The Black Car

I have found my own modern day hermit’s cave, which I call The Black Car. I work, only because I must. And on days when I have to bring the magic in my job I have one of my parts do the heavy lifting. I’ve stopped answering most text messages and phone calls. There are a small few people whom I will reply to or answer calls, but its often painful for me to do so, and I’m usually itching to cease the communication.

Last month I had memories start to come forth, though only slivers of clues that beg further questions. Though enough has come forth that I am constantly stupefied by memories that pour out of my brain at moments when I need my full concentration, usually at work.

I tried explaining to one friend in particular this afternoon why I had been isolating and strugggling. When I told him I had been struggling with memories he just looked at me, and said nothing. And then after an uncomfortable silence he changed the subject altogether. I felt silly sitting there in that sushi restaurant with too many sushi rolls between us, and the cloud of discomfort in the air. The interaction confirmed my instincts for staying hidden away from most people to the extent possible.

I walk around only seeing what is directly in front of me.  An old friend saw me in the tea shop yesterday, and she had to wave me down and say my name loudly to get my attention. I honestly did not see her sitting in close vicinity of me.

I have days where I can fake it very well, when my dear Sabrina can fully come out at work and bring the magic. And then at the end of the day The Black Car is waiting again, and Sabrina has left when she senses that she is no longer needed for work.

The Black Car is a dependable old girl, and she’s always there patiently waiting for the next ride.

A Letter To My Boss

I have dissociative identity disorder. You do not know this, and cannot know this. If you did know this, the pieces of the puzzle would finally fall into place for you. Alas, I cannot tell you. It would be too scary for both of us.

I lost the run of myself yesterday. One of my parts leaked out sideways when I became upset with one of our attorneys who causes me to have more than a few face palm moments. His thoughtlessness brought on an anger in one of us that rendered the me you know to the backseat of my system. I felt like a spectator to myself watching me tell you in a very demonstrative manner how thoughtless he was, and how the office had different standards for him, and I vehemently disagreed with you about changing the date of the event because of his carelessness. I don’t remember all of it, but I do recall I felt crapped upon by him, and was quite angry about it.

Later you came back to talk to me about it, and, initially, I didn’t know what you were talking about. I must have shifted again. When you started talking about what happened it all slowly started coming back to my consciousness.

I asked you what your experience was with the interaction. You said you wish it had gone differently. I’m with you on that sentiment. Sometimes I think you may suspect the DID because you asked me if I remembered certain parts of the interaction. We had a good conversation about it, and you asked if you could suggest to me in the future to take some time to myself when you sense I’m getting emotional. I said it was a good idea, except that I’ll always assume I’m in trouble. And then you suggested that you could say to me to take some time for myself, that we’re good, and to come talk to you when I’m ready. It’s a very kind and understanding suggestion, and I have to tell you that I feel broken that you need to make such accommodations. I wish I could be the girl wonder employee I used to be long ago in 2007 before my PTSD and DID came rolling out of me like a broken hot water heater.

These days I try to hide it all, to no avail. It all inevitably leaks out. I’m sure you notice the vacant look I sport when I’ve had a haunted night of nightmares. Days like that I usually also have “second day hair.” No amount of dry shampoo can completely fix that with my naturally oily hair.

Thank you for the undeserved kindness. I wish I could tell you all this about me, but it’s not a good idea to do that. And, so, from afar, I’ll appreciate you, and try to be better.

The fear in my head

The fear in my head can tell me all sorts of stories, many of these stories are not the present truth. Though once in a blue moon, the fear warns me a of  a true danger. Unfortunately, these rare moments of true danger live forever in my head, and they return with a vengeance with the slightest sliver of a reminder.

And when that fear starts raining down on me it’s hard to get out of that spiral. I start to make doomsday predictions: I will lose everything. I will be homeless. Everything good is going to disappear. I won’t be able to feed myself. And then it further disintegrates into thoughts of disappearing because my head can’t conceive of going through the danger and the pain again.

Deep down inside me there is a belief that good things are not for me. When I get those slivers of fear I let them into my head because goodness feels fleeting to me. Anything positive feels transient, and borrowed, but with a quick return date like a new release at the library. The bad news and awful things feel familiar and known.

When people tell me they miss me, I’m stunned. Authentic happiness from people upon seeing me still confuses me. It’s not the self-perception of myself that I want, but it’s the one I have at the moment. Believe it or not, this is an improvement from just two years ago. Back then, and for as long as I can remember in my life, I would live with suicidal ideation most days. I would wake up in the morning and my first thought was that I shouldn’t be on this earth, and I would work against that desire sometimes on an hourly basis, depending on the day. Thankfully, my dark self possesses a sliver of hope within that propelled me to fight this desire my entire life.

And it’s that sliver of hope that I hold on to in moments like this when the fear has overtaken me, and I feel like the universe is raining on me. I try to keep perspective. I check my perceptions with friends. Sometimes I have to repeatedly check because I have a hard time believing I’m really okay. It’s hard for me to hold the belief that if I do lose everything in my life, in a worst case scenario, I am still worthy as a human being, still someone that people will want to know.