Tag Archives: Dissociative identity disorder

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)

God’s house is closed for business

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Restaurant's "Sorry we're Closed" sign

Today I became angry at my psychiatrist. This is a new experience for me. I am angry at Doc, and can hardly see straight.  It all began when Doc asked me how I was doing today. I had a hard time articulating that I was having a hard time because it was *that* day, the day the unthinkable happened 4 years ago. When I finally told him what day it was he started using the R word over and over again. I finally just became angry at him, and asked him to stop. Doc then started talking about that’s what happened to me (the R word), and I cut him off because I did not want to hear it. Then he pointed out that it still upsets me. We have a genius on our hands peeps!

Then, somehow, we started talking about my dissociation. I don’t recall how we got on that topic.

Based on what I shared about my dissociation Doc then announced to me that he was changing my diagnosis to “dissociative disorder not otherwise specified.” Then he started asking me questions where he was addressing “all the parts of me!” That just scared me, and threw me. I didn’t understand why he was doing that. To me, it sounded like he thought I might have DID, and I asked him if he thought I had that. He said he didn’t know yet, but that it didn’t matter. Whatever I had I had, it was just a label. Easy for him to say. I kept asking what all this meant-the diagnosis change, asking questions of all the parts of me. Finally he just got exasperated with my questions, and said that it doesn’t matter because the diagnosis does not change the core of me. Still, though, it mattered to me.

Just like that, with a flick of the pen, I went from being diagnosed with PTSD to having that revised to a diagnosis of dissociative disorder not otherwise specified, with a possible revision later.

The session ended, and I was mad and upset. I’m sure it was obvious, but he just said, “I’ll see you on Thursday.” Okay. Glad to not make you late for lunch. (Our session ended at noon.)

I left his office in tears, and noticed the cute little Lutheran church right across the street from his office. I wanted, more than anything, to sit in a quiet church. I pulled open the door, or rather, I tried to pull open the door. But, it was locked. The church was closed in the middle of the day. Perhaps I’m naive, but I thought churches were at least open during the day for people to go in and pray, if they so choose. Maybe not? I don’t know where I got this idea, but I was incorrect in this presumption.

It also felt incredibly lonely in the world at that moment. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day, but there I was trying to pry open the door to a closed church with snot all over my face from crying, a very fine moment for me, indeed.

So, I made myself go to this art sculpture park that was nearby. It was weird. I tried to like it, but I couldn’t conjure a like for it.

Then I called a work friend to ask her about an assignment she was covering for me since I was off today. She told me it was taken care of, and there was nothing to worry about. I then thanked her for being nice to me, and started to cry. Poor thing, that really threw her.

Right now, I just can’t think of what I talked about with Doc. It scares me, and I am so mad at him for just side-swiping me with this information.

Oh, yeah, and God, I’d like to address you as well while I’m at it … how do you feel about the closed churches during the day? Surely that does not please you. I don’t get it. Your house should be open for business, at least at noon on a Tuesday.

(Photo credit: Nick Papakyriazis)