Wondering what's on my mind? Only an anorexic could turn a movie title into a reference for being small and tiny and skinny.
The ability to write coherently has vacated me. Perhaps it has something to do with the all-day migraine removing all capacity from me. I've written a post several times but keep deleting it because I can't find the right words or thoughts. So, I'll just keep it simple today.
The alters have been very busy today. I can feel them coming and going, cycling rapidly. I have one alter who, when present, puts so much pressure behind my eyes that I just want to beat my head against the wall; other members I can just sense, but this one member is very protuberant, which is why I have a migraine.
Everyone got to do something they wanted today. The littles put more stickers in their sticker book and colored a picture. One of the teens got a new pair of jeans and shirt. Another member downloaded music for her iPod.
Exercise was on the agenda for other members, which amazes me. One, because there was a migraine, and two, because of the food restriction. I think it shows the power of the mind to dissociate and accomplish what needs to be done even under less than ideal circumstances.
As a future English teacher, I would know that articles, writings and postings should have an interesting beginning, an informative middle, and a proper conclusion that sums up the main points and ideas of the writing. However, since my synapses are dying on their journey to connect to a neuron, I'm just going to fuck it and say
Conclusion. And as the liquor makers of Bartles and James always said, "Thanks for your support."
Welcome to Missing In Sight. You may call us Becca. We deal with Dissociative Identity Disorder, Anorexia, and more. We want to share our experiences, hope, and inspiration with you so we all know we aren't alone and suffering by ourselves. We're here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and sometimes in between, but you can reach out to us by leaving a comment, tweeting us, or using Facebook. The links are on this page.! We're glad we found each other! Let's talk!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
burn BEFORE reading
i beg of you not to read this post. it's like the children's book about Grover and a monster at the end of the book. Don't be engage in self-harm behavior by reading a post that is nothing short of dull, obtuse, unimportant ramblings.
I warned you. :)
i don't know who I am right now. Seriously. My hands feel real. I feel attached. But I also feel really blank, unaware.
But I also feel something like a secondary emotion; the emotion is fear and it's not mine but is being filtered through me. I don't feel safe inside my skin or mind. I'm literally sitting on the floor of my bathroom, the only place I've ever felt safe. When we were children, some of the littles would sleep in the bathroom because they were too scared to sleep in the bed. It's not my apprehension, but another member is dictating me to blog in the bathroom tonight.
I guess it makes sense. As adults, there is nothing more relaxing than a dimly lit bathroom overdosing on odiferous candles and a hot bubble bath ready to disencumber one from all his or her troubles. But I'm lying on a cold tile floor with a space heater whirring in my ear. Not the same as a bubble bath, but the room itself is what makes it safe.
There is a lot of self hatred brewing inside; i don't know where it comes from. it's irritability, a consequence of inadequate nutrition. although if you are viewing the main page you will see the widget recording we have gone four days with no purging or self harm. exercise is not included in that number nor restrictive meals, so it's only half a victory.
as am i, this day also was: nothing special. our "bank of knowledge" and collective memory tells me that we took the girls to school today, came back and fell asleep and woke up fifteen minutes before our therapy appointment. but we scrambled, grabbed our gym bag, and ran out the door.
therapy has been very...what's the word...peculiar this week. (We go 3x's a week for now.) Yesterday and today we've played some type of game instead of just sitting and having our usual interview-like sessions. Tuesday it was Uno and today it was a board game. at first some members were glad and some mad at wasting time or not being able to really talk about heavy issues, as if they ever do anyway ( I hear fighting in the head as a result of that comment.) To Randy's (our T.)credit or not, an important and strategic move has come about by playing games. Randy is established as a real person, a human, an individual with feelings, and someone with whom we can let go of our "proper" facade. I guess I'm just trying to say the whole process is much easier when you can relax with your T. and sit on the floor and play a game of cards. And it brings the littles out.
Randy didn't know it today but one of our eleven year old alters was watching, wanting to jump in, but feeling the game a little too complicated. She was pretty frightened, not of the game, but just the outside world. She's very damaged but I would love for her to come out and play. She just needs to take that leap of faith. But I can't really ask her to do that, or at least I wouldn't feel right asking her. She's so damaged. But perhaps if she knows she has bodyguards and that nothing bad will happen she will do more than peek over shoulders.
Tomorrow we receive an evaluation for an Intensive Outpatient Program. I'm not looking forward to this because I feel I'm walking into a set-up. I'm probably just being paranoid but this is at a psych hospital and when we've been evaluated there before we were put inpatient, even though we thought we would only be admitted to the IOP. We're not skinny and we are physically healthy and not actively suicidal, so there is really no chance that they would recommend in-patient. The answer's "no" if they try.
I must admit that there will be battles ahead. Say I'm in the IOP, I can guess they will want me to at least maintain and I'm not down with that. Hell to the NO!@!
I'm trying to work my schedule out, also, to be able to fit in my workout routine. The IOP starts at 10:30, I believe, and goes to 3:00. There's a second one that lasts longer and goes to 7:00. Either way, I can get my work out in early in the morning. If, and it's a BIG as me if, that I stay till 7:00, I could probably workout as well, it just wouldn't be as long. But I could make up for it in the morning by working out before group and after group.
When I hear this crazy, shit talk in my head I also hear the flip of it and how the weight isn't important and it's about the abuse and the abuse and food are directly related. we've made that connection and can't go back on it. it's a reality. and we can't help the littles or each other by downplaying or down right ignoring that the ONLY way to get healthy physically and mentally is to let go of the food and weight and focus on the internal world. I know we really want to get better. This is the time. Deserving or not, I can't stand dying like this anymore.
well, i'm going to call this post a wrap. i wish i had something poetic or poignant or motivating to offer the readers. My life is dull. I hear laughter in my head, I guess because it's not true. It's always crazy and always messy and we are always high maintenance. Something is always forgotten or missed. We need to stop comparing our blog to others. We write about the ups and downs of everyday recovery and relapse. We don't always have a theme, and that's just the way it is.
I've rambled way too long and most of you are beginning to nod off at this point in the post, if you've made it this for. Congratulations, but promise me you won't indulge in anymore self-harm anymore by reading the posts of mine that are this boring.
one alter down, missing in action
p.s.
as this was being typed, more images of old times came raining down
I warned you. :)
i don't know who I am right now. Seriously. My hands feel real. I feel attached. But I also feel really blank, unaware.
But I also feel something like a secondary emotion; the emotion is fear and it's not mine but is being filtered through me. I don't feel safe inside my skin or mind. I'm literally sitting on the floor of my bathroom, the only place I've ever felt safe. When we were children, some of the littles would sleep in the bathroom because they were too scared to sleep in the bed. It's not my apprehension, but another member is dictating me to blog in the bathroom tonight.
I guess it makes sense. As adults, there is nothing more relaxing than a dimly lit bathroom overdosing on odiferous candles and a hot bubble bath ready to disencumber one from all his or her troubles. But I'm lying on a cold tile floor with a space heater whirring in my ear. Not the same as a bubble bath, but the room itself is what makes it safe.
There is a lot of self hatred brewing inside; i don't know where it comes from. it's irritability, a consequence of inadequate nutrition. although if you are viewing the main page you will see the widget recording we have gone four days with no purging or self harm. exercise is not included in that number nor restrictive meals, so it's only half a victory.
as am i, this day also was: nothing special. our "bank of knowledge" and collective memory tells me that we took the girls to school today, came back and fell asleep and woke up fifteen minutes before our therapy appointment. but we scrambled, grabbed our gym bag, and ran out the door.
therapy has been very...what's the word...peculiar this week. (We go 3x's a week for now.) Yesterday and today we've played some type of game instead of just sitting and having our usual interview-like sessions. Tuesday it was Uno and today it was a board game. at first some members were glad and some mad at wasting time or not being able to really talk about heavy issues, as if they ever do anyway ( I hear fighting in the head as a result of that comment.) To Randy's (our T.)credit or not, an important and strategic move has come about by playing games. Randy is established as a real person, a human, an individual with feelings, and someone with whom we can let go of our "proper" facade. I guess I'm just trying to say the whole process is much easier when you can relax with your T. and sit on the floor and play a game of cards. And it brings the littles out.
Randy didn't know it today but one of our eleven year old alters was watching, wanting to jump in, but feeling the game a little too complicated. She was pretty frightened, not of the game, but just the outside world. She's very damaged but I would love for her to come out and play. She just needs to take that leap of faith. But I can't really ask her to do that, or at least I wouldn't feel right asking her. She's so damaged. But perhaps if she knows she has bodyguards and that nothing bad will happen she will do more than peek over shoulders.
Tomorrow we receive an evaluation for an Intensive Outpatient Program. I'm not looking forward to this because I feel I'm walking into a set-up. I'm probably just being paranoid but this is at a psych hospital and when we've been evaluated there before we were put inpatient, even though we thought we would only be admitted to the IOP. We're not skinny and we are physically healthy and not actively suicidal, so there is really no chance that they would recommend in-patient. The answer's "no" if they try.
I must admit that there will be battles ahead. Say I'm in the IOP, I can guess they will want me to at least maintain and I'm not down with that. Hell to the NO!@!
I'm trying to work my schedule out, also, to be able to fit in my workout routine. The IOP starts at 10:30, I believe, and goes to 3:00. There's a second one that lasts longer and goes to 7:00. Either way, I can get my work out in early in the morning. If, and it's a BIG as me if, that I stay till 7:00, I could probably workout as well, it just wouldn't be as long. But I could make up for it in the morning by working out before group and after group.
When I hear this crazy, shit talk in my head I also hear the flip of it and how the weight isn't important and it's about the abuse and the abuse and food are directly related. we've made that connection and can't go back on it. it's a reality. and we can't help the littles or each other by downplaying or down right ignoring that the ONLY way to get healthy physically and mentally is to let go of the food and weight and focus on the internal world. I know we really want to get better. This is the time. Deserving or not, I can't stand dying like this anymore.
well, i'm going to call this post a wrap. i wish i had something poetic or poignant or motivating to offer the readers. My life is dull. I hear laughter in my head, I guess because it's not true. It's always crazy and always messy and we are always high maintenance. Something is always forgotten or missed. We need to stop comparing our blog to others. We write about the ups and downs of everyday recovery and relapse. We don't always have a theme, and that's just the way it is.
I've rambled way too long and most of you are beginning to nod off at this point in the post, if you've made it this for. Congratulations, but promise me you won't indulge in anymore self-harm anymore by reading the posts of mine that are this boring.
one alter down, missing in action
p.s.
as this was being typed, more images of old times came raining down
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Once in a blue moon.
It rarely happens, like a blue moon, but occasionally I'll have those off days where I/we actually get items on our "to do" lists accomplished. Today was one of those days. I guess what really happens is that I let all my shit pile up and up and up until I can't take it anymore, even my dogs beg for me to clear the clutter, and so we finally get busy.
Actually, it's not that bad, but I do procrastinate. However, today I unloaded the blasted dishwasher and reloaded, took our "daughters" to school, folded all the laundry AND, THIS IS KEY, we even put it away. I made a run to the grocery story (scary), gave myself a pedicure (I put the paint on tomorrow), washed, dried, and flat-ironed my long, thick, curly hair (no inconsequential task). We journal ed (more about that later), worked out at the gym, saw our T., and check voice mail.
For us, that's a lot, considering most of our days have consisted of us afraid unable to get out of bed, tied to Will and Grace or Pride and Prejudice.
It occurred to us after the fact that the reason we might have accomplished a few things was because we weren't switching. I know one member was out earlier and in our therapy session, but we haven't been cycling through our Rolodex of alters as we usually do (until later. More to come.) So I'm wondering if there is a correlation, and, if there is, then that should speak volumes to us about cooperation and collaboration. If we can get through life without clawing and fighting to get out and present in the world, then there is so much we can achieve. But if we are in contentions, fighting, shoving and pushing each other out of the way, then nothing will be accomplished except frustration leaking down through to each member.
But there is a caveat to this, an inexplicable pattern that has just now been picked up on. There was no switching until just an hour or so before D. (spouse) came home. I guess it was around 2:30 pm when I started noticing shifts; along with the shifts came images and the smallest of recalls and memories. It was disconcerting, but nothing I couldn't handle. Then the shifts and images started growing in intensity up until the time D. came home. At that point, there was a takeover, a hostile takeover. I was aware of the controlling alter and locked the body inside the bedroom to try to deal. An overriding need to journal was manifest. I'm afraid to go back and read what is in the journal because I don't think it was good. In fact, it made me hyper-vigilant, easily startled, jumpy, and extremely fearful.
There's new info in that bloody journal.
So we conferenced, safe placed, contained, tranq'd, and, voila, we got ready for the chore of eating dinner.
So this has happened before...the increasing of shifts in the afternoon. I don't know if it's because D. is coming home or I know dinner is on the horizon and I don't want to it and I'm being triggered.
Whatever the case, we realized two things:
1) We REALLY do work better when we work collaboratively. We were always told that but realized it for ourselves today.
2) We need more communication as to why the shifts have of lately been getting stronger in the afternoon. Is it D. or is it dinner or neither?
To be continued...
...unless we procrastinate, then it won't be continued. :)
Actually, it's not that bad, but I do procrastinate. However, today I unloaded the blasted dishwasher and reloaded, took our "daughters" to school, folded all the laundry AND, THIS IS KEY, we even put it away. I made a run to the grocery story (scary), gave myself a pedicure (I put the paint on tomorrow), washed, dried, and flat-ironed my long, thick, curly hair (no inconsequential task). We journal ed (more about that later), worked out at the gym, saw our T., and check voice mail.
For us, that's a lot, considering most of our days have consisted of us afraid unable to get out of bed, tied to Will and Grace or Pride and Prejudice.
It occurred to us after the fact that the reason we might have accomplished a few things was because we weren't switching. I know one member was out earlier and in our therapy session, but we haven't been cycling through our Rolodex of alters as we usually do (until later. More to come.) So I'm wondering if there is a correlation, and, if there is, then that should speak volumes to us about cooperation and collaboration. If we can get through life without clawing and fighting to get out and present in the world, then there is so much we can achieve. But if we are in contentions, fighting, shoving and pushing each other out of the way, then nothing will be accomplished except frustration leaking down through to each member.
But there is a caveat to this, an inexplicable pattern that has just now been picked up on. There was no switching until just an hour or so before D. (spouse) came home. I guess it was around 2:30 pm when I started noticing shifts; along with the shifts came images and the smallest of recalls and memories. It was disconcerting, but nothing I couldn't handle. Then the shifts and images started growing in intensity up until the time D. came home. At that point, there was a takeover, a hostile takeover. I was aware of the controlling alter and locked the body inside the bedroom to try to deal. An overriding need to journal was manifest. I'm afraid to go back and read what is in the journal because I don't think it was good. In fact, it made me hyper-vigilant, easily startled, jumpy, and extremely fearful.
There's new info in that bloody journal.
So we conferenced, safe placed, contained, tranq'd, and, voila, we got ready for the chore of eating dinner.
So this has happened before...the increasing of shifts in the afternoon. I don't know if it's because D. is coming home or I know dinner is on the horizon and I don't want to it and I'm being triggered.
Whatever the case, we realized two things:
1) We REALLY do work better when we work collaboratively. We were always told that but realized it for ourselves today.
2) We need more communication as to why the shifts have of lately been getting stronger in the afternoon. Is it D. or is it dinner or neither?
To be continued...
...unless we procrastinate, then it won't be continued. :)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Living and dying in 2 different worlds
The moonlight offers her condolences on such a dark night. How did she know? Why don't more people know? If they did, would it matter?
I haven't posted lately for a couple of reasons. One, I'm tired of hearind my own complaining, whiny voice and the voices of others.
Secondly, I havn't been around for portions of the last few days. I believe it was yesterday that I "came to" purging what I assume was dinner. I went away again and "came to" this morning, not feeling great, but not feeling as depressed as I had previously. I even decided to shower with my expensive Vanilla shower gel and use my Vanilla dry mist oil and my Vanilla butter cream. I only use those things when I feel I deserve it, such as if I feel thin or I worked out or my legs aren't as hairy as they are now. I know: TMI!!! :)
I know I should always treat myself as if I'm deserving and worthwhile and always use my special and favorite products, the shower gels and creams that make me smell and fell good. The other alternative is to marinate in my potty pot. It's so hard to treat myself well when I fuck myself up and I don't lose weight or I go off my restrictive meal plan.
I don't really know how to express myself tonight. I've worked really hard today at using effective coping skills and not just running to the bottle of tranquilizers. There has been so much switching today. I didn't dialogue with them; the thought didn't occur to me, but that would have been effective. I'm not sure why there was so much switching, but I just worked so hard not to run away and to stay present. I did laundry, took a shower, did a search-word puzzle, and went to the gym. Now I'm blogging to cope with the day and the switches.
I still feel very hopeless about the switches and can recall having serious suicidal thoughts this weekend. I'm really not whining or trying to be discontent. But you can't argue with logic or with facts. I think to where I was mentally the summer of 2007 and I ended up in the hospital because of my thoughts. I think back to my state of mind in February of 2008 and I ended up in the hospital. And I look at my thoughts now and they are tiny little replicas of what landed a suicidal maniac in the hospital. It's called hopelssness.
For me, it's more than the D.I.D. or the E.D. individually that trips me up. It's their cunning cooperation with each other that brings me down. I can't cope with them singularly but there seems to be few people that know how to treat someone with both and it feels utterly helpless. My thoughts are getting in the way of what I really want to say. Literally, my head is getting fuzzy.
Bottom line: I don't think anyone knows how to deal with a patient like me...not that I'm anything special, but I'm not sure anyone knows what to do with me at this point.
I'm clueless as to alot of things, but to this I'm sure. I scared to death as to the future. I'm elated that I'll go back to school in August, but so scared of it that I may not make it to August. The very thing that will save me will kill me in the end.
I'm sure of this: I am REALLY ready and willing to let go of the eating disorder. I am ready to deal with the issues behind it. But that presents it's own problem. To deal with the eating disorder, you have to deal with my two alters that have eating disorders, and they need more help, more help, more help.
Lastly, I'm sure of this: At some point, we will die. The thought travels repeatedly through our head. And if a stronger change hasn't happened in us before August, I see a messy repeat that we will not be able to back out of.
Well, that's that. I don't know if it was pretty or coherent, but there it is. Half the time when I go back and read a post I'm wondering what in hell I was thinking or who was out at the time to write such crap, such nonsense.
I'm scared. Oh, God, I'm scared.
I haven't posted lately for a couple of reasons. One, I'm tired of hearind my own complaining, whiny voice and the voices of others.
Secondly, I havn't been around for portions of the last few days. I believe it was yesterday that I "came to" purging what I assume was dinner. I went away again and "came to" this morning, not feeling great, but not feeling as depressed as I had previously. I even decided to shower with my expensive Vanilla shower gel and use my Vanilla dry mist oil and my Vanilla butter cream. I only use those things when I feel I deserve it, such as if I feel thin or I worked out or my legs aren't as hairy as they are now. I know: TMI!!! :)
I know I should always treat myself as if I'm deserving and worthwhile and always use my special and favorite products, the shower gels and creams that make me smell and fell good. The other alternative is to marinate in my potty pot. It's so hard to treat myself well when I fuck myself up and I don't lose weight or I go off my restrictive meal plan.
I don't really know how to express myself tonight. I've worked really hard today at using effective coping skills and not just running to the bottle of tranquilizers. There has been so much switching today. I didn't dialogue with them; the thought didn't occur to me, but that would have been effective. I'm not sure why there was so much switching, but I just worked so hard not to run away and to stay present. I did laundry, took a shower, did a search-word puzzle, and went to the gym. Now I'm blogging to cope with the day and the switches.
I still feel very hopeless about the switches and can recall having serious suicidal thoughts this weekend. I'm really not whining or trying to be discontent. But you can't argue with logic or with facts. I think to where I was mentally the summer of 2007 and I ended up in the hospital because of my thoughts. I think back to my state of mind in February of 2008 and I ended up in the hospital. And I look at my thoughts now and they are tiny little replicas of what landed a suicidal maniac in the hospital. It's called hopelssness.
For me, it's more than the D.I.D. or the E.D. individually that trips me up. It's their cunning cooperation with each other that brings me down. I can't cope with them singularly but there seems to be few people that know how to treat someone with both and it feels utterly helpless. My thoughts are getting in the way of what I really want to say. Literally, my head is getting fuzzy.
Bottom line: I don't think anyone knows how to deal with a patient like me...not that I'm anything special, but I'm not sure anyone knows what to do with me at this point.
I'm clueless as to alot of things, but to this I'm sure. I scared to death as to the future. I'm elated that I'll go back to school in August, but so scared of it that I may not make it to August. The very thing that will save me will kill me in the end.
I'm sure of this: I am REALLY ready and willing to let go of the eating disorder. I am ready to deal with the issues behind it. But that presents it's own problem. To deal with the eating disorder, you have to deal with my two alters that have eating disorders, and they need more help, more help, more help.
Lastly, I'm sure of this: At some point, we will die. The thought travels repeatedly through our head. And if a stronger change hasn't happened in us before August, I see a messy repeat that we will not be able to back out of.
Well, that's that. I don't know if it was pretty or coherent, but there it is. Half the time when I go back and read a post I'm wondering what in hell I was thinking or who was out at the time to write such crap, such nonsense.
I'm scared. Oh, God, I'm scared.
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