Tag Archives: Dissociative identity disorder

I have a dream

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Today is the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. I am happy to learn that there is good side to this date, August 28th, because for the past five years this date has been a terrible reminder of the lowest point of my life. In essence, my drinking facilitated a very unsafe situation that had huge consequences. At the five year mark I can finally say that there is some real hope.

In the spirit of the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s delivery of his “I have a dream” speech at the March I offer a few dreams of my own …

I have a dream that one day I will no longer shake involuntarily especially at inopportune times. The shaking will disappear because my anxiety no longer gets so high that all my body can do is shake for relief.

I dream that one day I will no longer have to struggle with numerous selves with competing needs. This will no longer be a struggle because I will have successfully integrated my selves into one, and that one is me.

I dream that there will be a day when I will no longer need to see a psychiatrist two days a week. It will be nice to put that money towards other bill categories instead of payments for sessions not covered by insurance.

I also dream that I will be able to spend time in my own home without losing time. I’ll be able to cook and clean in my apartment without becoming dissociative.

I do dream that one day I will not fight with that demon inside me that tries to convince me that I’m not good enough for this life, that I should give up the fight. I will no longer fight this demon because it will be defeated for good.

Most of all, I dream that one day all of us with mental illness will be able to get the help we need, and we’ll be able to get that needed help without making ridiculous financial sacrifices for our mental health. Even more than that, we will be seen as individuals that can contribute to society in the workplace as well as in friendship.

Friendship intervention

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Friendship Way, Stratford Way)&t=m Friendship ...

Yesterday was a miserable foggy soup that I found myself lost in for most of the day. Everything was in super slow motion. I was at home trying to get dressed. Most people can take 15 – 30 minutes, depending on the person. Whereas, it took me a few hours.

My friend K showed what a very good friend he is. I had sent him a foggy email minutes prior to him calling me. He called me, and on the phone he had me account for my keys, cardigan, Ipad, and purse before I walked out the door. He stayed on the phone with me until I finally made it out to my car, driving, and on my way to some place to eat. He’s a good friend indeed.

Then, after I ate, I knew I needed to get to a coffee shop. So I drove to one nearby, probably less than 2 miles, and then just sat there in the car stuck, unable to move. I don’t know why I was stuck, but I was. I was in the foggy soup again. I had been sitting there for at least 20 minutes when K called to check in on me. Sometimes the universe knows when we need friendship intervention, and I certainly needed it then.

K proceeded to take my mind off my foggy soup situation by being the perpetually endearing idiot that he can be. He had sound effects, different voices, weird jokes, bad jokes, off color jokes, and good jokes. He literally performed his entire repertoire for me while I was on the phone with him in front of that coffee shop. Or, at least, it felt like his entire repertoire.

We talked for such a long time that it became dark outside, but the coffee shop was still open, and I was no longer foggy.

Thank you, K, for being such a good friend.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Popcorn everywhere

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Police sirens = shaking. Always. The cackle of the radio that the officers wear renders me foggy, and makes me want to hide.

I never understood any of this until yesterday’s session.

Doc asks for Ronnie. Somehow we start talking about Ronnie’s earliest memory. She remembers sitting in a red recliner with sister Cate. It was popcorn day at school, 25 cents a bag, and she’s clutching it tightly. There’s a picture of a clown on the front of the popcorn bag.

There was yelling. Mom and Dad were yelling. Dad finds a hammer on top of the refrigerator. He tries to hit Mom over the head with it, but Mom fights him. She grabs it from him. He’s too drunk. They are fighting over the hammer. There’s popcorn everywhere. Ronnie held the bag so hard that the bag ripped right through the clown face on the bag. Then Mom’s crying and flipping through a phone book again and again. Dad is gone.

Doc asks Ronnie what happened between the hammer and the phone book. She does not know. I do not know. He asks if anyone inside knows what happened in between the hammer and the phone book. I start shaking, and Belle starts talking.

Belle said she kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to see. She heard the police come, the sirens. Then she knew they were moving around in the room because she could hear the radios with the loud cackle. She heard the handcuffs click.

Doc then asked me if I had been aware of Ronnie’s memories. Yes, I was aware. Those memories were not new. He then asked me if I was aware of Belle’s memories. I was not. I always recalled the end of that memory with hammer, popcorn and phone book, and nothing in between hammer and phone book except for popcorn. This was new information.

And then it dawned on me that this could be why police sounds freak me out. I’m told that this is progress, good news. It doesn’t feel like either.