PAINKILLER

Things are quiet and subdued tonight.  Though I feel the need to write, words scurry away. I can’t wrap my mind around what is happening to me.

 

I listen to music; it is a salve to my soul.

Music speaks to me and comforts me, and I need all the comfort I can obtain now.  

I wish I could use my own words to kill my pain, but they do not evolve, so I borrow other’s.  

I am empty, tired, drained.  I’ve cried so much today that my eyes burn.  

I’ll put it on the list of things not to discuss with Therapist.

We went crazy due to this blog post we wrote here to which Therapist has access.  Things were said that never should have been and fighting amongst the parts ensued.  We will never be able to look Therapist in the eye again.  Then we spent Friday frantically e-mailing him, trying to intercept the blog post.  His response to the last email brought us some serenity again.  It was so simple: He wrote: “It’s not a problem.”  That seemed to calm us down.

Tonight I’ve hit a low key.  And I just want to walk away, disappear, and never look back.    I just need to walk away.   Heaven help me walk away.

Protecting the Protector

I want to write, and I want to call out Sheila to discuss without emotion and bias what is happening regarding Tina, particularly and her denial of D.I.D.

I'll address my surmise of how Tina feels currently.  She wants to push the agenda that there is no dissociation because she feels out of the loop.  When was the last time she really had to defend and protect us?  Okay.  Besides the handshake incident.  Other than that, not too recently.

I predict her services will be needed again, but she's not used to being in the silent role.  She's used to taking action, not sitting back.  She feels unnecessary.  Everyone here has at least one job, and Tina's job has been to protect the system.  On behalf of Tina, there's been very little need from Tina to protect us.  She feels useless and unneeded.

Imagine how she might feel.  Instead of throwing up defenses to protect the system, in a way, she is the one who needs protection . . . from herself.  Without her anger, where and how does she get her power?  She doesn't.  And she wants in a way to send the whole system on its own by denying us, make us defenseless, so she can feel powerful again.  If she denies the existence of others inside, she gets back some portion of power because she can in a sense make them go away.

What Tina needs now, regardless if she believes we have D.I.D., is for us to rally around her, wipe away her tears, and above all let her know she's needed by us.

However, I don't know how to do the latter yet.  She's the only one who seems in crises.  How do you provoke or bring her out of her defenses?  It will be important to tell her how she defends us to some degree every day.  Whether it's getting our food right at a restaurant, a price right when shopping, or making sure we have good customer service.  She speaks her mind when it comes to getting what we need.  Thank her for that.

But there's another side.  If she has no one to protect, how can she lash out at Therapist and keep him in his place.  And we have to be the ones to let Therapist know what she needs and how she's feeling.  She won't speak loudly enough of her needs.  We must do that.

Tina believes, and perhaps rightly so, that she has a special relationship with Therapist.  I know she want to feel special.  We all want to feel that way, and that will be dealt with soon.  But for now, we must acknowledge the bond she feels toward Therapist.  She spoke up for us in the past.  It's our turn to speak up for her now.

We must remember that while Tina is a Protector, even she needs protection from herself.

In regards as to whether we dissociate, more discussion must take place.  It's true, the system has shifted, and I don't feel a strong awareness of what we're dealing with here and what the system needs and what the roles are now.  I feel the system needs to get to know each other again, if we truly dissociate.  I saw someone's handwriting recently belonging to a woman named Molly.  Is she new?  Are there others that are new?  We must be open to al possibilities and communicate more as a whole.

Conversations with my imagination

Saw Therapist again.  It was another wasted session where I refuted that I dissociate or have the diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder.  To complicate matters more for me, he never came out and said, "Yes, you do have D.I.D." which gives me cause for hope and despair.  If we don't have D.I.D., then what is wrong with me?  I had a happy childhood.  Most of my memories growing up are good, though there are always some you wish you could leave behind and forget.  So now we are floating all adrift, don't know where we're going, how to get there, or what to do if we ever make it there.

Tina, I'm curious.  Why do you feel the need to deny it after all these years?

It's complicated.  I feel I am no longer needed, and if you don't need me I might as well disappear.    I don't know why I was around anyway.  Nobody needs anyone.  You seem to get along fine without my intervention and that makes me unneeded and invisible.  I feel like a damned lie.

Is that why you play games with Therapist, you feel if you keep messing with him he'll be interested in your well-being and you won't be invisible.

Don't play innocent with me.  Have I not done my job, and with no gratitude?  And have I not sat back and watched others embraced by warm, fuzzy feelings only for me to return to my coldness and anger?  Do you not all want attention?   I scan the room and find hearts that want Therapist's approval and attention just as much as me.  Almost all of you want his attention and want to feel special by him.  The littles look at Therapist like he's a father figure, and I'll be damned if we become a case of transference.  I know the Littles can't help it, but should I not protect them from the embarassment and rejection they will face?  And others just need to feel cared for.   So I'm here to protect you, though I feel I've fallen short, you don't need me, and I'm exhausted.  I just don't get myself.  There's proof I'm one way and there's proof I'm another.

It's not the first time you've denied we have D.I.D.  Why again this time?  Why now?

I'm fearful.  I wonder why no one else is.  It feels like something is going to blow up inside these walls.  I have not the imagination to know what it is.   It always turns into nothing, leading to disbelief.   How can someone ever get better with out knowing what's wrong with him or her?  How can Therapist effectively treat us when we don't know what to tell him?   I don't want to talk about this further for fuck's sake, but I will say that I get tired of being the angry, tall, aggressive, protective one. I've grown tired of being on the watch for everyone.   Just once, I wish someone would see I'm crying, scoop me up, carry me away, wipe my tears away, and tell me it will be okay . . .  the same way I did for them all these fucking years. I'm over it all.

Whispers Heard as Screams

I'm going on record declaring this complete bull shit.

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I don't know what to say really.  I don't know what to feel either.

Maybe I am really okay, and it didn't hurt as badly as it seems.  Or, maybe I'm covering up the greatest pain we've ever known throughout the gift of numbness.

I'm sure I am being dramatic.  It's true; I'm not crying.  No, I'm not overly anxious.  Surely there is nothing wrong.

I mean, what damage has been done? 

Maybe the lack of feelings are because the damage is more intellectual, more cerebral.  Emotionally it's no big deal, but in my head and my thoughts I know I have been betrayed by others, and I have also betrayed myself, and by extension . . . .  Shhh.  The wind whispers:  dirty, unclean, contaminated.

You may address me as "Whore."

I may never whisper again. 

I know why you whisper, and I am sorry.  I know who you are, little one.  You are someone who doesn't want to be here anymore.  I don't blame you.  But why don't you want to be here? 

People will see my dirtiness.  Some put on an act that they enjoy it.  Maybe that is why she is confused.  What she knows and what she feels are at war with one another, and I am collateral damage.  Someone is always sacrificed. 

I sense you staring into space.  Where are you going in your mind?

Escape while I can.  Things are calm for now, but soon it will either be complete anxiety or a crushing depression that will descend upon you, and I can't survive another blow tonight.

Did you take over with Daniel?

I took over afterwards when no one else would, just like back then.

I AM the Old Struggle

This weekend was an exercise in futility.  Still reeling from the session with Therapist written about  here,  I unsuccessfully navigated a weekend that was filled with meaning and importance for me, and I failed.

I keep going over it in my mind, twisting it, turning it, unknotting it, what was said by Therapist  and I'm starting to feel angry about the session.

I don't know. I don't know.  I don't know. I. don't. know.

My guard is up.  My mind is closed clam shut.

I reverted back to whom I don't want to be.

Fuck all that.

These words are ramble letters for others, but they mean something to me.

I am struggling like old times again, a place I had every reason to think I escaped.

And now I embrace the notion of death.  I welcome him, I dare him to visit me.  He will not be disappointed.

Please someone rescue me from this hell.  I am drowning and can not make it myself out of the water.
Perhaps that indicates I want to live.  Shit fuck hell, maybe I do.  but certainly not like this.  and if this is all there is, no matter what that fucking therapist says, I don't want to do it.

I need to  be rescued.  I want to be rescued, but I'm afraid desire alone won't make it possible.

If the Truth Were Told

I even said a prayer before my session with Therapist today and asked God that I not be so guarded and to help me be open to change.  But what transpired between me and Therapist was more than I bargained for, and I deeply regret it.

As I remember it, the discussion centered around purging and how I think eating makes me a whore.  I didn’t understand these feelings, so he asked something around the idea of did I want to know why there might be the association of food being dirty and how eating makes me a whore.

Here’s where it derailed on my side.  

I said yes.

Therapist tells me the food association correlates with an abuser on whom oral sex was performed by  me/we/he/she/they/it.  

1. I don’t remember this event or telling Therapist of it.
2. I don’t want to know this event.
3. This event must be a lie.

Throughout the day, I reflected on this piece of “history” that has been told to me, but of which I have no recollection, and I find myself greatly disturbed.  It has me twisted in knots and made me profoundly sullen and sad.  I can barely breathe.

I’m left holding a piece of a memory that doesn’t belong to me but still troubles me deeply, and I don’t know how to escape this purgatory.  

If the truth were told, I think this has set me back in terms of therapy, and I feel hopeless all over again.

Both Roads Taken

Another sleepless night so far.  The anxiety has mostly lessened since my previous post,  but the sleepless nights continue despite medication.  Psychiatrist gave me a new med to try, but it gives me an unrelenting headache the next day, and it also causes weight gain, so I won't use it anymore.  I've gone back to my previous sleep med, but it isn't working.  It's our lot in life.

I purged twice today.  I can't remember the last time I purged.  I'm not sure why I engaged in this behavior.  Maybe I know.  Maybe I don't.  Who cares?  All I know is I think about food constantly.  Continually.  Non stop.  Without letup.  And it is ENOUGH!!

When is the next time I can eat?  What will I eat?  How many calories will it have?  How will it taste?  What will Husband think if he sees me eat?  How can I hide it?  Now that I've eaten, when is the next time I can eat?

OR THESE THOUGHTS

How can I refrain from eating?  What activity can I do next time I'm hungry instead of eating?  How will I feel?  What will I do if I eat anyway?  How many squats do I need to do to burn off the calories?  How many calories am I NOT burning by sitting on the couch?  What can I do to jumpstart my weight loss?

The list of questions go on and on and on.

One of us mentioned before how the eating disorder is a safety net, a way to get out of being an adult, and/or taking responsibility, a way to keep us child-like, but it is so much more.

Put the ED behaviors aside, the eating disorder and body image thoughts themselves can not be curbed.  They are incessant and do not exist as a safety net.  They do not protect; they do not shelter; they do not comfort.

They plague us.  They are compulsive, urgent, and overwhelming, and I do not know how to break them.  I am threatened by their existence.  We are at their mercy, and I can not be responsible for their actions.

Bottom line is we are out of control from both sides.  And while the eating disorder in and of itself may be insurance, the thoughts are not.  They are menacing and commence our feelings and behaviors.

We are reminded of the end of a poem written by Robert Frost entitled "The Road Not Taken."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Just like the narrator says, we are choosing the road less traveled, and I know it will make all the difference.  It has before.

Amen.

 

Call me a poet.  What can I say?

Heroes needed. Apply here.

I’m decompensating.  I am fulfilling everything ever said about me.  

In my internship as a 6^th grade Language Arts teacher, my parts have been out and I’ve lost time.  My university supervisor has given me feedback regarding a comment he said I made to the students.  It was a very demeaning, destructive comment. I have no recollection of saying anything so hurtful to my students.

He said, along with my cooperating teacher, that I can not handle stress, and I break down emotionally.

I could have saved them the paperwork.  I already knew that.

It’s a hopeless situation.  I don’t know how to handle stress.  My reactions are reflexive.  Always has been.  Always will be..

And now, I’m facing my last semester of school.  I don’t want to fall short of graduation by just one semester, but I honestly think I don’t have the ability to be a teacher.   I don’t think there is any amount of cooperation I can establish among my parts to make teaching safe.  

What devastates us so much is that we try twice as hard as other people but are only half as successful.  We will never measure up.  We will always be deficient.  

I’m no longer a hero.  How pathetic.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. :)

Discussing dissociation

I found a blog from a trauma therapist called "Discussing Dissociation" and found a lot of great information on it. I most liked her idea on creating an internal scrapbook for alters to get to know one another in a more creative context. Also, as I looked around her site, she has so much good information that I thought it would be helpful for a lot of people to explore. Take a look. Hope it helps. Take care.

Lengths to getting better.

What a weekend! It was filled with errands, sleep, and taking my god-daughters to a movie and shopping. We had assignments by our T. to complete and haven't been as productive as we would have liked; nevertheless, we did do some journaling, which was part of our instruction. Another assignment was to let Tina, one of our members, make chocolate chip cookies. We came close, even got the ingredients together. That was as far as we made it with that. We left the ingredients out so Tina can make the cookies for tomorrow. We didn't get a work out in on Saturday, so being behind a day in calories meant we had to put the cookies off until we could safely get an extra work out in.

We've been thinking about how we ended our previous blog. The topic of the lengths we will go to to get better came up and is rather pertinent considering the lapse that has happened since leaving treatment. What are we willing to give up in order to get better?

The question firsts needs to be asked do we want to get better. The answer is yes, especially with the dissociation. Not meaning that we want to get rid of our members. But there are times when we are switching constantly and it gives me a raging, intolerable headache. The switching and shifting is disconcerting, confusing, and most of all, unsettling. There is every reason in the world to want to get better. But the food issues come in. Most anorexics agree, even the ones on the road to recovery, that there is a sliver inside somewhere that starving oneself creates a sense of safety. Getting attention, having people who formerly didn't notice you start to care, and being sick is a plus in having this disorder. Growing up, the only time we got attention from the birth mother was when we were sick. The only time we get attention now is when we are sick.

Back to the point: what are we willing to give up, what lengths will we go to to get better? Certain areas of our life have to be explored and let go before we can even get close to wanting to let go of the eating disorder. I don't think it even possible to let go of the E.D. until some exploration is done into the reason we dissociate and the trauma we've gone through and blocked off.

For some of us, food is dirty and equated to abuse. Eating most things is reminiscent to the sexual abuse. Starving ourselves makes us clean and pure inside. One of our assignments is to find ways to feel clean about ourselves without depriving ourselves of food. Much thought has gone into this. There are three ways we use to cleanse us. Starvation, over exercise, and showers. We shower and scrub like we've just been victimized. The skin is red and raw.

I've no idea of any other avenues to avail that will produce the same cleansing effect, because it has become like a chemical release inside. It's like the release of endorphins. What else could give us that rush? Shopping, cooking, playing with the dogs, cleaning the house, watching a movie? Cleaning the house might help, but I can't think of anything else to make me feel clean about myself so that I don't want to starve or exercise or damage myself in any other way.

If members could let go of their secrets and share their memories with each other then perhaps we might not feel so dirty inside that emptiness is the only answer. Towards the end in res. tx. it got easier to access memories, but I don't know how to do that without res. tx. Sure, I have a therapist, but there's a missing link. Yes, I trust my therapist. The alters agree that they do as well; so, why can't we access the memories like we did before.

What comes first: giving up the memories or giving up the anorexia? The anorexia makes me feel clean, but so would dealing with the memories that tainted me to begin with. I remember towards the end of residential treatment after dealing with a painful memory that my weight wasn't as important as it had been. Processing the memories and feelings were more helpful. That feeling didn't last long, but if I kept at it and worked with the trauma it might make the anorexia less important. I wouldn't need it for safety.

But I can't force alters to give up their memories and secrets. They know I'm scared witless. I don't know how to cross that bridge. I say I'm ready to deal with it. I stuck with the painful feelings in treatment during session and didn't run from it, but I don't know how to access the memories and feelings now that I'm in the real world. I'm quite confused.

I would go to any length possible to get ready of the dirty, shamed feelings. It takes starving myself and exercising for at least 60 minutes everyday to feel clean. I have to be empty, weightless and hollow to be clean, pure and
unpolluted. I would give it up yesterday if I only knew how. Anorexia is necessary in making myself feel that I'm not degraded, trashy, and worthless. I'm so done feeling that way; I just don't know how to give it up.

I know I shouldn't have this episode because it sabotages my chances of recovery, but I purchased an episode of a t.v. show named "Intervention" and downloaded it to my iPod. It is about a woman named Emily who was anorexic, at least at the time. I identified with what she said about not eating and then exercising and showering and feeling empty and clean after that. She said it was the best feeling in the world, and I totally agree with her.

Anorexia is going to be very difficult to give up. I have to find something that will give me that same pure, clean, and spotless feeling. I just don't know what it is or where to find it. I also wish my members would be more forthcoming in sharing their trauma experiences. Without that, I don't know if we'll ever make it past the tight rope of death that we walk every day.