my husband and that's too draining for him. I need other people in my life desperately, but people who can understand what it's like to have mental health issues. I need friends who are in it for the long haul. I don't want to open up, develop trust, and then be burnt.

I feel so alone.

If I owned tears I would use them right now.

Too much to ask for

I learned today that I can't cry tears. I must not have been born with tear ducts. I know how silly that sounds but I also know I haven't cried in months and I'm about due. I'm not ashamed to bawl my eyes out in front of others. I'm also not depressed to the point my tears are hijacked.

Another thought: could my medications be causing my inability to cry?

It's all because of them: the alters. I am simply their vessal, their conduit. I am nothing more than a blank slate to them. Any emotion I feel is generously provided by them. I have no emotion of my own originality. My identity, my existance, my substance is solely reliant upon them. I feel sad only when another alter whom is sad is present. I only feel anger when an angry alter comes forth. It is quite frustrating. I want to be myself in my own right. I don't want to ride the wave of emotions my alters give me.

They steal my tears, my thoughts, my decisions. I have nothing left for them to take. I can offer nothing that they don't have already. And do they give anything? No. Hell to the NO. I don't get any information about who they are, why they are, or how they are. I want to know them. I journal to them. When I feel another alter present with me or bearing down on me I journal and ask questions of them to try to get to know them. I feel like I get nothing back.

I asked one thing of them: when they are present to please give me a name or some other identifying mark so I could keep up with them. That didn't go over to well with them. No one wants to be identified. It's too dangerous.

So for too long I've felt stuck in therapy. I'm unmotivated and unsure where to go now. Today was so unproductive for me at the hospital. In fact, it was worse than unmotivating. It was triggering. One of the women in my group made a comment of a sexual nature and it brought bad memories to us. We were triggered right before heading into lunch. It raised our anxiety through the roof.

But I'm getting side tracked. I hate myself so much for not being further along in therapy. The only real progress I made was in residential treatment. Right now, I'm flat and burnt out in the partial hospitalization program. I'm getting nothing out of the groups. Everything they are doing I've already done before, that's how f-ing long I've been there. The only reason I keep going is for the structure around meals and snacks. Without that, I would be starving myself and exercising constantly.

I don't know what to do. I feel really despondant, hopeless, unmotivated, and stuck. I need help with my alters and how often we dissociate. I feel that time will never come. I need the alters help and they won't budge. They've fallen silent and will speak nothing. I only want to know who is sharing this body. That's not too much to ask for.

"Sleep perchance to dream"

I love that quote from Hamlet b/c it is part of the soliloquy where he reveals his thoughts about suicide. Just think it's poignant.

As for me, it's too early for bed, but an unatural urge for sleep has come over me. I know what it is: I have an alter that puts me to sleep to protect me from stress. Meanwhile, I'm about to drop off any moment. It will be a miracle if I look at this tomorrow and my thoughts are centrical to the theme of this post, if there is a theme. :) All I know is that heaven and hell are concurrently trying to drive me mad.

It's been a difficult weekend. The pendulum has swung back and forth several repeatedly. The angel on my shoulder telling me to eat my f-ing snack and the devil on the other side telling me to restrict. Truth be known, I've listened to both sides this weekend. The weekends are so hard for me. Friday night I was coming out of my skin with anxiety. During the week, my days are structured from 10:00 to 7:00 with the partial hospitalization program. I have two meals and two snacks there. All I'm responsible for is my breakfast and my evening snack, which is quickly coming upon me as I sit here typing this blog. On the weekends I'm obviously responsible for everything. That alone is a trigger. Today I had an immense urge to binge and purge, but I didn't. I got out of the house and went and did a light workout. I felt so much better afterwards. But I digress.

I'm worried about the sleepiness overpowering me and the eyelids that are heavy and closing. I worry that the alter is protecting me from the stress of having to eat with the birth parents at dinner. It was miserable. I hated the whole thing. My meal wasn't even good. It was supposed to be a vegetable salad but it came out with bacon on it (I'm vegetarian) and it didn't have the beets, edamame, or asparagus that was listed in the ingredients description. So not only did it suck that I had to eat with the bios, I had the suckiest meal. At least they paid.

I worry about the sleepingess because I don't want to be dissociative. The weekends are always harder and I'm afraid come tomorrow I won't be able to pull myself together. The last few weeks have been really tough and brought me in and out of in-patient hospitalization.

So if my alter IS trying to put me to sleep, the stressful meal with the bio. parents is why. I'm not close to the birth mother or father. I feel guilty, but I don't know what else to do. I hate it that it makes the birth mother cry.

Poor bio mom. So fragile, so vulnerable, so manipulative. She really thinks I love her. Me? Not so much. Insert tears.

If we weren't all crazy we'd just go insane.

That's a quote by Jimmy Buffet. I'm not sure that I'm not crazy AND insane, or if they are even mutually exclusive. I'm so lost inside the mess and dissociation that cradles my life. Having Dissociative Identity Disorder is like having a broken mind. My thoughts are disorganized. I remember face but not names of people I'm in treatment with for weeks. Time is totally distorted. My mind doesn't document events or happenings, and inevitably I get the fatal "Do you remember when you/we...?" My mind is so broken I can't adequately describe it.

You should have seen me in the grocery store this evening. I left my grocery list at home (I was pissed off!) and I was trying to remember the ingredients I needed to make tonight's dinner. I had a complete meltdown. I couldn't find the sauce mix my dietitian said would fit into my meal plan, I couldn't figure out if I wanted frozen veggies or if I wanted to steam veggies I have at home, and lastly I just threw some apples in a bag without inspecting them for bugs or bruises. If that's not crazy then I don't know what is.

So it's been an exhausting day. It started off by going to Eating Disorders Anonymous . Then D. and I went to Costco to keep my apple addiction alive and kicking. Still eating apples with salt. I keep being told it is eating disordered behavior. I don't care. It's good.

Went back to the homestead for lunch. I didn't want another veggie burger (I eat so many it's not even funny) so I stumbled upon an Amy's vegetarian dish in the freezer. Into the microwave it went and my painstaking dilemma about what to eat went with it.


The dissociation had been really bad since the 10:00am EDA meeting. I knew that my alters had been triggered and had "bothered" me since. I finally found some Imitrex and laid down for a while. When my head became only a moderately thumping pulse, D. drove me to get a full body wax which always relaxes me and makes me feel better. It didn't help with the switching, which has been switching constantly and bearing down behind my eyes since this morning. Even as I type I can sense them behind my eyes, peering over my shoulder, watching what I'm typing.

It stirs up an explosion with in me. I just want to go freakin' crazy or insane, something to give me relief. Seroquel just doesn't work and I'm suffering too much not to have something stronger.

I can say that I haven't binged so far, which is an improvement; however, I must admit to restricting. D. is too blind to notice. I didn't have my a.m. snack or my p.m. snack. I'm supposed to be having my night time snack now. But NOPE. I have no logical reason to restrict.

I just don't fucking want to eat. I don't want to pollute my body and today I will take my stand.

I've felt strong urgings to burn. I've been good so far. Relatively good. Tomorrow, Sunday, D. and I are going to the movies, which we never do fun couple stuff anymore. Probably because I'm such a wreck. I just hope my head is not this chaotic, disorganized, confusing, and haphazard. It is really, really, bothersome. That's probably why there's been the urge to burn; I need something to distract from the pain of having my head pulling me in different directions at the same time.

I agree with Buffet: if we all weren't crazy we'd go insane...and I'd be the first one there.

Bits from the dark side

Still waiting to get the computer fixed. We borrowed the spouse's computer but don't feel it's safe so this will be a sterile entry.

Still in the partial hospitalization program. Probably will scale back next week. Not doing good with the food. We had a good streak where we were sticking with our meal plan, but not so much now. I don't know the reason for the change. According to the dietician, whom I trust, we are still underweight. We recently went to an event where we saw alot of people we haven't seen in probably a couple of years. Everybody said we looked good. That didn't help us much. If they think we look good then what the hell are we doing eating 100% and ALLOWING ourselves to gain weight? Will somebody save me please?

My head is not right tonight. There is a quiet murmuring that is disconcerting. We are trying to buy clothes that are dresses so we don't have to feel the weight and flesh pressing against jeans or pants. At least with dresses they cover a multitude of fat and flesh. So we were trying to find dresses we all liked. One of our teenagers is very specific and vocal about what she will wear. As a result, we got too many dresses and shoes to go with them. Too much money was spent.

I don't care right now. The urge to binge and purge has been faithfully plaguing me every night, so to shut the noise up we went shopping...again. We had been shopping earlier today and then saw a movie at the dollar theater. Technically, I was supposed to be at the hospital, but I've had a horrendous cold so I stayed home. I'm feeling better. Retail therapy does wonders.

Hopefully tomorrow I get my computer fixed. I didn't realize how much I depeneded on it until it was gone. Life is like that.

Hope the blogging community is well.

Where we've been

We've been back in the hospital. When we got out, we turned our computer on and got a virus. We'll be posting again as soon as things settle down in our head and we get our computer fixed. Take care.

Loss for words....

but I'll try anyway.

I'm empty and blank inside and outside. I have no words to say. I've lost a big chunk of time today and have the new clothes and shoes show it. Someone else was out and bought us clothes. I just hate not being present.

It's been a while since I blogged. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to get back. It's not due to business. Although I'm still in the partial hospitalization program, I'm starting this week to scale back. So instead of being there 10:00 to 7:00, I will hopefully get approval to start leaving at 5:00. This is beneficial in two ways. My healthy side says I can go home and eat dinner with D. The unhealthy, anorexic voice looks at it as a means to go work out, eat a late dinner, and not eat evening snack.

A part of me is ready to leave the program., I just don't know where to go from here. There's only so much I can glean from the groups with is not therapy in any type of way. Therapy does not take place at this hospital. At the most, you meet with your case worker once a week. They are given me extra sessions by an Intern, but I really like her and feel trust with her; however, as I scale back on the time there I don't know how often she will meet with me. I would like to meet with my dietician so I can know if I'm eating to much or not enough.

I've spent my time reading everyone elses blogs. Seems like every one is going through something. Being D.I.D. means there is always something on our radar.

One of my roommates that I got really close to in the hospital has left. I haven't called her. I despise speaking on the phone. A bet a card would be really nice. Everything in life seems like just a horrendous chore.

I did good yesterday. One of my alters was out with my and we made two desserts. Of course we gave them away. CAN NOT have dangerous food in the house. (more on that later) So T. and I made something called a Dump Cake and the second was a fabtabulous, sweet chocolate cake. I got the recipes of f of The Pioneer Woman. Her blog, though not touching on mental health, is very interesting and entertaining. I got a lot of good recipes from her. I have alters that love to cood, which dratstically crashes with the other alters that don't want to eat food, much less the fat and calories that are laden in their diet. As a result, we are letting D. take them to wok so there won't be temptations in the house. Besides, it wasn't about the final product; it was about cooking and releasing the creative juices. It felt fun. We've decide to order the Vegetarian Times magazine. Maybe we'll get some healthy, creative ways to cook without meat.

I feel hungry and that makes me happy. It means we've had a caloric deficit and that usually leads to weight loss. I made it to the gym yesterday but working out was hard. I felt tired, lethargic, and like I couldn't continue. But I make myself. Working out helps me feel clean inside, and erases the dirtiness surrounding me that food seems to cause.

I'm trying to hold my head high. I've put more into my recovery than I ever have before; however, I feel like I've created a house of cards. My recovery is that delicate and easily toppled.

Even though I'm dissociative, most of my parts are pro-recovery as well. However, the troubles from the past and the seeming inability to find work weigh heavy on my mind. I ask around and nobody is hiring. I don't have to work, but it would sure help, not just financially, but emotionally. I need to feel productive and like I am a success at my job.

Well, for being at a lost for words, I feel like I said too much.

Will someone please look for me?

Indulge me. I have no words, feelings, or emotions, so I will have to ramble on and hope that some reaction to life is forthcoming. I feel stuck in this dead zone where I don't have the option to live and I don't have the right to die. It's a pretty miserable condition. I worry for myself. I worry that life will overtake me and consume me. I volunteer that "ideas" have found me tonight, knowing there would be a silence in my soul to exploit. And it fills the silence so beautifully.

I'm not working out, as per the treatment team. It's been two days without exercise, but tomorrow I give in and I'll take myself to the gym. I eat all day in the Partial Hospitalization Program, so working out shouldn't be that big of a deal. Besides, I still wonder if I have an eating disorder. Stupid, isn't it? How far down should my weight drop, how many times must I experience chest pain while working out, and how many times must I listen to the experiences of other ladies before I start taking things seriously? Is this how far I've gotten: letting the eating disorder talk me into believing I don't have a problem?

I've struggled with an eating disorder for over twenty years; how can I reasonably conclude my eating isn't skewed and I do have an eating disorder?

I feel sad, unloved, lonely, and scared.

I know my parts are channeling through me. We purchased a new journal that is way cooler than the one we were using. True, it doesn't have the cool black paper we wanted. but this one is fun too.

I'm feeling a lot of self-loathing. I really want to cut, and just putting it out there makes me want to do it more. It's a last resort when every other coping mechanism is shut down. I would like to see the blood well up from the satisfying division of flesh. It's been almost a month since we've cut. This is a dangerous subject.

Just reiterates that we are hopeless. There will always be another self-destructive ploy, so my eating disorder is stolen by them and all I have is cutting. Can't see beyond the scars. I am blind to what all can be found in life. I'm too scared to test the water. I just might drown.

I keep hoping we'll wake up to life, that we'll have a big epiphany and it will make everything better. Yes. As the littles would say: kiss our boo boos. They deserve better than me. I love them dearly. Even got a mini Teddy Grahams in one of the boxes with a handle. They like those special little things. Sad part is the eating disorder parts won't let them have Teddy Grahams or those Princess Graham Snacks. They loved eating them in residential treatment, but now the eating disorder parts will only let them carry around the box with the handle. It makes my heart sad that fun-loving children are denied food.

Another voice says, "So what. We were denied love by the f-ing parents."

I can't argue with that.

Cooking up a big pot of amnesia..

I'm a little bit unsettled after seeing the movie Bride Wars. It wasn't the movie itself that bothered me; it was that D. insisted I had taken our god-daughters already to see the movie. I went over it back and forth in my mind and felt adamant that I hadn't seen the movie. Even as the movie was being played I tried to see if I could remember a scene here or a scene there.

After the movie I phoned my god-daughters to see if they could remember seeing the movie. C. gave me a play by play of the movie and said I took her and her sister. I remember none of that.

I'm scared.
Week 1 in PHP went fairly well. We begin week 2 tomorrow. I do fine while I'm there. I eat 100% of my meals and snacks. It's when we're not there that causes a problem. Behaviors run unchecked and I act like an ass.

The weekend has been pivotal for myself and my husband, D. It has just been relaxing and we've had some good talks about my D.I.D. and the eating disorder. I've always told people he is supportive and caring. But this weekend he astounded me of how supportive he really is. We were able to talk and let him inside the dark halls in our mind. We openly talked about D.I.D. and what that means for him, me, and us. He helped us at the grocery store when we were going to get a possible binge food and he lovingly and gently asked if I was really sure if I wanted to buy it. He helped me make the decision for myself which was not to buy the food that could set me up for a binge.

This weekend has brought me the satisfaction of cooking. I made a delicious cake and had a little taste. I love to cook; I stopped cooking because it just got to be too much for me. I couldn't make a list of the grocery items I would need and couldn't manage going into the grocery store because I would be completely overwhelmed. I would stare at the apples for fifteen minutes trying to get the one that looked okay to purchase.That's a mild case of the anxiety that hits me up hard every day. Now D. and I go shopping together so it's less anxiety provoking.

I would like to start cooking meals again; now there is no reason to really cook since I won't eat the food. It pains me to see others enjoying their food. The whole time they are eating I study them to find out how come they aren't upset over the calories or that they'll turn into one big mass of fat.

Projection? Maybe. Nevertheless, I envy people who can intuitively eat. My eating has always been disordered: over 20 years. I don't know what it's like to eat food and not obssess over the calories and fat content. I've been chained too long in my eating disorder. I don't know where I went wrong or what I did. I just don't get "it". Makes me very sad.

Sigh and sigh alone

Potential triggers: Read with caution.



I hadn't planned on posting today, but the urge hit me, so here we are. I'm exhausted physically and mentally. Still in PHP. I sigh because things aren't going the way I want for my recovery. We've been doing well up till now when we are starting to be non-compliant. It's baffling, but so is my eating disorder. We were 100% compliant with the meal plan while in-patient; now that we are responsible for evening snack and breakfast we can't seem to get "it" together. Having poor body image sucks. I know others can relate. Life would be so much easier if we could eat healthy but not gain weight. Pardon the pun, but I want my cake and to eat it to. Why can't I have it all? In this case, I can't and that has to be a reality. I must choose recovery and try to get everyone on board with the plan.

So we've noticed weight gain. Clothes fit differently. The hollows of the cheek are now filled in. We aren't as weak and dizzy as we were before. This is preached about as progress. It sure as Hell doesn't feel that way. I don't know where to go from here. If I'm in recovery I need to stop listening to my inner critics. The truth of all truths is that I hate the way my body is shaped. The weight never goes to my chest, but it settles all along my ass, thighs, and hips. I hate it. How can I love something so offensive? How will I every get better?

There are at least two members that have the eating disorder. I would bet money that they are the ones perforating me with negative comments. I can't hate them; they are coping the only way they know how. But I feel the 2 and 1/2 weeks I spent in patient they were more "inside" and they only criticized. Now that we are out and have more freedom, the alters have rebounded and are exerting their influence over our food by restricting. I've tried to talk with them, allow them to use the journal; I don't know what to do anymore.

What can I say? We are a work in progress, and there's no shame in that. Times like these I abhor myself and hate myself for even breathing. I feel like a screw up and can't find anything nice to say to myself. I can't counter the intrusive thoughts. I get angrier at the fact that I've lost time. So many gaps during the day. Pardon the pun...again....but my plate is full, full of hateful words and libel accusations. I hate myself and I don't know why. I want this post to be over with. And so it shall.

Excuse me! I know you how?

Not once, not twice, but three times today did somebody say they knew me and I have no recollection of them. This is quite a disconcerting feeling. Granted, all three ladies were in the same support group for eating disorders, and, according to the three amigos, they say they were all in treatment with me last Spring. I hate this feeling. It's almost like being out of control because you, rather I, don't remember these people from Adam. This isn't the first time it has happened. Several years ago I ran into someone and they asked me how I was doing and to give his or her best to my "parents." Again, I didn't know this man from Adam.

It is one of the worst feelings in the world; it's almost an embarrassment because people remember me but I don't them. It almost seems rude. In any event, I could have met the Pope last Spring and not have remembered. I was struggling so much over my eating disorder that I was never well and didn't have brain cells to remember them.

I have a new but relatable crisis on hand. I'm losing pieces of time. I'm in a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) and I find myself not remembering group therapy or not remember if I had my snack or not. I lined up today to go to lunch and was informed that we had lunch five hours before and we were going down to dinner. It's embarrassing and dehumanizing. That's the only way I can describe it.

To make thing at least a little more difficult, there is an alter that has been dominating time outside and I am not sure why this alter is there. Was she chosen? Did she volunteer? I don't have the answers. All I can say is that this alter has made my life in PHP dreadful. Her words get jumbled and tongue tied, She never can relate the point she wants because she loses her thoughts and she can't articulate anything. This has only been a new problem. I don't know who this alter is. I'm trying to get to know her by tuning in to what she's doing and leaving the door open for any communication. I don't know what else to do. I don't hate this alter, but I hate how we look to the outside world, at least my therapy groups. We look ignorant, stupid, and like what we have to say is invaluable. This must be a new alter that hasn't "come out" yet.

We've been doing so good with our meals. Some actually enjoy going to the hospital cafeteria. Seems silly but it puts a smile on my face. So, yes, we've been doing better, at least when we were inpatient. We completed 100% except one snack. Now that we are in PHP, we have to take care of eating breakfast and evening snack. To be honest, we haven't had it in the three days we've been PHP. I am reminded of last year and how miserable we were. I don't ever want to go back there.

I'm too scared to go forward and staying behind in my eating disorder is not an optional. But some of my behaviors act as if it is an option.

My thoughts are starting to crumble. I'm crashing into the calming, wonderful world of sleep meds. The ultimate escape.

Ramblings of an unquiet mind

I've let my friends down. I've let myself down. I've let my members down. I can preach up and down the Mississippi River but none of it matters if I don't head my own advice. The truth is I am non-compliant with my meal plan. Just my evening snack and breakfast is all I am missing, but even that is too much. I did so well in the hospital. I completed 100% every day, every meal, every snack. I didn't have to be supplemented once. But now that I'm in the Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP), I am responsible for my own snack and breakfast and I've failed miserably to eat it. In fact, my stomach is growling and empty and I like it a lot. Hunger pains are my drug of choice.

Perhaps I am being too hard on myself; maybe not. With an eating disorder there is no margin of error, especially if one is underweight. My dietitian says I am still underweight but I only see myself as being disgusting, fat, and ugly. I can give people in my group all the feedback I can, but if I don't heed my own advice what good has come? I know I'm in the wrong; I know I should eat my snack and breakfast; I know to trust the treatment team. But I hate myself more than is possible. I feel ugly.

I know it's so much easier to focus on the food than the real issues at hand. Out of respect for the readers I will neglect elucidating on my "real issues". I just know I feel fat and, while fat may not be a feeling, it sure as hell feels like one. I can tell I've gained weight and I'm not happy with it. With my clothes not fitting loosely anymore, the mirror reflects a person who isn't happy with herself.

I think a migraine is coming on.

Thanks to all of you who e-mailed me or posted a message on my blog. I genuinely and authentically appreciate it.

Take care to all of you who stop by to read how we are missing in sight.