Tag Archives: Dissociative identity disorder

Why I try not to switch

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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 …

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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? 

Oh, yes, that’s what that was …

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Some pieces are starting to come together in spurts. Just yesterday while I was plodding along trying to get myself together after being triggered I had a memory race across my brain.

Three years ago I decided to go to a 6 week partial hospitalization program at a nearby psychiatric hospital. It was the first time I entered a psychiatric hospital for treatment. I was crying, completely triggered and freaked out when I made the phone call to the intake phone line. After I spoke for a few short minutes, the woman on the phone asked me if she could speak to one of my parents. I was stunned! I didn’t understand why she said that. She seemed genuinely surprised when I told her how old I was, at the time I was 37!

Ever since that happened three years ago I’ve been stumped by it. I thought various things, such as was it because of the fact that I was crying that she thought I was a young child? But plenty of people cry on the phone as adults and don’t get mistaken for children … I’ve always wondered how that happened. It bothers me when I can’t understand or explain things.

Then it occurred to me yesterday that the woman on the intake phone line at the psychiatric hospital must have interacted with me while I had switched to a child alter. It finally made sense to me. Doc had mentioned to me on Friday that my intonation changes when I switch into a child alter. He can immediately tell when it happens.

It’s small, very small, but I like understanding, even if it’s only a small piece of the entire story.