Home of the Not-So Brave

It’s been two weeks since I’ve written.  In that time I’ve lost a dear father-in-law to death, moved from a nice home to a cramped, crappy apartment, had an exhausting moving sale where all I did was fight with Birth Mother, and have barely escaped foreclosure on my home.  I’ve had enough.

In the meantime I’ve discovered I’ve been doing it all wrong.  Dissociation and my approach to it.

If there really is dissociation, and I still deny it, I won’t ever heal.  I don’t know how to handle insider people or if I even want to acknowledge them.  Just assuming I dissociate, I don’t want a relationship with them or hold that connection  with them long enough to hear from them what their hurts are, their boo-boos, their traumas.

Even as I type this, I’m rushing.  I want so little to do with this idea of dissociation or blog posting or anything associated with it.

I think at one point I might have wanted that connection, but I’m not doing the work with them I once was.

It is all overwhelming and makes me angry.  There’s no comfort for anyone here.

I don’t know how to create inside safety for them or even me.  Why create safety?  I don’t understand things.

I don’t want to speak with insiders who may or may not be feeling the trauma.  No one is hurting, but how would I know when I refuse to spend time with them?

I don’t care if they are good people or bad people, I want stay away.  

I’m scared.

One article I read said to remove replications of the outside trauma on the inside bodies.  GTFOH.  The author said there might be dirt, blood, mud, or messy stuff on the inside bodies.  TBH, I know this is true, but I can’t get rid of it.

The effing article also said to give the injured insiders “lots of TLC”.  Maybe the reason I am so defiant against the idea of being dissociative is because I am so well disconnected from them.  

And I also don’t have the patience for this crap.

I thought I was at one time building a genuine rapport with my inside people and that there was honest communication.  I think it’s why I like my last post found here.  It felt like honest communication.     But it has evaporated.  It’s like I woke up and had to start all over again with them so I decided I didn’t want to.  

So I hate them and I hate me for hating them.  

I’m also scared.  I don’t think since the original diagnosis over 20 years ago have I made any progress.  Where does that leave me because I don’t want to do the work anyway, so I’ll be stuck here for another twenty years if I make it.

I just want my words back and if one of those bitches took them I’ll be pissed.

What if I don’t have it in me to get better - not better - but have an inclusive, relatively peaceful life?  

I keep failing.  I don’t know who’s really in inside because I’ve shut them out so long.  I know names on a map but not personalities, and I don’t have the fortitude to find out.  

I”m out of time, in more ways than one.

The Hostage

Hostage

Slowly the evening falls upon me.

The possibility of peace is shattered into a fairy tale as

the night struggles and collapses into the blackest hole.

With her naked eye the moon stalks me into hiding.

No light is spared.

I hear the footsteps of my thoughts scatter inside my mind,

running rampant, tunneling through the darkness until I'm found

crouched in fear.

A tightly woven web of chaos is assembled around me.

Motionless, I sit under the glare of tyranny.

With unbridled abandon they advance upon me:

Closer. Closer. Closer.

The moment is surrendered to madness.

History threatens the illusion of control.

My entire armor sheds in defeat.

Sanity becomes a desperate bargain,

a violent negotiation between the authorities of life and death.

My mind holds me hostage.

Little by little, piece by piece,

I am completely swallowed,

but no one can tell that I am missing.

Lunatic sound off - BEWARE

Warning. You are about to enter a pity party with some profane language mixed in, self directed anger, and unapologetic repetition of content. If you don't want to get fucked up like we are and feel bad about yourself and hate yourself as much as we do, you might want to go where normal people blog about flowers, butterflies and blue skies. Blaahhh.

Yours truly,

MIS

I'm so over this. It's totally consuming me. I thought I would never be back here again. But it's gone by so fast. It didn't take long before each milestone was reached.

Don't get me wrong, the self-hatred was always there. The looking in the mirror and only seeing a fat whore has never gone away. But at least we could eat an apple without feeling like we've blown our diet and will wake up fat the next day. Now, we eat just enough to keep up the energy to workout. After the workout, we're blown and we have to rest. I can see the weight finally starting to come off and I'm elated, shamed, and angry. It shouldn't have to be like this. Therapist says there are other ways of dealing with our issues and I believe him, but nothing will ever make us feel clean again. We are soiled and dirty and the abstinence of food creates the illusion that we aren't contaminated and sullied. We watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs for our eleven year old alter who has the eating disorder. Watching a fucking movie didn't help her. True, she was able to laugh and feel like a kid again. But the instruments are still in place and the decree to restrict has not expired.

Damn, damn, damn. I never wanted to be back here. It is like a snowball rolling down a snow covered hill, gaining speed and snow everywhere it rolls ready to plow right over me. Maybe it's over dramatization. I just fucking hate feeling this way. Every thought is consumed by food and how to stay away from it. This is not supposed to be happening. I'll say it once, I'll say it twice, I'll say it as long as I fucking need to say it.

We've been here before. No one in the system can deny that they don't know where this is headed. Sure, she claims. She'll stop once she reaches a certain weight. Bull shit. She won't stop. It will go lower and lower and lower. She can't stop. It's not a matter of wanting to anymore. It's a matter of physically picking up the food to eat it. Everything creates guilt.

And what do we do about our other members who are caught in the crossfire. They don't deserve this. The littles want their Princess graham crackers back, but we won't let them because of the calorie content. Go ahead. Call child services.

Most members have a breakdown at some point. I find it interesting that all our relapses and journeys into hell happen between February and April. There's just something about those months. I don't know the connection, but I have a very vivid memory of someone walking through the house of our birth parents just as Spring was springing and feeling very depressed, overwhelmed, and feeling fat.

I'm angry at us. We know better than this. How the fuck did we get into this and how the fuck do we stop this? To say "Eat" is ridiculous. We've already told ourselves that. We are too far gone. We don't want a fucking intervention. We want to do this on our own with Therapist's help. But what can he really help us do? The switch has been turned on and hidden so we don't know how to disarm the behavior.

I know who this is and I feel so sorry for her. She didn't have a childhood. She abstained from food because she felt it made her feel dirty. Will self talk help? Will a million showers help? What can I do to help a damaged, broken, suffering eleven year old alter better? What can we do besides food that will make her feel good about herself, make her feel happy and worthy and clean, and not have to turn to food? We tell her the bad stuff wasn't her fault but it doesn't help. She's internalized blame for years and it's hard to undo those tapes.

But then, this is all bull shit. We aren't that bad off. Sure, we skip some meals, workout excessively, but our weight is still fine and no reason for concern. Do we want concern? Hell to the NO!! Notice how back and forth we go. I'm okay, your okay, we're all okay.

There are so many talking and contributing it's hard to keep track. The push/pull is in place. I expected it to be. History predicted it. It's always been like this. We hate ourselves for doing this but just can't stop.

We AREN'T suicidal. Not by any means. But we always knew we would die of this. There is no helping us. This is no cure for us. We've been in the game too long and we're too old, tired, and exhausted to play it again. One day, we'll bow out gracefully.

End of pity party.