Keep on chugging

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I want to stop feeling the way I feel. It is not fruitful, nor is it productive.

All day today I felt low and dissociative. I did the whole “opposite to action” thing that they teach you in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT). Oh, and pardon the commentary, but a lot of the time DBT annoys me, just saying …

I painted. I went to one of those pottery painting places that are mostly patronized by kids and moms. Here’s, the flower bank I chose to paint, mostly because it didn’t have any detail painting.

Then I went to a movie, a dark comedy called “Bernie” that reminded me why I left Texas in the first place. After that I went for a walk and listened to the “Hairspray” soundtrack while walking. “You Can’t Stop the Beat” and “Good Morning Baltimore” are usually my feel-good songs, guess not today. But, I suppose I don’t feel worse.

Oh yeah, I even bought some hot rollers! Apparently, I’ll try anything to feel better. We’ll see how those work out tomorrow.

The feeling of despair needs to go away. It scares me that I struggle to find reasons to continue every day. The dark thoughts in my brain make me very tired, and I am tired from working against them today.

A plain jane turkey dinner that I adored

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I’ve been feeling shaky on a consistent basis, I’m sorry to say. It’s been a full-time job trying to combat all of this shakiness and dissociation. Good thing it’s the weekend, I suppose.

As part of my quest to not dissociate I’ve been out of the apartment quite a bit. I dissociate substantially less when I am not at home. I was driving around this cute rural area I don’t know very well when I came across this little cafe at the end of the village. It was one of those places where the locals gather, and everyone talks to each other across the tables.

I found they had a turkey dinner as a special so I ordered it as it sounded like good comfort food. Here’s the thing with a turkey dinner: It’s great if it’s a gourmet meal, and it’s even better if it’s a plain jane turkey dinner. And, yes, I know that statement needs an explanation.

Before my mother married my stepfather we never had a Thanksgiving dinner at home. I’m assuming it was a combination of not being able to afford it, and my mother was likely working on Thanksgiving. Because of this, I always looked forward to the Thanksgiving turkey dinner they served in the school cafeteria the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I loved it all: the gummy mashed potatoes, the thin sliced turkey loaf, the boxed stuffing with an overabundance of parsley, a prefab bread roll, canned peas, and jellied cranberry sauce.

I would sit there and eat that turkey dinner and imagine that the potatoes were the right consistency, the turkey actually had skin and bones, the stuffing was homemade, perhaps with cornbread (yeah!), the vegetables were fresh, the bread was a homemade parker house roll (yes, as a poor kid in West Texas I was familiar with the concept of a parker house roll as an avid reader of cookbooks) , and you could see the berries in the cranberry sauce. I was likely one of few students who happily ate the entire dinner. In my mind I had eaten a Thanksgiving dinner fit for Martha Stewart!

It was a plain jane turkey dinner, and during the time I ate it I was present, calm and grounded.

Today when I eat such a dinner it makes me happy because it reminds me of the optimism I had as a child. Such a turkey dinner also gives me hope that I’ll be optimistic again someday.

Take stock

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San Diego City College Learing Recource City r...

Just as I did when I was a child, when I find myself stumped by something I turn to books. A book may not have the answer, but it can provide a direction, some preliminary answers.

I did a search in our public library’s catalog, as well as a search on Barnes and Noble. I came up with a list of books, but the last of the Sunshine Holidays put a crimp in my plans. Since this is Labor Day weekend the library is closed until Tuesday. I will be thrilled to put to bed all the Sunshine Holidays after Tuesday.

I took myself to Barnes and Noble and they had one, just one book on dissociative identity disorder in stock. The book was alright, a place to start.

At this point I realized that I needed to put my fear on the high shelf if I had any chance of evaluating the situation. As an investigator I approached a case with as few preconceived notions as possible. I just kept turning stones until there were no more stones to turn. So I took my fear of DID and put it on a high shelf, and went to work. It started to feel like the good old days of investigating. As an investigator I was never afraid of the truth.

So I took stock of what I knew:

  • There is a long period of time in high school, at least two years, where I wore camouflage pants and berets very regularly, along with a loner “don’t mess with me” attitude. All of this was a departure from the way I previously conveyed myself to the world. I only learned of this behavior in high school last year, and I still have no memory of it. Even scarier, the behavior reported to me by an old high school friend was corroborated by my sister Cate.
  • I read in the one book at Barnes and Noble today that one of the signs of DID is inner voices. When I read that I nearly dropped the book. I assumed everyone had these inner voices that I have. I’ve never mentioned them because I thought they were one of those things in life that we never mention like farts, burps and, you know, inner voices. Everyone has them, but doesn’t talk about them … guess not. Yes, I have the cacophany of inner voices in my head. I’ve had them as long as I can remember.
  • There are unexplained instances of self-harm when I’ve lost time. I’ve chipped a tooth, hurt my neck, and I’ve even awakened with bruises on my arms. I just thought all of these things happened from bad nightmares.

There are other things rolling around in my head, but I’m too exhausted to go any further with this. But at least I’m freaking about it less. This is a good start.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)