From 0 to 60

It's a painfully slow post. It's been brewing for days but, understandably, never comes to fruition. For most of the week I've been blank. Blank as in blank. Lifeless. Disconnected. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned. Meaningless.

When I tried to explain this to Therapist yesterday he didn't get it. I grappled for words. I felt inside prison walls that I just wanted to escape. (Thank you Victoria for these words.) I don't know what can be more hellacious than being blank. You feel worthless, like an outsider.

Therapist thinks being blank is another way to avoid discussing the painful details of my life. I have to agree; it just make so much sense. We are trying to be aware when we are avoiding circumstance and we really want to break the pattern, but I don't know how to get out of the blankness.

But no matter, today they pulled me out of the blankness. We went from 0 to 60, from blank to depressed and bothered in the blink of an eye. Seemed that since they were all so silent this week they had to bombard me this morning with switching and constant twirling thoughts. Nothing that brings me refuge.

So it's raining in Georgia and I haven't found a good reason to get out of bed. I realize Randy, if you're reading this, that I'm just avoiding. What I'm avoiding I don't know. Life seems too hard today to do anything but hide under the covers or watch Captain Jack Sparrow. I know this will pass. I need to privately journal with my members and find out what's going on. Easier said than done when they don't communicate back.

On the one bright spot, I filled out an on-line application for a seasonal summer job for which I've been hoping to get. Just to fill out the application was an accomplishment. I hate applying for jobs. They ask about dates of employment, supervisors' names, job duties. All the stuff I can't remember. Does anyone else have trouble with this? Well, I'm trying to keep this positive, as positive as I can be glued to the bed.

Well, despite the obstacles, I applied for a job. Yeah, us!

Hell hath no fury

I am not in the best of moods. I am very angry at myself. It was a whole weekend of being angry at myself. There is a picture I keep as my wallpaper on my computer of a time when Husband and I went to Charleston. In the picture I look very happy, big grin on my face. But I don't look thin. While nutritionist would argue, argue, argue that I'm at a healthy weight in the picture, I don't feel thin, and if I don't feel thin then I feel dirty and vulnerable. I want to feel thin and invisible. I want to disappear in my clothes so no one can find me.

So Saturday morning when I got out of the shower I accidentally saw myself in the mirror and my collar bones look just like the collar bones of that fat slob in the picture in Charleston. This sent me on a tail spin. From that moment on, I wasn't myself. Both the good and bad sides of my eating disorder kicked into high gear. I was interminably berating myself for being such a loser. In an instant, my clothes didn't fit, as if the mirror had really put weight on me. My whole weekend continued this way.

I was not myself. I was compelled by another member and I don't know who she is. That's the suckiest part of this whole thing: I can't connect with another god damn member. I can't know who's persecuting me.

Today we see Therapist. With every generous fiber of my being I don't not want to go in. He's going to want to know how the weekend went. I can't give specifics. I know the mirror and collarbone incident. I know I binged this weekend. I know I went and helped O. with a paper due on Monday. I can't tell the inches of time in between that made up my bad mood; that made me so worthless. He might ask me to read my journal. I don't want to do that. I just want to go exercise, but I know that won't solve the internal dialogue going on inside.

Even though it's Monday and a new week, I'm still carrying into it the same bad feelings from the weekend. Sure, I got up and showered, did my hair, applied my face. But someone won't let it go. And I've learned it's never about the food; it's always about something else. I fucking don't want to know what the something else is. Therapy has been hard enough lately. Maybe that's the reason for the freak out in the bathroom. Who the hell knows?

I wish I didn't feel so fat. Food seems dirty to me right now. I know I'm not being rational, but try telling that to an eating disorder that's been in existence for 24 years.

So where do I go from here? How do I exorcise these feelings from my conscious? How do I not hate myself so damn much? Most, most, most importantly, how do I feel not so fat? Time will have to take care of me, because no one inside sure as hell will. Enough is enough.

New quote added

As a matter of business: I added a new quote that inspires me and gets me thinking about recovery.

You don't get anything clean without getting something else dirty. - Cecil Baxter

I added that quote to my favorites because it reminds me that I have to get dirty by digging into the dark, dirty secrets of my past, but I will come out clean. At least that's what this quote means to me.

Relationships

I've been mulling this topic over since the weekend and have been trying to figure out how to write a sanitized version of what took place.
One of the many things we've learned with D.I.D. is just how hard relationships are to maintain.

I've been married over ten years. In fact, Valentine's Day marks 10 1/2 years of marriage. That's an accomplishment for someone who doesn't have to deal with dissociation, so for someone like us with D.I.D., it's almost impossible. We've heard of many marriages busting over the difficulty dealing with a spouse who is dissociative.
Husband and I have had our ups and downs. One thing we've always agreed on is "I do" has meant "I do" and neither of us have looked to abandon the other to divorce when we weren't getting along.

However, time seems to be molding us into a couple that just puts up with one another. I feel sorry for Husband. I know it's not easy living with someone with D.I.D.; Lord knows he tells me that all the time. Well, not all the time, but he's said it on more than one occasion. He tells me he doesn't always know how to act around us, that we give off mixed signals, that we've changed since marrying us.

Changed is an understatement. In all fairness, when we married, we hadn't accepted the diagnoses of D.I.D., and so didn't tell Husband. It wasn't until later in the marriage that we couldn't deny the symptoms anymore and things started falling apart. But Husband is right; we have changed. When we married we didn't have pink hair, nose piercings, and tattoos. How he HATES the tattoos!!!

I think he could live with all that but there is an area of our marriage that is under fire and he doesn't know how to deal with it; I don't either, for that matter. You see, we aren't as close in the Biblical sense as we used to be, if you know what I mean. In the beginning of our marriage, we as a system used to engage in "the act" because we didn't respect ourselves, so it didn't matter if "the act" hurt us or not. Now that we're trying to heal, that area of our lives is off limits to him until we get some healthier views toward s*xual relations. So, basically, Husband is having to go without and he doesn't know how to deal with it and that makes me feel guilty for depriving him. As a result, Husband and I have lost a sense of emotional closeness that gets fed by being physically close and that breaks my heart. Still, we as members can't give in until we have healed more, otherwise it would be too damaging.

So over the weekend Husband and I were arguing over the lack of closeness and if we would ever resume a physical relationship again. He feels it's hopeless. I have no answers for him. For me, it's just another brick in the wall; another hurdle that needs to be overcome before we can ever come close to "normal."
And that's all I have to say about that.

Dueling emotions

I'm not well. I'm in a terminal bad mood. I can't wiggle out of it. It has cornered me all day.


The thing is, I'm angry and sad. I don't know how I can be both at the same time. I know I would feel better if I could just have a good cry but authentic feelings escape me. I'm not in charge of feelings. I'm living on borrowed time, borrowed memories, borrowed emotions. There's nothing organic about me. If I feel happy it's b/c someone inside feels happy; if I feel depressed, it's b/c someone inside feels depressed. I'm just a shell. I'm a big, fat blank.

Even my words sometimes are not my own. I'll be speaking and hear someone else's words come out. I never know the source.


Establishing internal communication has been difficult. I don't know who I am from one minute to the next. I wrote a letter to my members about how I'm scared of them. I apologized and stated all my reasons for being afraid: I don't want to lose control, I'm afraid I won't recover, I'm afraid of their pain.

I don't want to be afraid of them. I want to want to get to know them. Everyone says to just keep trying. Keep talking to them. Keep treating them as a friend, someone you literally have to get to know. It's so damn hard. I am so empty.

I feel like I'm treated like a child. I'm one of them, can't they see that. I feel alone in my system, like nobody likes me. Inside feels like a very unsafe to be.

I feel like I'm banging my head on a wall. All I want to do is cry, cry, cry.

Disturbia

I find it disturbing and disruptive. The people behind my eyes are active and I feel pressure in my head. Does anyone else get that way when the switching is intense?

They switch back and forth, never landing on a single personality. I'm switching as I write this. They chase my thoughts away and never look back. I don't know what they want. Sometimes the switches come with memories, sometimes not. For now, the memories are silent and I am grateful.

I am scared of my members. They are scared of me, too. (A voice just told me that.) I know it sounds bad, but I'm glad they are scared of me. I can handle that. That tells me they aren't holding out because they want to punish me or hurt me. We are all hurting and holding ourselves tightly. I grapple for words.

Things have been extraordinarily difficult since our therapy session yesterday. Members were out that have never been out before. It's too much. Therapist says we can trust him, that he 's never hurt us before.

True that, but it doesn't make someone autonomously safe. More is at stake.

Reflecting on Therapist's potential to hurt us, it is concluded that he would not hurt us. He's been generous in many ways. And we know our goal is to stop avoiding the unpleasant, so we know we should just put it all out there.

Thought it's taken the reader all but 30 seconds to read thus far, know that I've sat speechless, unable to write, for twenty minutes. Words are taken away. I stare into space while the switches batter me around.

Some feel Therapist put us in our place yesterday. Some feel he was mean. I believe Therapist's words were: "supportingly confrontational." Whatever the hell it was it has taken us aback and left us disconcerted. He feels we are avoiding work and school but he is wrong. School is not an option as long as members think they can be out in class and take hours out of primary member's memory.

Other than getting through the switching, it has been a "productive" day. I call it productive when I simply get out of bed and put my makeup on. With D. out of work, we spend our days together, so I'm forced to get out of bed. We ran errands today and took our dogs for a walk. I went over to C. and O. 's house and helped O. with her Social Science work. All in all, it was a slow and easy day.

I'm tired now and I hate this mess of shifting thoughts. Regret will probably make me delete this post later as I feel embarrassed about how scattered I am.

Article link - "Living with DID"

I found this link on Google and thought I would share it with everyone. It's a good article and I related with the author on many fronts; however, she comments on integration and that is a sore topic for me, as I don't agree with integrating all personalities into one. Skate lightly.

Take care.

http://www.divinecaroline.com/22190/90903-living-dissociative-identity-disorder

Avoiding

Pardon us while we wax philosophical. We are in the middle of a switch...

It is dark in my room. I've succumbed to the internal pressure of my members to blog. It's been a while since we blogged but no worries here. New insights have been gained and a new committal to therapy has taken place. A new attitude had developed that therapy has to be uncomfortable, it isn't pretty, it's going to hurt, but I will heal and be able to live a better life.

Our T. keeps telling us how we avoid the topics that we need to explore in order to heal. That is somewhat true, although we've done a much better job of owning up and sharing the painful and embarassing details we'd rather leave out. It's hard to NOT avoid. For ex, we've been avoiding this blog since October because it's so hard to figure out just what to say. We get nervous going to Randy's, our T. Despite reassurances from him, we worry if he'll judge us, think negatively of us, not want to help us anymore. Our husband sees a T. and we've asked him if he gets nervous when he goes and he says no. Maybe it's just us.

Randy gave us an assignment in our last session and we haven't done it. We're avoiding it. :)

I can probably thing of one second of my life where I felt free, not tied down by the rules and laws of whatever vice I am about to give to. I look at the girls in my dining hall at school and none "look" like they cut, burn, or have an eating disorder. I'm sorry, but I feel that our addictions put us in a special category where you have this 6th sense about other people. I search the walls of my campus and see no one like me. I certainly don't see anything off the chain like me and D.I.D.

Not that I'm anything special or atypical from the next mixed up person. What I'm trying to say is.....i don't know.

I did have a major let down in my behavior. I probably would feel better about myself if I had gotten out of the house today, but I set myself up for failure by isolating, and the outcome wasn't healthy.

I go tomorrow to terminate my relationship with my therapist. The drive is too far, I'm getting no where with her, she always ASSumes to know with whom she is talking.

I like her because she has gone above and beyond the call of duty. As a T she is great. Makes me less hopeful b/c she was recommended to it. I don't know.

What does the blogging find important and special about therapists? Have you found The One?

Missing In Action

I know I've been gone for a while. Things have not been okay but I will spare you the spilt milk and the sob sorry.

I was released from the partial hospiltization back in May, I think. My intentions were/are to get a job and go back to school. I couldn't cope with applying for a job. I know that sounds silly, but for someone with D.I.D, dates and time spans are foreign concepts. So, applying for jobs was hard. It was hard to fill in the data such as when I had worked prior, whered the job was located, and addresses and names of supervisors are problematic.

So, I've been stressed. And interviewers don't want to hear that my lapse in job and school is due to long term hospitalization. So the jobs haven't been forthcoming. I was just going to go to school and lay off the employment part of my plan.

School has been overwhelming. I'm an English major and that's hard to deal with because dates are involved. When was Shakespeare's first Folio published? When did Chaucer die?

Frankly I could care less. So the dates and the multiple reading assigments and the papers to write consumed me. I dropped the first two classes and thought I would be okay taking the last two semesters. It wasn't okay. This week I dropped my last two classes.

Part of me feels completely worthless because I couldn't "make it". I couldn't last. worthless, guilty, shamed, embarassed damaged. That's how I feel. It has gotten a little better. Chocolate helps.


As for my eating disorder, it's just a mirror image of how I perceive myself. The eating disorder gets worse when I do a great job of hating myself and when I love myself the eating disordoer does better.

So, what will be next for Missing In Sight? With this time on my hands I guess I'll be hanging around the blog. It's definitely good to be back.

Acceptance

I don't know if I can do this. I'm not much better but a little. The meds my psycho-iatrist gave me have helped a little, but I still have a hard time "soothing" my brain. It always feels disruptive and a bit like ADD. It's a mad world.

In any case, I was reading the meditation for today and though it was pertinent to me. It was about how we always like one thing, but don't stop to consider it's flip side. For every positive we get in our life there is bound to be a a negative.

For example, a couple plants a beautiful shady tree in their backyard. They enjoy the shade and coolness of the big branches and leaves. Then winter comes and the leaves have turned brown and have fallen to the ground. The couple gets upset because their beautiful shady tree has turned into a mess of work to get all the rotting leaves up off the ground that was spoiling their outside time.

The point is, there is always a flip-side to what we like most. If we translate this to our human relationships, for what we like most in another person, there is always an undesirable trait. That's just human nature. It doesn't mean we should give up our relationship. It means people are what they are. We are our height, we our race, we are our backgrounds. To take all of Nature's gifts in people and then complain about the downside is simply foolish and maybe a little immature.

The flip arguement can be made for ourselves. We are all endowed with incredible gifts in ourselves. To think that we are all bad and have nothing to offer is rediculous. We have the same traits as others. We have things to offer and things we'd rather keep hidden.

Point is, self esteem is not based on our changing but accepting what we are.

All Apologies

To my blogging friends,

I feel the overwhelming need to apologize to you. You have been so kind as to offer comments on my blog, and I have not been able to return the feedback.

I am not well. I had an emergency session with my psycho-iatrist today. I'm not sleeping and what few winks I get are filled with nightmares. I can't focus. I cry easily. I'm depressed. Ya da ya da.

When I'm better you will hear more from me. Please know that I'm reading your blog and staying current with you comments. I hope to be heard soon.

Missing In Sight

Preventing a fall.

I'm trying to keep a positive attitude today, but it turns out to be more challenging than with which I can cope.

Today's meditation hits home for me, and I've studied it as if there were an exam at the end of this post. The quote is by Thomas Fuller and he says, "A stumble may prevent a fall."

Yesterday I definitely stumbled. Cancelled on my T and dietician. Binged and purged. I came close to acting out with self-harm but was spared from the behavior, or rather I stopped myself from acting out self-destructively with matches.

One can definitely say yesterday I stumbled, but I will not let it prevent a fall. I got right back up this morning and had breakfast according to my meal plan. I'm reaching out by posting to my blog site and listening to the feedback of others.

My T always says that therapy is like a toddler learning how to walk; it should be expected that someone learning to walk is going to fall down or stumble or fall head first into the carpet. I'm definitely stumbling around, but that shouldn't rob me of my self-esteem. Life is full of hazards and "dangerous" attempts at recovery. It takes a few tumbles before we can learn from them and prevent ourselves from taking a more serious fall. An occasional stumble may be a warning AND a blessing. It's only if we learn from them can it be a blessing, and eventually learn from our stumbles so we won't fall in the future.

The affirmation for the day, according to the book Believing in Myself, is "My self esteem profits when I profit from my mistakes."

Ramblings of a gone mind

I'm not okay. I'm feeling rather rabid and English. The words are coming from somewhere else. I don't know what to do with myself. I know what I should do, but "shoulds" are woulds that can't help themselves.

I feel like Sarah McLachlin when she sang with the Perishers a song called "Pills." She sang they weren't alright, they needed pills to get through the night, needed lies to get through the day, and she wasn't okay.

That's how I feel today. My abusers are mingling with my memory, creating a cause for alarm and exhaustion. I find no solace anywhere, except in place I'm not allowed to look: a long sleep.

The nights are terrible for me. It seems that right after dinner it's an all out panic attack for me. Nothing in my coping skills bag satisfies. I try to color, do puzzles, play a computer game, nothing compensates for my deterioriation. I dry up and crumble.

I've the perfect opportunity to act out on my eating disorder this morning. I "pray" I do not. I worked it out with D. that if I don't act out on my eating disorder till the end of the month I can get my third tattoo, and I really want that tattoo.

I can feel my younger parts gathering around. This is really difficult. I don't know where I've gone.

What matters

Over the weekend, I had an opportunity to attend a gathering of acquintances I know for a small celebration. I told D. that I didn't want to go, but I really wanted nothing else but to go and see people and see the presentation that was to be put on.

You see, these "friends" are very strict and conservative. The last time they saw me I didn't have pink hair, no nose piercing, and two tattoos. I was a blank slate. Dressed conservatively, rigidly, and fit into a very small box. Now, I'm pure as the driven snow. Not really, but I definitely don't fit into the same category I used to.

One of my members had the idea of tattoos and nose piercings. Since we all share a body, I try to be agreeable to fashions, fads, and wants that each member has.

But I knew if the "friends" that saw me the way I am now they would not "approve" and I would be a subject of discussion among everyone. I'm not embarassed of how I look now. In fact, when we see the colorist next month we are going to request more pink for our hair. We are also planning our next tattoo.

But I still knew that people would talk about me. No one knows about my diagnosis and that the members have their own opinion on what to wear, how to talk, and how to act. And I wasn't about to explain to them that I hear voices and lose time and see people that know me and I haven't the slightest clue who they are.

So....a rose by any other name still smell as sweet and if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, then it's a duck. I can say that I'm not embarassed by my members, but the evidence proves otherwise. I can say that I'm really not embarassed, and I feel I embrace my members, but I was too self-concious as to what others would say.

It makes me think of two things:

I've said it before and I will say it again to myself: be kinder and more gentle with myself. It is unreasonable to think that a member would not embarass me and it doesn't make me a bad person that I'm not explaining away my behaviors or sharing my diagnosis with everyone so they will understand me.

I know I use a lot of quotes, so I won't stop now. It reminds me of a quote I learned in treatment:

Those that mind don't matter, and those that matter don't mind.

I don't know who wrote this, but it gives me comfort.

If these people truly care about me, they won't judge me on my appearance. Yes, I look different now, but I'm/we're the same people that we were pre-tattoo. And if people do judge me on appearance and do mind how I look, then they don't matter in my life and I'm better off without their friendship.

I say alot of things and I hope in saying them that it will come true in my heart. I can B.S. myself to hell and back, but I'm hoping something I throw out there will stick for me.

Stay strong and take care.

Becca

10 things about me

1. I have pink in my blonde/brown hair.
2. I will be celebrate 10 years of marriage on August 14; I turn 35 on August 15, and my husband turns 35 August 16. Wham, bam, bam!
3. I have an Associates degree in Accounting.
4. I have gone back to school to get my Bachelor's in English Education.
5. I want to teach 7th grade.
6. I have two tattoos and counting.
7. I'm a good cook when I try, but I love to bake.
8. I've been in therapy 17 years.
9. My bio-parents live in China. I don't see them or talk with them.
10. I have seen Pride and Prejudice with Kiera Knightly at least 50 times.

The Second Act

When I was in Charleston, I picked up a card that had a saying on there that means so much to me and gives me hope. It is a quote by Mary Anne Radmacher and it reads,

"Just because you bought the ticket doesn't mean you have to stay for the second act."

I love this so much. If I apply it to my life's experiences, it helps me realize I'm not a victim anymore and I can effect change in my life. Yes, I have a history of abuse, a trauma history, but I don't have to let that define what my life looks like now.

The first act of my life sucked, but I have a choice for the rest of it. I'm staging a curtain call and I'm not staying for the second half of the act. The second half of the act is where I stay stuck in my disorder and distorted thoughts. It is filled with actions of self-harm, an eating disorder, suicidal gestures, depression, mood swings, flash backs, insomnia, night sweats, nightmares, panic and anxiety attacks, etc...

So I'm leaving the theatre. Just because I bought the ticket doesn't mean I have to stay for the whole production. I'm staging a Coup d'etat. I'm finding a new production that will only bring me peace and happiness.

I hope you find a new second act, as well.

Becca

Charleston - Day 1

Besides my husband, these are the loves of my life. C. is on the left, O. is on the right. I'm surprised O. is letting me take a picture of her. She is normally camera shy.

This is the first full day of Charleston. We've just parked along the Battery where parking is free. It's already insanely hot and humid. Plan is to go to catch the boat to Fort Sumter where it's even hotter.
Feeling the love! They don't look or act like twins, but they are fraternal.

Backing up an hour, we are in the hotel gettnig ready to go. You can tell this is early in our trip because the room is still clean. :)

O. is here with her favorite pose.

C. is all smiles...as usual.

Starbucks? Really, girls. Why can't we even go on vacation without running towards the nearest Starbucks? Okay, okay. It was really my idea. I needed a caffiene fix and the hotel coffee sucked!

Looking at the Battery from the ship on the way to Fort Sumter.

My three favorite faces in the whole world!

We arrive finally at Fort Sumter, the home site of the Civil War, April 12, 1865.

Construction on Fort Sumter began in 1829. I don't think this museum and bathroom were part of the plan. These are the original bricks built by slaves. They've lasted almost two centuries. They are very delicate and are slightly crumbly to the touch. These were the barracks and were built under the gun powder. During the attack, this proved to be just a little mistake.

C. is always inquisitive and alway asking questions. She's brilliant!

The man with all the answers and who also stole my heart.

O. and C. are reading about their history.

After Fort Sumter, we were a little hungry. O. wanted to go to Bubba Gump Shrimp. It's really good, but not for vegetarians, which C. and I are. The salad was good, but I like the mixed drink even better. The second drink even better than that.

C. is enjoying her "mixed" drink.

Words to live by:

"And that's all I have to say about that."

The benefit of the doubt

It's been a rough twenty-four hours. I see my T. three times a week, and the days I don't go in I don't know what to do with myself. D. took the day off work yesterday to keep me company. The lonliness feels so pathological and morbid that I can't take it. A deep hole wells up in me and I can't describe how dangerous it feels. I AM NOT SUICIDAL, but the thought of going to sleep crosses my mind. I don't know how to dig myself out of this malignant hole.

My thought process reminds me of the meditation that was e-mailed to me today.

"The difference between a mountain and a molehill is perspective."
http://www.meditationsforweightloss.com/dailys/113538.html

It's all about how I'm thinking. Am I focusing on what is wrong with my life or am I looking at what is right? Yes, I could feel sorry for myself. I don't have a job, school starts next month and I'm terrified, I have financial troubles, my house is messy, etc...

But I love the challenge that the meditation poses. It reads, "Give yourself the benefit of the doubt, and don't be so harsh." Giving the benefit of the doubt is what I always try to do with D. when we have a disagreement. I tell myself he didn't mean to hurt me or whatever the case may be. And giving him the benefit of the works.

If other people deserve the benefit of the doubt, then why don't I? What makes me so bad, so undeserving, so worthless, that I can't give myself the benefit of the doubt? What is so inherently wrong with me?

While I should love myself and take better care of myself, I don't have to do that to give myself the benefit of doubt. I can still give myself the benefit of the doubt. It's about being a little bit gentle with myself, less critical, and realizing I'm not atypical. There are other people that struggle with life just as much as I do.

To my blogging friends, when I read their posts, I don't criticize them or judge the quality of their post or what they have to say. I don't judge their life. I value thier posts and their comments. If I don't judge them, then why do I have to judge myself? I bet if I asked other people who have the same diagnosis as me they would admit to the same struggles as I have.

When I go to my support groups, we always end the meeting with the Lord's prayer (which I don't say), but the last words we say are "Just for today." That will be my motto today.

Just for today, I'm going to view myself as human. I'm going to view myself as someone who is doing the best she can. The mountain of laundry decorating my living room is not a commentary on my worthlessness as a housekeeper. Just for today, I will view myself as valuable, even though I don't have a job. Just for today, I will adhere to my meal plan, even though I feel fat. And lastly, just for today, I will allow myself to cry, to mourn my childhood, to feel all the painful feelings that sum up my existance. I will not judge myself for being human and experiencing my feelings.

Just for today, I will give myself the benefit of the doubt. I hope you do, too.

Back in the saddle, again.

I forget without peeking exactly how long it's been since I lasted posted. I was hoping to post while on holiday in Charleston but that didn't happen.

Charleston. They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. (C. Dickens for you.) It's hard to remember chunks of hours out ot the days. The members were all stoked and on stand-by because we had our god-daughters and we are determined that their childhood be not so ill-fated as ours.

We did the usual Charleston-touristy things vacationers do: take a fourty minute boat ride out to some shambles of a fort, spend an hour in the hot sun, take the fourty minute ride back and watch our god-daughter produce herself from the lavatory because of morning sickness. Poor thing. I'll be mean and post pics of her later. (Of course I won't.)(Okay, maybe I will.) :)

We took a pirate tour that C. wanted to take more than anything. I thought it was the most boring tour ever, and I've been on several in that city. Apparently, it was around here I was dissociating because I couldn't tell where we were or what day of the week it was. I holed up on the hotel room while the others finished out the day. I slept.

I slept alot on that trip. One of our members sole responsibility is to make me go to sleep. If I'm asleep, then secrets don't get told and all are safe.

So we met with our therapist and psycho-iatrist today. Double whammy. I took that one on the chin. The meeting with T. was good. It brought up a lot of sadness regarding being bullied and teased as a child. There's more to it and I won't bear you with it, but, suffice it to say, I got in touch with one of my adolescents, a twelve year old who bears the scars, scrapes, and tears from being rejected by classmates, teachers, and the biological parents. Her wounds moved me so deeply I couldn't help but shed tears, and I'm not a crier. I try to steer clear of emotions that cause me to cry or get angry. (That's another post.)

But this twelve year old had me in a vice grip mentally; I didn't want to let go. I wanted to honor her and parent her and tell her everything will be alright. Countless nights I cried myself to sleep wishing that someone would hold me and tell me everything would be okay. No one ever did, but I can do it for the twelve year who as yet holds know name of which I am aware.

I am going to start adding to my postings affirmations, meditations, thoughts, and down-right gibberish that is helpful to me in the hope that others might derive some meaning. It will include a quote, a little squirb, and maybe a positive affirmation for the day. We'll see how it goes.

When I started our blog, I wanted the general public, if not more importantly, friends and families of those diagnosed, to see the daily hell that we are put through; how hard it is to go outside the house; how difficult it is to raise two sets of children; the trials of having this diagnosis and be married; the pressures and disadvantages of having the disorder and going back to school. I could go on and on. But I think I want the blog to metamorphosize and be less about the mundane, trite activities of life and more about sinking our teeth into recovery.

We are more recovery focused and I want it to show.