Category Archives: dissociative identity disorder

TW: Floaty free-for-all

Posted on by

3

Mega ginormous therapy day was had by the lot of us today. We did not like it one bit, not a sliver, not a crumb of like.

It’s weird in life how one seemingly disconnected thing can lead to one thing and then another, and before you know it you can draw the connection between these things. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me explain …

On the long drive to Doc’s office my head started shaking, and it felt a bit … involuntary. I know it’s strange to say that, but that’s how it felt. It felt like I was vigorously shaking my head no, but I had no idea why. The only thing I could surmise was that one of the peeps did not want to go see Doc today.

So, I get in to see Doc, and convey all this to him, and he agrees that is likely the case. It turns out that one of the little peeps did not want to come back because last time when Doc was setting me up for neurofeedback I had a memory come back to me as he was putting the electrodes on my head. I started remembering my mother detangling my hair in a painful manner. I think this memory was triggered because Doc was touching my head while I was a little peep. Anyhow, my mother decided to have my hair cut short, like a boy after this particular detangling because she was tired of dealing with it. My hair was cut so short I looked like Huckleberry Finn in a dress. I was beyond mortified.

To add to the mortification, Easter was upon us very soon after this hair hacking job. I had an awesome baby blue dress that looked like a boy decided to wear a dress to Easter Mass. I was mad, and embarrassed to be seen with the hack job on my head.

Right after Mass my idiotic stepfather had the entire family gather on the lawn in front of the church for a photo. The dork even brought his camera. Who brings a camera to Easter Mass? As we were gathering for the picture I grasped my hands in front of me. My stepfather started taking pictures of us, and my mother shouted out at me that I needed to stop holding my hands that way because it looked like I was touching myself.

Once I conveyed this to Doc I was floaty and out of it. Since then I’ve been grappling with feelings of despair and ideation.

If there’s more to remember, I don’t want it. Don’t want to hear it, don’t want to know it.

Why I try not to switch

Posted on by

8

The Indomitable Bourbon from Crazy in the Coconut asked me today why I try not to switch. It’s a very good question, especially since I mistakenly assumed that all of us with DID tried not to switch. I also had the mistaken assumption that we all lost time. This is one of the many reasons that I love the blogging community. I learn so much from you guys everyday.

I’m not sure if I conveyed the following story here, but here goes anyhow: The first clue I had re: my DID came a couple of years ago. I reconnected with Mingo, an old high school friend on facebook. He asked me why I changed in high school and became so gruff with a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. I laughed because that’s not me at all. I thought he might be mistaken in thinking that he was talking about me. Then he mentioned that I wore camouflage pants all the time along with a pink beret. Well, then I knew he could not possibly be talking about me. I’m quite the girly girl. I wear mostly dresses, and I would never ever dream of wearing camouflage pants! My inherent sense of appropriateness also would never allow me to wear such pants, especially since I’ve never been in the military.

Mingo insisted that he has a very good memory, and that he was sure he was talking about me. I told him we would settle this once and for all, and I emailed my sister, and asked her to confirm that Mingo was out of mind. Her reply was unexpected. She replied immediately, and said that I wore camouflage pants, and not only had a pink beret, but a red one as well. I was absolutely flabbergasted because I have no memory of any of this. I still don’t. I’ve tried and tried to conjure up these memories, but they are not there.

I asked my sister why she did not try to talk some sense into me ,and she said that she tried. Apparently, according to her, we had huge arguments about my attire where I called her a “snob.”

Mingo also asked me if I remember how we became friends, and I have no memory of how we became friends. All I have is a feeling that he is safe and kind. He then conveyed the story of how we became friends, and it made me sad because there is no such memory in my brain that I can fish out.

I also tend to lose time when I switch. That’s the biggest reason I try to avoid switching. I’ve found journal entries in different handwriting after I’ve lost time. Scares the heebies out of me!

Even the innocuous things scare me like discovering shows I’ve recorded on my DVR have been watched when I have no memory of watching those shows, or discovering that my Nook has been read without my knowledge.

I try not to switch because it scares me that I do things without remembering.

Darn, it’s a holiday weekend …

Posted on by

9

The workplace on the eve of a holiday weekend is a buffet of questions. Questions about the weekend, children, and the like. People are nosy …

“It’s a long holiday weekend. What are your plans, Beatriz?”

“Oh, you know, pick up my place a bit, do some reading and writing, relax.”

Translation: I will try not to dissociate too much, try not to lose too much time. Find the will to carry on, and not die. It will likely be another Saturday where I wake up feeling heavy, and it takes me hours to get in the shower, and then another good bit of time to get dressed. After that, there is no making breakfast or lunch in that apartment because I’m likely to lose more time the longer I stay there. The apartment is a fine apartment. This would be the case whether it was public housing or a penthouse off Central Park in NYC. It’s being alone that triggers the time loss and/or switching. It’s a holiday weekend, so I get to do this one extra day! 

“Going anyplace special for the long weekend, Beatriz?”

“No, just staying close to home.”

Translation: You can see me at diners, coffee shops, restaurants and bookstores all weekend long. I do better around people, especially if I can just enjoy the sound of people without interacting with them. What makes me not like the others? Is it the mental illness? The DID?

“Do you own your own home?”

“Nope, I”m enjoying the benefits of having a landlord do all the maintenance.”

Translation: One of my biggest fears is not being well enough to work. The last thing I need on my mind is a 30 year mortgage. If I become too sick too work, it will be easier to deal with an apartment instead of a house with a mortgage. I would love to own a home, but as it is, I have trouble being in my apartment by myself. So, buying a house that needs to be maintained is not a good option for me. 

“Are you married?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“Not married? How can that be … a beautiful woman like you?” (Yes, this was the actual reply. She must be confusing me with someone else.)

“Just not, it happens to the best of us.”

Translation: When you have issues such as PTSD, sex addiction, alcoholism, depression, and DID it’s not easy to be “like the others.” Perhaps people can’t put a finger on it precisely, but they can assess that you are different. These issues add up to some unwise relationship choices early on in adulthood, and, quite frankly, a lot of time was wasted with a couple of poor choices. That aside, I’m not exactly a shining choice as a partner at the moment as I’m in the midst of grappling with my new DID diagnosis. 

“Do you have kids, Beatriz?”

“No, I don’t have kids, just waiting for the right time.”

Translation: Are you out of your mind? I may look fine at work, but the truth is that I can barely take care of myself. All of the effort expended to get to work on time and looking professional leaves me crazy tired by the end of every day, and especially the end of the week. It takes me longer than the average person to get my act together everyday for work. It’s the hardest thing I do everyday, though it’s easier now that I have a job I like, but it is still excruciatingly hard. I can’t trust myself not to lose time while parenting. Can you imagine the scene? “Ma’am, can you explain how your 3 year old broke a tooth trying to eat the remote control?” “Well, I must have lost time and switched … ”

Is there not some other single woman in this office you can accost with your nosy questions?