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.

God, grant me serenity to accept the things I can not change.

********Trigger Warning for talk of sex and abuse*********

The world feels like a dream. There are things I wonder if I dreamed about, or if I actually did them. Such as feeding the dogs this morning. I thought I fed them, it felt like I felt them, but I couldn't remember at all if they were fed. It’s one o’clock p.m. as I write this. This morning doesn’t feel real. Did I got to the dermatologist or did I dream it? Did I have physical therapy today, or was that yesterday? I am accidental to this world, and my presence is not needed.

Sometimes I will make off-handed comments to Therapist about killing myself, but he really doesn’t know how often and seriously I think about it.

School is hard for everyone, but this semester has been a sheer, diaphanous nightmare for me. Every corner turned has been a hardship and I am so burned out. I’m not on top of my assignments like I need to be.

So Therapist and we talked about some serious issues last night. I can’t believe I told him what I did. I can’t believe I’m even broaching the subject with you. The topic of sex has been brought up and what is involved in receiving pleasure from sex. It’s always a miss with me. Sometimes one of the young ones just cries and cries inconsolably afterwards. I don’t know who she is, but even as I type this I feel her tears crawling fearfully down my cheeks. Her age seems to be young adolescence.

For me to receive any type of pleasurable feelings, I have to imagine that I’m being taken sexually assaulted and taken advantage of and abused. This makes me feel like a freak and ruins the sanctity of “love-making” with my partner. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever. And I think I might want to just to feel connected with my husband. But orgasms scare the hell out of me. It feels dirty and out of control. Sometimes I’ll get close, but stop myself. It’s not that I don’t feel like I deserve an orgasm, but I don’t want to deal with the guilt and other consequences.

I don’t think I’m fair to Husband. Sex is so complicated. I have a member that is gay, and a member that wants to cheat on Husband. I don’t know what to do with this. It all seems too overwhelming to untangle.

I told Therapist about a memory regarding abuser A. The way abuser A forced my legs apart. What am I supposed to do with that now? So now Therapist has a piece of the puzzle. What the fuck now? Does just verbalizing it make it any better? It doesn’t make it any easier to talk about it. I’m surprised I revealed it on here. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve never felt like this before. True, I’ve had moments of hoplessness, but this seems like there really is not hope behind my past. I hear Therapist disagreeing with me. Tough shit. He truly doesn’t know what it’s like to live a particle of a life.

I’ve been thinking more about what I want to do when I get my undergrad. I think I would like to go on and get my Master’s in writing. I really want to write. Poetry to be specific. But I don’t know how I would do it. My words get lost in the head, sometimes taken for hostage, ransomed, and then maybe given back to me.

I have so much schoolwork to do but I can’t focus. The anxiety is too over bearable. And I feel nobody in this whole world has any idea what I’m going through. I know all who live with D.I.D. can relate on some level. But I feel so far gone. It feels I am completely and truly alone with my symptoms. Everyone struggles, but this defies the explanation of a struggle. To get through each day takes superhuman strength, and I don’t have it in me anymore to keep fighting.

Sex,lies, and too much Info

Several kind people such as Rising Rainbow and Kahless have sent me comments. I treasure these comments deeply but don't know how to respond to them as I see Rising Rainbows do. Please don't think I'm ignoring you. I'm still navigating my way through the technology. I'm doing good to just link you. ;)

It was 1:30 this afternoon before I "woke up." My husband, D., and I were making up the bed and I couldn't remember anything before that moment. He said I was having panic attacks that morning so he stayed home from work. I had a Dr's appt. for my back. I have a degenerative disc and I hate the pain physician I see b/c all they do is give me drugs without treating the problem and then treat me like I'm a drug addict. He said I then had an appt. with Randy, our therapist. I vaguely remember that. Something occurs to me about burning leaves in his fire place and a new member, Kathy, coming out. He said we went to the mall after that where I bought, and this will be too much information but I am determined to lay it all out, I bought panties...or someone bought panties. I'm not a shopper but one of us is. She loves retail and would live at the mall if she could and we had the money. Anyway, panties were bought and that it so not typical of me. Don't wear them because they only got ripped off as a child and I'm afraid of panties. Isn't that stupid? Be afraid of snakes or heights. Don't be afraid of panties. But I am, and some were bought.

So it was 1:30 when I came to and we had a conference with out children who are no longer our children. Long story. Short of it, we were the guardians for a long time and the birth mother decided she wanted them back even though it wasn't in their best interests. At least she allows us to remain a part of their live. Twin girls. C. is doing outstandingly well. She is in all advanced 6th grade classes and her Language Arts teacher said she is the cream of the crop, she is extremely bright and intelligent, a role model of other students. Her sister, O., is also in advanced classes, thought not as high, and she made all B's except one grade and we have work to do on helping her with organization and setting priorities and getting her self-esteem up. All in all, the conferences went well.

We worked out after that. An hour on the elliptical machine. It was so hard. There was no energy. All I had eaten today was a bagel and downed too much coffee. I didn't get a good workout. From things D. had said, I knew he wanted sex afterward. I don't know what is with him. He seems more interested in sex than ever before. I questioned the type of Internet sites he is visiting and the type of magazines he is looking at to see if they were creating this burgeoning interest in sex again. He said no. He lied and said it was my body. That's how I know it's a lie.

I decided to wear my sad, gray pajamas tonight. They make me feel so good and unfat so I decided if I had to have sex with him it would be before showering. Sex is gross anyway, why not do it when you are already sticky and sweaty. The problem with sex tonight, one of the problems, is that my butt is still sore from the cycling class yesterday. I endured it like I always do.

The shame of it, and I pray it was because I just worked out, was that I almost, but not really, only almost, felt relaxed. I didn't want to feel relaxed or enjoy it in any way and asked someone inside, I didn't know who, just anyone around, anyone who could hear me and care, to take my place. No one wants to take place with sex and no one came. Damn them. So I had sex with D. I don't know which is worst: almost feeling relaxed next to him or feeling taken advantage of in the worst way. I never orgasm, seldom do, and that makes me hate him. How he can always feel pleasure and leave me empty at best, but mostly feeling the "r" word since I received nothing out of it but being used I'll not understand. It's one reason I hate sex. I get nothing out of it.

Switch. Someone else is with me, as if she is entitled to speak even though she would not deliver me from a sexual encounter I didn't want to belong to in the beginning. I'm not the only one who hates sex. Tonight is particularly shameful for feeling somewhat relaxed next to his naked body. But there is hatred against him for even putting us through it. Something to that effect was said during sex, about how it hurt us. He knew and offered to change positions and I'm thinking, "you asshole. how 'bout just not doing it to begin with. how bout the position of being 10 yards away from me?" Something in him knows we don't like it, I think. I've been guilty lately of responding to his advances sometimes with comments that sex sounds great and when he says he wants to "make love" I respond how good that sounds. But it doesn't. I hate it. I hate it. I would rather shop.

So I never orgasm. I pretend to enjoy it, but mostly lie there with the same images inundating me: uncles, stuffed rainbow clouds, a twin bed I was hurt in, the headboard, the ceiling, and some little girl squeezing the tears back inside her eyes. Those images come frequently now. I call them "almost memories" because they aren't things I really remember and I know they lead to other things I don't want to know. They are whispers of memories and I worry they will lead to other, more lethal, dangerous, and incriminating memories. These whispers are bad enough; what will the others be like. My stomach feels nauseous just thinking and writing about this. The head has begun to hurt. I'm missing something. I had something else to say but it has been stolen.

I think The Woman with the Words is surfacing briefly. I heard her talking this afternoon with her British accent. D. is too stupid to notice. Probably b/c his mind is on sex.

I feel I've missed something but we're not allowed to go back and read. So I might have repeated things or just left something out. I took my on-line test for the Inclusive Education course. Results came back immediately as a 93. I missed one and I"m so pissed at myself. If I can use my book, why in hell couldn't I make a 100. Shows how incompetent some of us are.

I have more school work to do tonight and now that the worst of the evening is over I might be able to get to it. I will forget writing the continuum tonight of the significant events in my life and focus on my reading. I have to start Frankenstein, which I love, love, love! I am the creature Frankenstein created. I am the unwanted, hideous beast that he could not look at. I see me in the creature in so many ways. It's a great book. 2nd time reading it. I need to continue with Little Dorrit which, for Charles Dickens, is a surprisingly good book so far. And then there's American Lit. We are still covering writings from the Colonial time. Yawn.

Tomorrow is a day devoted to writing and more reading. Have a lot of schoolwork. I'll get my work out in somewhere. Today, I really wasn't motivated to skydive, so it must have been a so so day. Come to think of it, there were no tears like usual after sex. What does that mean? I refuse to let anyone grow to like sex. Now I'm getting PISSED at the thought. And I was feeling better. That's why writing can be contraindicated. Maybe a look at my skydiving equipment will cease some of the anxiety.

Am I too hard on myself? Kahless and Rising Rainbow made comments to the effect. There is no response to this. Randy, the therapist, constantly harps on our good points and it get tiresome. Maybe I'm overcompensating for his bullshit. He is determined to turn us into a teacher. Has he ever considered maybe we don't want to teach? I don't know. People have always said we are too hard on ourselves. I even had a professor last semester talk to me several times about it. But it's second nature and keeps us in place. We can't think too much of ourselves, although I don't know why. It seems another form of self-harm like cutting, vomiting, starving, alcohol, and drugs. We can't give up the others, why give up the self-deprecating speech? It all spills over into who would love us if we weren't sick or didn't punish ourselves. I'll save that for another night I haven't bored anyone reading this. until then...

Sad, gray pajamas

the time does not matter. i keep telling myself. i have a whirlwind of you should do this and you should do that swirling in the head, not to mention the other voice reminding me how fat i am and how i take up too much room in my clothes. and above all, i didn't plan on writing, but when i started crying i had to. i feel so anxious but i don't want anothe tranquilizer. god help me i don't want another one. last night i took a lot, enough to make me forget the autrocities inflicted upon us by the husband. i scoff at the word us. i was the one there. no one took my seat at the table. fuck them.

they are crawling all over me today and what should have been a day for school work is a day of crying, going crazy, anxiety, feeling fat, and planning our skydiving expedition. no one wanted us to go on it. we've stockpiled all the tools we need and once we jump there will be no jumping back. i pray for that day.

gray pajamas. i would love to write about my new gray pajamas but feel too sad. pathetic, isn't it. last night, i bought pajamas. i got such a great deal, i was so pleased. originally $50 bucks. got them, top and bottom for $15. and they felt so good and were so cute. i had been sleeping in oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants belonging to the husband and wanted something of my own to wear. goddamn bastard. anyway, i came home and put on my comfortable gray pajamas. they felt so good. normally i would have washed them first, but i wanted to feel special, as if gray pajamas could do that. but they were think and had big stars going down the sleeves and cute little pockets on the back and the pajamas swallowed me whole and i had alot of room to move around in them and i thought they were the perfect pajamas. they certainly weren't sexy but the husband of the moment started making passes and macking on us. we knew the inevitability. he has been coming on too us so much lately that i'm wondering whether he's using viagra. i doubt it but anyway. with suprememely sad resignation, we took off our feel-good pajamas and got in the bed, waiting for him to do his thing. it was doubly worse. images get closer of the house, the bedroom, the uncle. it is so black, so black, so black. the memories are on the tip of the tongue and we shall perish soon before they are released with a hiss. now i've forgotten what i was going to say.

i can't do my homework now. they are crawling alll over me. and i need release. i just want to crawl in the bed. i'm drinking coffee which they told me not to but i will anyway. sorry if it increases the anxiety. not like antyhiing gets done today.

come to think of this. randy never said thank you for the automatic e-mail when we hit publish. he still must not understand technology.

his recent private responses to our blogs have what have given us the green light to give him more, let him see more, share our blog more. i wonder what will happen when we disappoint him after school by falling apart even more. what will happen if we can't even finish school. i see all my homework assignments, postings, papers, exams stretched before me and i can't even stop crying to look at one chapter. what'll i do?

we discovered that angie is about nineteen or twenty. i don't know how that revelation came about, but it was floating in the brain recently. i think one of feels like a true college student and not just a non-traditional student. angie wants to join a sorority and do all the college crap but we hold her back. she has to be resentful of that though she has never said anything. she really hasn't been participating in the school work lately, maybe that's because we are at the more advance level and way less fun than when she first came out. she's more of the recreational side of us and college life. too bad for her.

i think the tranq is working. though my foot still is shaking like a prostitute around the cops (don't ask how I know what this feels like) i can finally breathe again. i still need to take to the page.

what i was saying about the pajamas before i was interrupted was that when he gross act was over, and i'll give him credit because he tries to wait for me and offer what he thinks would be pleasureable to me (FUCK NO!!!!!!) when it was over I put my gray pajamas away and put on the old nasty sweat clothes. i didn't feel pretty or worthy of my gray pajamas. i felt dirty, shameful, and like i did something wrong. i couldn't reward myself for giving in. yet what if we dont' give in. what would he do?

shift. someone else has entered the pic at that thought. "it's more than words. it's just tears and rain." sounds like the Music Maiden is out, listening to her music. Why does she need comfort?

I'm fasting again. it worked on Thursday. Fast as in Ensure. When I eat something I feel I shouldn't, the next day is an Ensure day. I'm not allowed to eat anything other than an Ensure for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. it gets me back on track. i need to disappear. maybe if i'm all bones he'll be repulsed by what he thinks is unattractive (fuck him) and he won't come near me. i love the way it feels to be swallowed by the clothes. there is something so comforting and clean feeling about this. rituals are developint again and it's like an old friend has come back to visit. she will go away soon because she never stays for long. but i will enjoy her while i can. i haven't even had my Ensure for breakfast and will probably skip it. I was proud of myself last night. The husband and I were buying my pajamas and we decided to have a Smoothie. I get the Shredder, least calories and carbs. We broke off from each other and he did his thing while i got pajamas. i threw my smoothie in the trash. i was so delighted with myself to be able to have the power to throw it away even though i was hungry. admittedly, i had a few sips to make him believe i would drink it. he makes comments every now and then that trouble me. fuck him.

the tranq has kicked in and i feel calm enough to get to work reading or just say fuck the day and go lay down. S. prescribed something to help with the fast heart and shakiness when we get these attacks but it doesn't work. there is no answer.